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The descending sun turning sky and clouds
to yellow gold, evening shades pulling the
reflected glow into the sea, behind the hills.
Low amber light spilling across the valley floor
casts muted textured shadows, the loveliest light
of the day.

Doves still calling to one another, perhaps
discussing where to bed down for the night.
Peaceful voices of reassurance and calm that
always makes me smile.

In an hour, darkness will intercede, the clear
heavens will radiate and sparkle, stars much
brighter with but a diminished crescent moon
for competitions light.

In the coming darkness the night music of
crickets and frogs will begin to serenade,
and as I recline in my comfy porch chair this
seductive creature orchestration, may induce
early slumber in me, so difficult to evade.

But then what better way to end a nearly
perfect day?
Today I turned 76 years old, a bit of a surprise even
to me. Spent the day with my family, watched my
youngest grandson play in a school Baseball game.
Enjoyed a fine family dinner, cake for dessert.
Watered my garden and played fetch with my dog.
Now as I sit and observe in repose this descending
night gift of nature, I am a truly contented man.
(Written on the 15th of May, not posted until today.)
The day seems to float like wind-song,
its music carries my heart along;
Today blends wearily into yesterday,
and tomorrow I fear will fade away.

Inside my mind the whistling starts,
a tune which smothers and tears apart;
The waking stream of consciousness,
through mystic strains we all possess.

"Back to basics" seems a somber line,
for the hours spent assuaging time;
Learning how to play life's game,
while sharing moments--all the same.

Admitting things have gone awry,
one kiss and then we say goodbye;
Across the mellow fields of lavender,
we close our eyes and dance forever.
World poems
Are not enough.
For that reason, I often laugh
Every laughter
Is a poem
Every piece of art
Is a poem.
Have you seen the sunshine?
Each sun beam
Makes me dream
Dream of a world that
Breathes nothing but
Poetry.
Your clouded mind
Showered on me
Rains of pain !!

Now I see  clearly
Where I stand.. !!
Tragedy
        Is the mother
                 Of literature.
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