Encapsulated in a world of duty and obligation
I see no room for fantasy or imagination
no wind of September
can ever dismember
the longing I feel for illusion, fantasy and excitation

Only the stars of heaven can throw me a rope
at night when I sleep, its the only time I cope    
the moon  
is my woon  
up there in the sky its the only thing that floats like hope.

September 23, 2021

Tempering colors of magnetic reds and browns
September, you sure know how to make me turn around
enclosing me in comforting space warm as a fireplace
you make me long for firewood and campgrounds
Maple trees of yellow and honey wood leaves
you make me want to trade my frosty lips for a cinnamon kiss
down in the meadows, the woods are whispering
saying their goodbyes to La Fleurs Fe Lis
Linden wood dreams beneath a golden Autumn
the cedar gum and the cedar oils are healing balms of choice
aiming for the hills on a cool September eve  
suddenly I feel like I have found my voice;

I love you September more then words can say
I think I'm going to go jump in the leaves,
one more time,  before my last hurray !

Amidst reality of my life two single things remain
inflection of your voice and glow of your tender eyes
held safe by this memory we become transparent rain      
wild as the tidal waves of Bristol souls of no disguise    
fluid as the ocean with are open inlets giving rise  

sepia moments of a little cottage hidden in the cove
the scent of sweet cinnamon and the taste of your clove  
the cackle sound of unseasoned wood against the brick
we ****** the flavors of our passion, and called it love,  
holding on to each other, like flames on a candle wick

molten wax and liquid centers with all I hold so dear  
when the moon comes into view the stars turn into glass
willful moments arching as tender reeds adhere      
we spiral down the staircase, of God's Mandir  
we find the miracle of us, and know that it will last  


caught between two soft spots we are cloaked in silk
like two lovers in heaven or two lonesome sacred elks
amidst the reality of my life, two single things remain
the taste of a kiss and the place from whence we came
you my first love, were always right as rain.

August 27, 2021

You were only twelve when I first met you through your mom
a special star in the sky that shone always brighter then the sun
You had the rare ability Alison of seeing auras around each soul
and when you spoke about it, your eyes pinned me like dark coal

Then you visited Quebec City and you came down with a disease
a rare one, with only 7 in the world, no drugs could fast appease
Intestinal lymphangiectasia, as rare as it was , you fought it still
at the Sick Kids Hospital, they placed a tube and fed you at will

You raised money for others like you, and doctors were baffled
by the sheer stamina of you, we had a banquet and tickets raffled
You wore a lavender gown and you gave a speech that made us cry
at the age of eighteen you died, and never questioned God's why

Your mom, my best friend, got a coach with horses of white rhodium  
and at your funeral  the congregation of angels were your symposium
I never cried so much as I did that day, when you left behind Caroline
a sister who loved you more then anyone else, but it was your time

Alison my dear may you rest in peace, and may the wayward dove bring
your memory to the caves of Al, where children children bravely sing
God speed my love, may you arrive to the summit of your realization
that the auras you saw were a reflection of your Angel immunization .

It was a sizzling summer of electric blues and vibrant hues
in  a garden full of flowers inked in plushy spanking reds
a wall of buttress wood splashed with vines of green
a purple morning glory with a touch of dewy sheen
over by a mossy pond a mandarin duck of orangey blue

The sun turns amber like a big fat shimmering coin of gold
in a sky that often blushes fuchsia,  pink, by a cloud's enfold
emerald blades of grass behind a white striped skunk  
a gradient shade of orange, from a Siberian chipmunk
here by the royal blue bench, a vibrant peacock fans bold

It is a season of rainbow colored rain and red electric trains
in a terrace full of trellises of white, roses bright as Spain  
blooming with vigor inside my bright oasis
happily connected to a Revlon kiss,  
of  cherry berry merry, on a girl named Mary Lou Fontaine

Throughout the history of human kind spirituality
has been the vehicle that leads us to a new modality
As breath is linked to life, it is the transient carnality
of the spirit, the one forever flow of wholesome chi
To breathe is to live, to live is to exist with extensity
born to take our first breath with lung flexibility,  
we learn to appreciate our duration and existentiality
as we be breathed and speeded, into infancy  
We live and have our moments in expectancy  
honoring each other with loyalty and compliancy  
The breath is the life and the life our determinacy
to exist, in a world of utter lunacy and discrepancy .

She walked the labyrinth with her head bowed down
and thought of Christ with His thorny encrusted crown
Each rock was interlinked, attached to a circular maze
and as the sun poured, onto the rocky terrain of Falaise
a silent prayer was uttered, as she set Sanctity ablaze

She came from the cloistered Abbey  on Rue de Calix  
having spent so many years kissing her little crucifix
it was a new world here outside, in the soil of France
hundreds of stones polished with natural enhance
its was a time of encapsulated self, in stillborn dance

she awoke  after the war, through Normandy's unrest  
A mother's diary was tucked inside a wooden chest
filled with flourish scribble from an ancient faded nib
It was meant to help a young woman survive and imbibe
she acquired strength, this little girl named Marie Lepine

Inside a velvet pouch was an old stone from the beach
long before the bombardment, a child was out of reach
Polished with the tears of a mother who cried of fright  
for a daughter who was to be left orphaned in the night
She kissed the stone that healed, through love and light.