Silence listens to the voices of the people
while on earth, a wisp of wind digresses  
In heaven God listens to each silent call  
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence breathes quietly at the crack of dawn  
respiring softly at the ledge of twilight sunset  
Silence sits at the nucleus of our souls and lies
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence is at the ear of the heart it does not speak
gently it leads us with a cupped hand to peace
It knows how to collect waterfalls and breezes
at the footfalls of Silence...

Silence is my linguistic heaven, my favorite speech
it is my mantra, my Yoga Master, my go to place
When things overwhelm I go to Silence and live,      
at the footfalls of Silence....

"In memory of Eliza and Emily"  
Twelve Years a Slave, Eliza Berry's life marked by cruelty, a tragedy of slavery.


She rose to lower heights as she plucked the cotton with  
                               her bare hands
Stooped over she pulled the cotton from the bolls, fine cotton
                               that it was !  
Twelve years of slavehood, her daughter taken for her beauty
                                  was separated from her youth...
Haggard, hollow-eyed and filled with sorrow she worked soberly
                                     for she would not be sold, she was not for sale !
Eliza wept tears of grief but, there was nothing she could do,
                                       her daughter had been taken away from her.
Come back—don’t leave me—come back, mama, was her last cry
  until distance intervened and then all was finally wholly lost.

Foot Note: Eliza never saw or heard of Emily. In the cotton field, always and everywhere she was talking to her.  Only when absorbed in that illusion or asleep, did she ever have a moment’s comfort, afterwards.

Trembling leaves stand out,
Yellow amongst the green-

First to expire in heat,
They tremble and fall
Decondensed,
Brittle dry harbingers

Of an early Autumn,
Chill borne on North
Sea breeze

This sunny Summer morn

Come to me like a wild horse unbridled longing for the river
like a morning prayer on the heart wanting nothing more
Come to me with pining like a widow waiting for her love
like a soldier in the trenches, begging for cease fire ...

Come to me like a dove gliding over peaceful waters
like the otter and the kelp in a symbiotic drift
Come to me like stars of night shining with accord
like the morning sun at dawn, rising still on you

Come to me like a morning cup of coffee freshly brewed
like a sleeping soul awakened by dreams of yesterday
Come to me like the diner bell exhaling all your waits
like a soft caress on the skin filled with enchanting sin  

                            come to me lover with your loving touch,
                             for I love you, so much !

She is a flesh devouring fairy who feasts on children
who don't wash their hands and primp their toes
Darkly inclined she lives in the shadows, once bitten  
you will turn as evil as her extra long snubby nose

Her name is Darkelina and she snickers to herself    
she owns spidery fingers and her teeth are razor sharp  
Sponge em' down, disinfect, scour them clean or else  
she will cleave your little pinkie and stitch it to her harp

Darkelina Pixie-Meana  that is what they call her Heh !
better wash it or hide it before she finds you child
Gloomy and morose with a dark disposition, its her way
better tuck them under the covers, for she is crazy wild

Beyond the twitch of night she can give you such a fright
she's got teeth with jagged edges, boy how she loves to bite !

Forest dreams as tender as a whisper
soft spoken wishes in the penumbra of night
Divinely assembled beneath a scried heaven
we live, we breathe, we follow...

The evening plants begin to respire
and the trees close up for the evening retreat.  
We sit and meditate while the dusk settles in,  
the candles burn surrounding us with light !
Woodland scents permeate the humid air
black orchid with notes of black truffle,
patchouli, and vanilla, ***-soaked in black.

We are never lost when we find ourselves
centered as a Buddha in the thick of light
Tibetan flutes and magical newts by the lake
each breath we take is an intake of peace
we are semi-aquatic beings in the wildlife.  

Forest  reveries as vivid as lucid dreams of old,  
we stay green and pend, until we turn to gold.

A string of summer days strung like pearls of valor
it is hard to be sad when the sun appears like a coin  
dazzling us inside a bright blue sky that we adore.

Decorative fragrant white flowers, lily of the valley
sweetly scented bell shaped beauties that grow
in the meadows, what fragrant Grace we tally !  

Nothing gold can stay or so they say, but whos to say  
that if you string up one happy moment ...
those pearls of valor your clutch to your heart,
may take your breath away, and never go away.

A string of summer days filled with laughter and such joy,  
close your eyes and smell the flowers, sweetly as they coy.