our love making
early this morning
was slow and exquisite
and made me think of moss
all green verdancy and
softness,
gently enveloping moistness

always close to water
the ultimate source of life
simple but enduring

green earth velveteen
a soft place to fall

but then....
it may have just been
the feel of your soft scratchy
stubble
against the tender skin of
my inner thigh

either way....
thinking on it now
arouses me....again.
again... again.....
                           moss

Wizened, like the mountain ridges in the west,
you gazed across the desk at me, rheumy eyes unblinking,
and asked me what I wanted from life

When I answered, the blue opacity of your gaze seemed to sharpen
and pierce my soul
you clasped your hands comfortably, and rolled your ancient shoulders back
- trees rippled in the ridges of your crisply pressed shirt -
and you told me, with your well-worn voice, that you would exert every effort
to give me all the tools I needed to succeed

as you blinked, our conference ended, like the sun had gone down
I was free to leave, but lingered
your short white hair crested your brow like a fresh snowcap, you
had ravines beside your eyes, and smiled like a canyon
so I turned to go

And it occurred to me, as I left the inclines of your presence for
the flat horizons of my daily life, that I
would like to have the same peace that flowed
through your being,
it would be a healthy rain to the desert of my soul.

I longed to have the verdancy that you had - you,
forty years my senior; you put my youth to shame
but soon you would be my teacher, and
you would not let me go to waste

on the opposite side of
the world
the green budded fingernails
of the frangipani unfurl
to their lush full verdancy

all the flowers stand tall
to see the sun
and open coloured arms
for a full-scented hug

the birds are all a twitter
with nursery nests
and sqeaking chirking beaks
and in the pond small rafts of gelatinous eggs are watched over by frogs

there is that wonderful
tang of warm salt and
eucalypt wafting inthe breeze

autumn for us down
under just a pleasant
memory...
here we now look forward
to the summer sun..

I swim in verdancy on my back; let the greyness wash my face
Atop the top of the toppest valley

Only half of me is here; I am only half here
Inhale, Exhale

I Take in the masterpiece above me; branches intertwining
People could learn from the trees

On my left I have Nothing; Nothing sticks around
Until he grew restless and took the path on my right

As my lids fall in tire; the Earth embraces me in sweet arms
Lying in my bed of worries

The wind so tender, so dear, kneels down to meet my cheek
And the leaves mutter in joy

When Nothing goes right; I find solace in trees
Let myself drown in the shade of natural love.

And patiently I wait for the sun to wake up
to illuminate the masterpiece

in the corner of my left eye
i feel the blooming  of
a migraine begin
occluding all reason

nailing pain to my brain
and causing civility to flee before the tornado wrath
of assualted sysnapses
time becomes distorted
like algea in a summer pond
the verdancy of the ache
looks pretty
yet underneath i suffocate

the time of darkness
begins...
to bloom like a carrion flower....

I want to bring you high upon a mountaintop
to rest in the clouds themselves
and look out over the valley,
a sweep of Creation for us alone.
By night we will nest in the warmth of knowing
and belonging.

But here you remain.

Do you not wish to awaken to God's verdancy?
Breathe the very breath of the earth?

Tell me. I do not understand.

Thursday

week has slo~mo’ed, edged on, visitors gone,
two and half rain days, but a mere coincidence (?),
it’s appearance, their concomitant dis-appearance,
inclemency has kept us closeted and cozily, but not a-lonely,
for the world’s tumult~tilting-plane distracting enough,
its axis! seems more than a few degrees a-kilter,
(lively, lovely word, rarely used), and since when have I awoken with
mine eyes have seen the dripping rhymes, for my germanic-jewish
is pretty prosaic, my musings confined to a middle-of -the-night “thingie,” but here and hear I am jingling away in anticipation of a rain-all-day situation, and frankly, a tad less political west wing,
King Lear worthy drama, polarizing, thee-ate-her, might incentivize an exciting trip to the emerald isle’s solitary gas station and IGA supermarket (weekend supplies for the newest arriving morrow-guest-mongers,) for sure-as-right-as-rain-it-will-be-ceasing,
they will be soon enough be landing by F-Day (3) ferry, on the morrow, with their own Shakespearean screenplay, and many compliments on the verdancy (a previous never employed actor’s verbosity) of our tree encased, oak surrounded, tiny cottage hideaway, where we are all the world’s a stage, and we, the designated locked down, can be all ~ heavenly host, wait staff, sommeliers, and most importantly, their captive audience members…for their small life’s litle newest pieces, require us to be fully updated…

enough folderol! first glance reveals wet everything, windows moisture painted; and a halfway penetrable fog  means incautious
summer drivers will be out mise en vigueur, french for ‘in force’, testing their luck upon our ****, curvaceous, ample bosomed hilllock roads, (stop),  excited by their chance to prove their stupid mettle…and their auto’s european superior brakes & suspension…

so the six am borderline of unofficial time division has passed and it is still Thursday, still wet, fog-ever-so-light touch lifting, and the challenges of writing a good piece of poem, yet sizzling in the mind’s frying pan, is still a long haul walk down the creaky corridor to the
just-kitchen ing ya, and the bed’s seductive dulcets.
singing why not “Stay (just a little bit longer”) (1)…

thus throughly convinced, bury dreams of Javanese Enlightenment within the seducing drowsed plumpness of my pillow
unti they arrive in force, but that is a different story already written…(2)

<>

Stay… ah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me that you're going to
… Now your daddy don't mind
And your mommy don't mind
If we have another dance, yeah
Just one more, one more time
… Oh, won't you stay, just a little bit longer
Please let me hear
You say that you will, say you will
… Won't you place your sweet lips to mine
Won't you say you love me all the time
… oh, yeah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me you're going to
… Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), ooh, la-de-da
Come on, come on, come on (stay), my, my, my, my

Outside the darkness
coiling and cold;
Inside - the garden,
balming and gold.

Sheer walls of obsidian
no structure was higher
Gleam’d black and unyielding
To petrify endless chatt’ring liars

Through dew dappled verdancy
sweet laughter sings soft in the air
bucolic days drifting, hazy and lazy
(ignoring the shadows that aren't really there)

From thunderous flashing torrent
Plucked from the devil’s maw
Under the Aegis of Truth
you can’t hurt me anymore

With warmth, sun, soothing rain
We sow ageless golden seed
From when you stopped mattering -
is when I was freed.

flaunting verbiage,
with a monkish tint,
hungry and spent.
a mild breath scent, emanating herb and taciturnity.
trundling forthward, draped in a certain verdancy,
certainly burdened with this flirtatiously unhinged uncertainty.
no longer careening, bundling kindling,
suffering kinship, indexing my woolgathering,
to begin the inner mending, expenditure now dwindling.
ontologically building, a great garden in sentience, ascending,
extentless, heaven, now, then, ever present.

sulphur rose petals
tumble in defiance of
the ghost breath breeze
suburban chintz fragments
red browns and
stained glass lead black
waltz together

shameless trees refuse
naturally dutiful blushes
cover their nakedness
with still dull echoes
of verdancy

Funa bask in the river
shadows beneath
what distortions
vague weather weaves

somehow my footsteps
seem too heavy