WHAT IS LEFT?

When hopes have taken flight
When love is ever out of sight
What is left?

When the singer ceases to sing
When music no longer does ring
What is left?

When the night is a bad dream
When the moon and stars no longer gleam
What is left?

When the garden holds no flowers
When tears flow like autumn showers
What is left?

When the sea murmurs as in pain
When the birds sing not again
What is left?

When the fields are but weeds
When the forlorn heart bleeds
What is left?

When you walk away
That cold winter day
What is left?

When I am old and weary
I shall tell my story
Nothing is left.

SEASHELLS

Seashells
Humble shells of the sea
Each seems to be still alive and staring at me
In its matchless symmetry-
Like the wondrous beauty of a painting
A tender poem written with poignancy
Not of life’s sorrows but joys
For celebration –each is like a happy Mozartian symphony
Such perfection in a tiny manifestation
Natura in minimis maxima-
The envy of  Michelangelo or Da Vinci
Seashells—nature’s glorious gifts by far.

Seashells
Always remind me of happy childhood days
Lucky finds—spotted often in half -buried golden sand
Proudly displayed in a jar---I won every classmate’s praise.

Seashells
Tell of the sea’s unknown stories
Events that had stretched through millions of centuries
When you spot one on the shore, readily
Pick it up as a treasure----contemplate upon its profound mystery.

RESURRECTION

No more
no more of the past
that is sleeping in the dust
now, now
is the moment that changes all
doubts dissolve into oblivion
all is crystal-clear
the heart is at perfect rest
remembering is a dumb act
forgetting is wisdom
he who has conquered memory
is the  ultimate victor
vincit qui se vincit

this is a new day
a new world
no more regret
no more pain

this is my resurrection
I have found
my true voice at last

Release Me
Haunting Memories
Just let me be
Keep lingering around
Like I live in a ghost town
Feel goosebumps on my neck
Turn around to check
Like words I need to get to pen
These memories haunt from within
What's gone is gone
What's done is done
Cannot make it right
So release me into the night

there's a peace rising
against the horizon and
it bathes the ground in gold-
and i'm breathing in deep
beside you and the air is
lavender-kissed.

TO ALL POETS

Each of us is different
yet we are (bottom-line)
the same
true to self
that's what really  matters
words are the joys and tears of our heart
none can stop them--never, ever

Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers