This silence, so loudly it weeps,
of thoughts, lonely and isolating,
that surround, engulfing me,
within my ancient past.

This silence, so loudly it whispers,
enveloping me so completely,
within its protection,
wrapping me in ethereal healing.

This silence, so loudly it speaks,
within the steps I walk,
upon this empty beach,
listening at last to its mystical message.

This silence, so loudly it sings,
with each passing wave ,
drumming gratefulness for the day,
and chanting above mankind.

This silence, so majestic it paints,
each sunrise and sunset,
yearning to surpass yesterday’s,
with stunning celestial hues.

This silence, so loudly it beats within,
as I make it my own,
quieting my soul,
I search beyond.

A lone leaf floats down on the breeze beside my bench
as the wind whispers an autumn song to all who listen.
Geese overhead answer in their throated honk in flight
as they herald the coming of an early frost.

Red-orange drip from maples and all of autumn hums
as grey squirrels and chipmunks scurry away,
cheeks bulging with acorns and other treats
to bury inside their hideaways.

Fall, so vibrant and bright, with contrasting hues,
beauty embraces me in this garden of fall delight.
I pull my jacket close in its sharp crispness.
as I savor this moment of peaceful bliss.

As we prepare for life ahead,
our days are spent in mortal fear,
amidst the news and rumors lie,
in gloom our futures seem unclear.

This fear, its blackness lies in wait;
of ceaseless, unrelenting stress,
this unseen monster steals our days,
and fills our nights with great unrest.

Tomorrow’s fears become today’s;
they paralyze and strip us bare,
as all must face tomorrow’s wave,
in this pandemic world we share.

But with this fear, yet comes the hope,
for all of mankind to embrace,
to look for stars amidst the night;
and feel the light of morning’s grace.

For though our path is hard to bear,
yet brighter days will come to pass,
reminding all who these times share:
of every moment’s preciousness.

The fourth, our nation’s birthday; a time for family, food and friends,
as we celebrate this holiday, we embrace our fellow man.
with our Weber grills ablaze, filled with ribs and bratwurst too,
a watermelon for dessert, topped off with wine or brew.

Those who join with us to celebrate, are all from different lands;
From the islands and the forests, to Sahara’s desert sands,
and together with our brothers, we give thanks and all embrace,
for all colors and all cultures make America our race.

But as we celebrate this year, in the land which we’ve been blessed,
we see our country differently, as we struggle through this mess.
With our virtual connections we reach out to those we love,
saying prayers for those who struggle that they’ll one day rise above.

Let us all remember blessings, and give thanks for what we have,
and together, with our brothers, find some peace throughout our land.
Though despite our troubles heavy, we’re alive to share this day,
with the land we all grew up in, and the mem’ries that we’ve made.

We’ve left the safe behind us now,
and crossed the flood to evil’s shore,
building our homes within its briars
and lies that have ensnared us all.

We’ve ransomed our souls for our desires;
it’s blackness branded on our hearts,
blinding us to wisdom and agape love,
too eager, we bargain away tomorrow.

While truth and decency have been abandoned,
as we give away the ground we’ve gained,
many hide behind masks of their own making,
refusing to watch while history replays.

Faced with blackened hearts and minds,
that few can truly comprehend,
we watch its blood red currents consume,
as we stand upon Dante’s river shores.

My heart aches for what you once were.
Memories of unrivaled wilderness,
pristine and unique,
burned into my memory.

You were once my home:
a shining beacon of light in my life.
But you’ve passed with my youth,
like so many memories, eroded by time.

Yet, did I ever know you at all?
gazing at you through ****** eyes,
with a freshness of a love unknown.
Were you ever there, oh Hiraeth of Oz?

Within the world we’ve made our bed,
amidst the plagues I lay my head,
together as we struggle to survive.

My heart, though heavy for those lost,
I struggle with the debt and cost,
within our nation’s fragile future life.

I cannot fathom, nor believe,
our current state we’ve paid much heed
and listened to the future of our earth.

Though heavy on my heart it weights
Life’s giving us some brighter ways,
to count each day a precious future life.

Your voices whisper on the wind,
a haunting sigh; your spirit’s breath.
Entrapped the day your light was dimmed;
within the spot your bodies bled.

Amidst the ruins of yesterday,
your apparitions call to mind,
and heavily they weigh upon,
the childhood heart I left behind.

The child that you are,
living in an old man’s shell,
grabbing at glory,
while clinging to your tin crown.

Thumbing your nose,
at the good and noble,
you waste the voice given you,
as you sail into infamy.

Our leaders in their crimson clothes,
made of the finest fabric found,
and those found backing their regime,
have set on them a royal crown.

Some blind to what is underneath;
hearts filled with darkness at their core,
stoked with divisiveness and greed,
they serve this narcissistic corp.

A leader’s job is this: to lead;
a Shepard, there to guard his flock,
in trials, they arm the battle lines,
protecting like the mighty hawk.

So, tear off the glitter and the glitz,
and tinsel of this TV game,
the constant barricade of shame,
tarnishing our nation and its name.

You are not here to entertain,
but lead us with the wisest minds,
but fools within their cloaks made new,
are still but fools; the worst of kinds.

In this our year of reckoning,
with demons we dare not discuss,
we cannot hide in cloaks of blame,
and hope this too shall pass from us.

Take up your right to choose again,
and send those tumbling to their knees,
for as they treated those they led,
so too their fate shall come to be.

Behind this mask I am but me;
no cover up, I’m message free.
No right or left to hide behind,
no secret message here to find.

Before you think I am that dim,
come crawl around within my skin,
I only wish to stay alive,
and carry on with my own life.

So, when you see a mask on me,  
please pass me by and let me be,
to safely go about my day,
and practice freedom my own way.

But think a bit before you ask,
when leaving home without your mask,
the price your freedom you might trade,
for neighbor’s lives you have betrayed.

All earth embraces nature’s hues;
our deserts flash in ochre brown,
deep oceans filled with turquoise blues,
and forests hushed in greenest sound.

Our artist, mother nature paints,
the world, in colors we adore,
yet still we struggle with restraints,
that keep us from embracing more.

Our fellow man, a shade apart,
from deepest coal to parchment white,
we see, are part of nature’s art,
when each is seen in different light.

Embracing earth’s diversity,
our gift; the lives of human art,
but hope for future unity,
must grow in each and every heart.

You call to me from the corner of my room
where you  slumber,
imploring me to take you in my arms
and stroke you once again.

I dream of poets who came before,
of Cohen and Frost, Angelo and Dylan.
Poets who colored our hearts
with magic few could err forget.

They speak to me once again
in whispered voices,
entreating me to sing my own song
and make my voice heard.

I carefully take you in my arms
caressing you once again,
like a long-lost lover, singing softly,
drawing out your hidden melodies.

Dancing to the distant strains,
of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon.
beneath October’s starlit skies,
we sang this classic tune.

While fireworks lit the darkened path,
we twirled away the night,
and gazed into each other’s eyes,
while waiting for first light.

Your lips met mine beneath the light,
as passion filled our hearts,
reflected in the bonfire’s blaze,
that lit the forest schwartz.

Though many years have since flown by,
and both have gone our ways,
I still can feel the crisp fall air,
as we loved the night away.

Those lucid memories of early youth;
of hot summer mornings and sultry afternoons,
with hands, red with raspberries and currants,
and sweet gooseberries, round with ripeness.

Upon the forest green I lay, eyes turned to the sky,
beneath the cool of the house birch.
Concord delicacies picked fresh from our garden
stain with their violet blood, are devoured in haste.

Magic days of Koolaide, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
and long walks through the amber September fields,
flash before me; forgotten photographs in my mind,
sweet memories brought to life by your taste.

Our nation, desperate for a leader, is starving for
intelligent, educated, and eloquent minds;
those who lift others above themselves.
Is this too hard to find, I ask?

A leader is one who looks beyond bipartisan politics,
to solutions that work for the whole of America;
a person who lives his/her life with dignity
and treats others with the Golden Rule.

A leader needs to honor his or her position
for (s)he is not there just for themselves;
but to help and protect those under them,
like a mother bird on a nest.

Leaders aren’t perfect, but do their best
to live above reproach; as an example to their people.
Our leaders represent us around the world
how others see us, treat us, and are our future.

A leader surrounds him/herself with intelligence,
and listens to others who know more than they;
what they say is as important as how they speak
and what action they take.

The color of the skin or gender shouldn’t matter,
but what type of person they are and
how they help us during their days in office,
especially in these times we find ourselves.

A true leader is appointed to protect their people,
not tear them down, stir them up, or cause pain.
Leaders are there for us to find, and our job…
is to find and elect them.

Your thistles sprouted long ago, at our birth;
seeds from corrupt distant lands,
found root inside our soil flourishing, unchecked,
we grew blind to the depth of your scourge.

Small and unnoticed, in a corner of our land,
still, we turned and let you grow,
refusing to address your prickly stalk,
blindly thinking you would die.

But seeds of your thorns have grown throughout,
floating on the winds of hate, spreading its toxins,,
crowding out the wonder that could be ours,
spoiling its soil with your roots that run deep.

Now our land, filled with thorns, with deadly poison grow,
infested, a bountiful harvest of anger and hate.
We follow the rest in sorrow and shame,
in a land where wicked blooms grow.

Our streets explode in wrenching pain,
exposed upon a worldwide stage.
Our voices cry, it seems in vain,
and words are filled with growing rage.

Some come in fury, some in peace,
all begging that they’d find a voice,
to lead us through this blackened eve,
and give us yet another choice.

Our lives unravel day by day,
to yet another man-made plague,
and with each morning’s cold embrace,
we brace against the fear and hate.

Divided nation, yet we stand,
along our aged battle lines, 
but those yet wise within our land,
still pray for hope and peaceful times.

Your early morning chorus echoes within my distant memory;
the raucous call of the kookaburra wakes the bush with each daybreak,
the ting of the bellbird echo as the magpies play on their pipes.
The harmony of life in the bush became my lover.

I long for the smell of your gum trees on the fresh morning breeze;
a cuppa in hand, I soak in the dappled landscape,
while the sun goes walkabout through the bush,
reflecting like diamonds dancing on the morning dew.

Upon this ship, tall, bound for life,
surrounded by the boundless sea,
its water-soaked and sun-scorched deck,
beneath my feet forever be.

I’ve set the main sail, helm I take
and with my strength of steel resolve
to let you guide me through the deep
directed on this unknown course.

You’ve guided me to sunlit shoals,
set anchor when the wild winds blew,
and steered me to a harbor calm
when all about me cyclones churned.

Although you’ve aged and changed without,
your spirit strong within has stayed,
and I will cleave to my tall ship,
as I navigate life’s setting sun.

Downy seed tops of milky white,
floating on the wind.

Memories of childhood,
blown away with a single breath.

Amidst a closet of memories you find me,
in your simple orange shell with hidden hues within.
Your well-worn watercolors, reverent seeds of future art,
precious keepsakes of your memory still remains.

The magic art you housed brought light to early days
and life to the grayness of the cultureless country;
days of purposelessness and aimlessness, without end;
countless days of sheltering against nature, you painted my life with hope.

My life is changing, transforming,
growing, without a whisper of notice.

No longer do I recognize myself,
for what I was yesterday has flown.

But regret is not within my heart,
for it becomes me, like the colors I wear.

For change is growth, and growth is life;
to live is change, the past is but a memory.

In winter when monsters grow;
when cold and desolation rule,
muddied snow and gray skies
feed the shadows in my mind.

Crawling out of the darkness,
goblins weigh on my heart,
like the parasite they are,
******* the joy from life.

In winter, when monsters grow,
when frost imprisons me,
choking the light from the world,
and feeding the misery within.

Depression, the monster of winter,
crawls into the confines of my being,
and fills me with sadness,
in this cold northern climate.

As I’ve raced through life,
amidst the jungle of our world,
I’ve found a peaceful corner
to listen for your whisper.

I see you in the canopy of leaves
and grasses that wave in the wind;
in the depth of azure seas,
and the reawakened spring creek.

The world of life hums along,
with afternoon shadows sharing in your design.
Nature quietly sings your song,
inviting me to join along.

Do you really know about the me I’ve hid inside?
I’m not the girl who I once was, I’ve grown at last to rise,
above the world where I once stood, alone, all by myself,
masked in my own protection, setting “me” up on the shelf.

Do you know that I can whistle, just like other boys,
and climbed to distant mountain tops, to hike past all the noise.
No one knows the me who fought throughout the early years,
a woman now, who raged through life and fought to hide my fears.

Who really knows the me inside? No one, I still believe,
I’m much more than that little girl, who fought hard to be me.
I took that road least taken, ‘fore I heard a quiet call,
to be a woman understood, by one most important of all.

As I walk the morning beach alone,
with sunlight on my face,
I search to find these treasured bits
in this, a magical place.

These gifts the seas give endlessly,
are tossed before my hands,
all wet with the foamy surf-brought brine,
they glisten in the sand.

A dwelling once for housing life,
discarded now they find,
a special place within the one,
with solitude of mind.

This quiet life of beachcombers,
we know it all too well,
need silence, peace, and beauty,
as we search for more than shells.

When summer makes its curtain call,
and warm winds die, just after fall,
before the winter ice storms play,
and take their place upon the stage.

Your curtain lifts for just one week,
as autumn colors reach their peak
and dazzle us with one last play,
before the audience turns away.

With one last act before the night,
of bitter cold and frozen white.
That final night, you give your all,
and leave with final curtain’s fall.

At last, when autumn comes again,
it brings along its native friend,
and Summer dances on the stage
of vibrant colors, on display.

Days of long, hot, steamy afternoons,
digging forts in sandpits during the peak of summer,
hunting grasshoppers as they fled from my cupped hands,
I ran like the banshee I was, growing up wild in the country.

Memories of days in shorts and undershirts,
my skin stained orange like the sand I played in,
I lived on Kool-aide and peanut butter sandwiches,
snacking on sweet red raspberries and currents that grew in our garden.

Cool nights playing twilight tag with my brothers;
the air turned crisp, always ending too soon,
mom hosing us down before we were allowed inside.
Washed clean and tucked in, welcomed sleep greeted us as our heads hit the pillow.

I’ve walked this graying, foreign land,
inviting me to tread its dust,
I’ve questioned why, this rugged path,
and why I’ve had to brave so much.

I’ve cried so many useless tears,
for heartbreaks life has trust on me,
which left my journey full of fears,
tormenting me incessantly.

Yet in this world that I’ve trudged through,
I’ve found some gifts I can’t ignore;
the childhood love I wished I knew,
and quiet that my strength restored.

So, with my feet set on the moon,
earth’s vision forms in front of me,
and I embrace this distant dune,
where I’ve been sent to be set free.

Peeking through the blackness,
the ghosts of yesterday stir.
Reaching for help that comes too late,
creatures cry as they melt into the ground

Orange tongues lick the dry tinder,
as firenadoes twist in their death-rolls.
The heroes of the day wipe their brow
while the world looks on in horror and mourns.

Upon this worldwide stage, we play,
and open now our eyes and see,
and with our grieving hearts laid bare,
in wretched agony, we weep.

This blindness, long within our soul,
our nation’s sin; historic past.
We brought with us and kept alive,
and made the whites our ruling class.

To this we’ve shut our eyes and ears,
pretending that we cannot see,
and if we’ve seen, afraid to voice,
in freedom’s land for centuries.

With wretched consternation now,
our voice and hearts cry out at last,
to those who hear to make this right,
within this hour and face our past.

So let us bandage up our wounds
and heal all those within our land,
and make this verse our country’s cry,
One flesh and blood; our final stand.

Man’s cancer, here since time began; a selfish state of greed,
so we’ve appointed those we thought, would give us all we need.
But like a cancer, sickness spread and made us wanting more,
which eats upon our conscious now within this given hour.

Like ****** from his velvet throne, takes up his scepter gold,
and blinded to the cult of wealth: which few could have foretold;
the anguished hearts of those who’ll pay the price of life for “me”
will find that such self-centered life, is life that can’t be free.

Insidious is your hold on those
in your grasp,
depleting all life and energy
from loved ones,
as we watch them waste away
to nothingness.

Pain is the king of all;
we are under your spell,
visiting family, friends,
and loved ones
with your blackness,
as we writhe in agony.

Cancer, you *******!
You’ve taken my heart,
and taunt me as those I love
fall to your
armies of
death.

The silence that surrounds us now; a gift that few appreciate,
as oft’ we grumble and complain, and pray deliv’ry from our fate.
For now we go about our lives, we do so often quite alone,
and many work to just survive, while staying safely in their home.
.
The crowded markets and the malls, where we so often spent our days,
we’ve learned to do without the halls, that in their buildings isolate.
Now as we go throughout our days, the peacefulness we often seek,
is here to guide us through these months, and help us find our treasures deep.

For some it’s time spent with our youth and others find the time to read,
so many search within for truth and others learn the skills to lead.
For me, perception is the key, to how I use this precious time,
and what my future has for me, I’m given now by fate’s design.

I pour you out on paper with my pen,
like sour milk past its due date,
discarding the pain you’ve left me,
with your brutal goodbye,
as you turned me away into the black night.

I spill out my rage for your coldness;
for hiding her inside and letting me think
that I was the only one.
I rage on for making me love you,
and for not seeing the telltale signs until too late.

I stand by my basin at last,
and with a single stroke of a match, you’re ablaze
with the white hot anger I’ve held.
Your memory crumbles along with the ashes,
as they swirl out of sight, down the toilet of my past.

I lay between my summer sheets,
like many other sleepless nights,
and try to will myself to sleep;
as this becomes my nightly fight.

My thoughts spin deep inside my mind,
laid heavy with the breaking news,
and struggle with this news to find,
a way to unwind and defuse.

Still some events invade my dreams
as dinosaurs and threatening quakes,
that chase me down until I scream,
and find again I am awake.

Summer sighs, its long last breath,
hot and heavy, against my cheek,
bidding me farewell before the cold,
as August falls away to autumn.

Each autumn, my heart aches for  you,
and drifts back to so long ago,
with smells and sounds of fall’s awakening.
What seems like just a few short weeks,
a lifetime swiftly passed me by.

You left us on that Tuesday morn,
as rain seeped from the wet outside,
and caused our eyes overflow,
raining down on tear stained cheeks,
that drenched us in bittersweet release.

We huddled round your dying chair,
while softly holding silenced hands,
as if to hold fast to your soul,
embosomed to its earthly bonds,
hearts longing that you stay,

Our broken hearts could not endure,
but knowing that your time was nigh,
we placed a kiss upon your cheek
and with a blessing sent you off,
to be at peace from cancer’s grip.

And as you drew that one last breath,
you mouthed those words bereft of sound,
and with that final breath bestowed,
on us a gift, your dying words of
“I love you”.

Hope floats on gentle morning wings,
through windows just beyond the storms,
and lifts its voice in revelry,
within the willow’s sheltering arms.

He joins the choir of morning song,
with harmonies that calm our soul,
reminding all to look beyond,
embracing natures healing roll.

We seek a refuge from our world;
our broken lives are filled with pain,
within the death and violence,
beyond the trouble, and the rain.

So listen for the whippoorwill,
and robin in their melodies,
reminding us that nature’s gifts,
are often blessings that are free.

Humanity, but vessels rich with radiant energy,
created for a noble purpose.
are made of stardust and birthed from beyond;
part of the kingdom of creation.

Hold tight to that nobility;
that spirit of mutual creation;
to the beauty within and our royal calling,
even in the light of today’s world.

Be proud and look to the stars,
from whence we came;
humbly remembering that we are but atoms
forged of the earth by the heavens.

Inspired by a Serbian proverb.

If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d reach above and catch me some,
and bring them back to earth with me, and keep them safe for days to come.
I’d wish for peace in troubled times, for those not knowing how to love;
for those afflicted by our plagues, without the means to rise above.

For all my brothers in our world, I’d wish we’d all learn to embrace,
and look beyond our differences, to see the wealth beyond our face.
For black or white, brown, red, or gold, we’re all the same within our skins;
all look for love and brotherhood, and truth beyond our earthly sins.

If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d catch a few as they passed by,
and make my wishes into acts, to help all those who as they cry;
I’d find my voice and sing with all; a choir that lifts beyond the noise,
and with this song, send up a prayer, for those who hear; peace in our time.

You whisper on the morning wind,
amid the silent majesty,
and in thin places that I find,
I still can sense your energy.

A place of solitude and peace,
beyond the realm of humankind,
where in the silence yet you speak,
above the din of all mankind.

These mystic places here on earth,
the veil between our worlds stretched thin,
where we can listen to your voice,
and feel your presence on the wind.

We’re a bit of the heavens,
we’re made of the stars,
of the Power beyond us,
the cosmos and Mars.

The heavens we’re part of,
has given us birth,
we’re part of its royalty,
stardust, and earth.

Our body, a shell,
for what’s living inside;
our spirit, the power,
that’s waiting to fly.

This spirit, though royal,
our life is so brief,
we lose sight of our purpose,
while time acts like a thief.

Oft we take life for granted,
if we’d only see,
we’re a part of the stardust,
and of its majesty.

Mere words can never quite convey,
the majesty of nature’s brush;
its sunset’s vibrant flaming rays,
and pastel hues of morning’s blush.

The whitened peaks that touch the sky,
with mountain slopes that halt our breaths,
are laced with orchid grandeur high,
and lofty clouds their craigs protect.

The desert contrasts, stunning hues;
with reddish orange of sunburnt sands,
and skies that fall as azure blues,
are painted daily with those hands.

No, none can capture nature’s soul,
and recreate it’s splendid form,
for though we try we cannot know,
this Master who from dust transforms.

Your essence scribbled on paper,
it's pain purged from my heart.
From a single corner, a flame
ignites, incinerating your memory.

Slowly, the flame builds,
engulfing all pain;
the part of you that remains,
as you drop from my hand.

Silently, the flame flickers out,
and you turn to ashes, crumpled,
leaving only the black you are,
smoldering within the recesses of yesterday.

Washed clean by flame and water,
encircling a hole of death,
like the vultures you were,
now washed from sight and heart.

The world speeds past eyes unseen,
as if through empty window panes,
but I have taken time to see,
through this my camera’s lens.

The changing colors of the tree,
when autumn tips its leaves with orange;
the beauty of the shallow seas,
and majesty of the world within.

In cityscapes of the world around;
of Italy’s colossal Roman ruins,
upon each painting found on walls
of museums and hallowed halls.

I’ve captured these for aged self,
and fill my empty window panes with
proof to view a life that’s full.
recalling those sweet memories.

I’m frightened for our nation, with each new crises arise,
the fear within is palpable, and weighs us down inside,
our war against pandemic, civil rights, and border walls,
each day brings new anxiety, within our bloodied halls.

I’m frightened for our people, as each day brings mounting fear,
we see the unemployment, death, destruction, through our tears.
The protests and the burning, all remind us of the past,
hurt everyone who lives within, regardless of our “caste”.

I’m frightened for my loved ones, as we struggle through our days,
and close our doors to our past lives in an effort to stay safe,
inside our silent solitude, while others squander theirs,
without a mask to shield us from the virus that they share.

I’m frightened for tomorrow as we try our best to heal,
I do all that I can myself, to others I appeal.
Today’s our day of reckoning, whichever way we can,
we lift our voice imploring and with prayer we take our stand.

Oft leaders with their silver tongues,
of lies and graceless souls have forged,
a nation filled with bleeding souls,
we lift our voice in one accord.

Imprisoned by their self-made love,
they’ve led us to this darkest hour,
while those who watch from other lands,
know us for who we truly are.

So oft we’re blinded to ourselves,
and never see beyond the lies;
a nation split between the blind,
and those who’ve seen, in horror cry.

Enough, I cry within my heart,
with like-souls indignation rage,
our bleeding nation must replace,
the fluted pipers on our stage.