The wringer

time's hands have

wrapped around

my heart to clamp down

and wring it out

it had soaked so much up

like a dirty kitchen sponge

so much doubt in myself

so much doubt in others

filled to the brim with

sarcasm and snide comments

mere mechanisms to adapt

and deal and shrug off stress

had taken on all the alcohol,

cigarettes and other intoxicants

to turn off everything outside

just infested with words 

that were never mine, just words

others thought belonged to me

even the elusive trauma I

hadn't even realized absorbed

was adulterated in the muck

time finally popped the blister

that was my heart 

so I could bleed the past behind

Pause ability

looking out into

all the possibilities

the endless night sky

scattered with stars

all the knowledge 

enclosed in the smell 

of old books when 

you were young

the bare turned soil

in the warming April days

a glimpse into what

the subconscious needs

to unload after eyelids close

what's said or done

after lips have met and parted

the next step after 

the last one is taken

 

Throwing daggers

an ambitious fiend

by the name of Ire

carries around a 

fistful of blindfolds

he loves to use on

so many people who

are standing on the edge

his brother fiend

by the name of Scorn

carries around a

fistful of daggers

he loves to put in

the hands already

blindfolded by Ire

their sister fiend

by the name of Maim

carries around a

mouthful of lies

she loves to whisper

into the ears of those

holding daggers from Scorn

AM rains

morning rains 

in the darkened sunrise

on stilts of spikey spruce

silhouettes in the dim light

the world outside

blurred by slow running

splatter of morning rains

on dirty windshield

and side windows

a pause before the begin

a stall before the labor

a moment to take it all in

and sit with both 

disappointment and gratitude

in the morning rains

 

Let it be written

whatever has been

written on my skin

is an old story

they are words

that have passed

scars that have

outgrown their lessons

wounds that have

long since healed

whatever has been

written on my heart

is the current tale to tell

they are words 

that belong to me

people that I'll

always have a smile for

places that will

always make me tear up for

whatever has been

written on my soul

is vague yet so familiar

they are words

I have yet to understand

doors I have yet

to find the keys for

and moments that will

turn my world upside down

Oh you can

you can play the violin 

of my soul 

gliding your fingertips over 

the inside of my elbow

you can melt the entire

iceberg underneath

with a swoop of your hand

up my leg and then down

to my feet

you can u-turn at anytime

when you pass my way

you can ask me anything

I might surprise you

in what I might say

you can do all these things

and I hope even more

and I promise I will

do some things

you won't be able

to ignore

 

Vacant beats

early morning conversation

with the heart

my what it has to say

at three thirty three

what it will entertain

what fantasies it will weave

into the fabric of the sheets

gladly am I its confidant

in these wee hours

let it bellow before sunrise

the pillow sopping up

the river of tears

the regrets and the fears

and the lament over 

what was lost

or never achieved

in all those previous years

Tempest hag

the gray hand

stretches across the land

it knocks over

the trees and power poles

as an impatient reach

across the chess board

downs a pawn or knight

the tempest hag screams

upon the howling winds

her cackle booms

in the explosive thunder

the dark skies flash

when her electric hair

whips through the clouds

her multitude of arms

wreak havoc on everything

she passes over 

yet the only relief

is that she bores easily

and flies off to the horizon

with her cackle echoing

off in the distance

 

Mid-life cry

mid is only if

the intended target

is still equal to 

the amount already spent

the miles already traveled

the years already lived

the friends already known

the seeds already sown

so ninety seems possible

though not sure how plausible

and if I keep it up

my rhythm will need

a dance instructor

because I have the skip

of an afib count

the vision of

an astigmatism lens

and some bursitis swagger

that will surely give

the rest of it some style

Sync again

when the rhythm

of your heart 

beats out of sync

with your soul

it's like touring a house

once known to you

the rooms have changed

but the bones

they're still the same

you see everything

as memories bending

to current reality

the life you had lived

within those walls

seems relevant

but just out of touch

cherished but no longer

needed for this

and all you hope for

is for those beats

to fall in line

 

Spruce priest

towering spruce branches

must have scratched

and torn the sagging clouds

the stratus blanket

wrapped tightly around

the midday sun rays

and played peak-a-boo

with the Helios crown

the tiny spruce needles

took their own aspersion

as divinely ordained to 

and the sacred water 

floating through the sky

cast downward lightly

momentary in blessing

in a rain that questioned

if it really happened at all

Catch me up

I was lost 

in the eyes of the sky

I was told

if I let go you will catch me

but you already have

and I already have

for this moment isn't now

it's a distant memory

somewhere

sometime out in our futures

that we relive

over and over

until it touches these shores

we rest on in the present

and until then

I will swim in the eyes of the sky

in those oceans

looking for you

 

Fuss over fusion

the sun's the

chandelier

we've danced

under countless

times before

we've waited

to give rise

to four hands

and four feet

to make this

dance a little

more colorful

a little more

a challenge

for perhaps

we grew bored

though not sure

why that was now

really wish that

wasn't the case now

but anyhow with

two brains and

a list of lives

though we might

be surprised

we can find

the one heart

that waits in

it's own rhythm

and two souls

that have danced

under one

Wafting woo

musky perfume calling

out in the air

a silent message

with a loud voice

out in the air

resting in the heat

of the blatant sun

the serpentine scent

rides the currents

of late Spring breezes

coaxing tiny iridescent wings

luring silk paper wings

through the same currents

out in the air

in silent messages

loud and clear

 

End of Gemini

Spring catches its breath

and Summer blows in

and the young grow fat

on young tender growth

while everything new unfurls

under suns that chase

the elusive wisps of clouds

buds break and blooms burst

changing a sea of green

into the diversity divinity 

has cherished for all eternity

and it is at this moment

in the encircling year's twist

the twins link their golden arms

to escort each other out

on some sultry solstice eve

Numbered crumbs

it may be just a one off

and often it is

but then a double take

and it's there

clear as day

a little token

just something 

to bring a smile to my face

a small reminder

a bread crumb

while I'm on this path

wandering through the woods

of shady oaks

that what is out there

isn't going anywhere

it's just tarrying on a cliff

waiting to take flight

and for now

the bread crumbs suffice

 

In passing

in the sight

in the slightest

moment of that sight

the shift of the world

pulled at its own gravity

a war for knights and kings

to surrender to

in the sight

brief passing and

momentary reflection

the world turned differently

the pavement turned around

turned slowly and suddenly

to give into

the sight

June scene

the hummingbird

made sure it was seen

when it flittered around 

the corner of the house

sure it could have been

a large butterfly

though it didn't

float like a leaf

caught in the breeze

sure it could have been

a piece of litter

though it didn't 

continue its drift

caught in the breeze

its movement and

direction was intentional

a suspended and grand display

floating in the glory

of the afternoon sun

 

Opening the booty box

I've dug through

the gold and the gems

for the true treasure

something to surrender

for the heaviness of it

is too much to carry

and the gods forbid 

to have and to hold

rather to have is

to be so bold 

in the eyes of the gods

for none of it is ours

all of it will fade

and flow back to origin

to the true ownership

that only inner divinity

can attempt to understand

Twister moon

flesh burns in

the afternoon sun

to meet the cool

blue moon later

in a stormy night

the sirens may

call out three 

or even four times

while spectators in

the neighborhood gaze

upward to the flashes

but we have already

smelled the rain

and felt the thunder

in our souls

it's time to let

the wind blow through

and take all our

expectations with it

 

Overstayed welcome

a barren bed lays

in the middle 

of a potato row

rabbit feet have

beaten it down

for comfort

for protection

while drizzle

tickles the foliage

only clouds float

overhead for now

so astute ears lay

down to rest

in a nestle of fur

among potato leaves

Egyptian burdens

the stains and scars

they are ours

to wear

yet we have

worn them out

and our coats

are new and spotted

just as a fawn

napping in dappled

shade and long grass

we have carried

these irons too long

and it is time

to walk into the fire

so the metal may melt

and we can rise

from the ashes that remain

 

A nightfall float

let evening settle

let it fall around

your shoulders

let the gentle hands

of the day give way

and the shadow of

night tuck you in

let your worries

flutter into the dark

the burdens you

have carried today

undress them from

your body and close

your eyes to them all

let this moment at

the edge of wake

and the edge of sleep

hold you in its arms

and simply carry you

into your flight of rest

Fiery Blue Moon

the lovers, the twins

as May passes through

the blue moon situated

in arching Sagittarius

into a new June

a new bloom when

iris and peonies

give way to lilies

a jump through the hoop

a passing through portal

where small gentle ways

start the momentum

to growing ravenous waves

and lovers pass the torch

to the chariot and Helios glory

 

Yogurt drifts

breakfast eaten

and all that remains

an abstract painting

of drifting clouds

or raging ocean waves

the remnants of white

yogurt leaves on the

blue plastic compartment

in the lunch box

a friend gifted to you

because you had asked

for a bento box 

for your birthday one year

yet the words on top

are reassuring:

Dream big!

Solar solace

seeking sleep

in the shining rays

a lullaby sings

in the sunny days

its notes they

fly about to and fro

collecting on

the power line scale

the breeze pulls

maple hands in the sky

reaching out

for solar solace

the chariot

drives on in the fire

as dreams rise

in Summer's warm desire

 

Hold on

we can run

through those fields

the ones that

stretch off into 

the eternal sunsets

we can chase

those moments

into the night skies

where the stars

flicker to the rhythm

of the fireflies

in those fields 

we ran through

we can hold on

to each quiet word

spoken in our eyes

and pen a poem

no heart could tell

but each sunrise

could sing of

we can sleep on it

there's no rush

to our next step

no need to force

any more words

we can hold on

Our plate

I'm not reaching

for the stars

I know their story

in all its glory

resides here

within

I know that when

something shifts

in me

it shifts in you

our footsteps

are at one with 

the mirror we

dance upon

an eight legged

arachnid can't

keep up with us

and it's enough

to know we

have already won

to feast in revelry

to have drunk and ate

our fill of each other

only to find there's

never enough

 

Memorial afternoon

painted ladies

dance on golden stages

while lions roar

in green blades

fleur de lis

silky cascades set 

sweet perfume clouds

assail in the breeze

dapper fellows

dressed in red flutter

to perch to peer

to pause and flee

fuzzy jumper

stalking flies sipping

on sweaty skin

bold with silks

timid angelica

stands bold and tall

yet withholds 

its nosegay still

cries and barks

fill the air like cotton

crowded below

yet sol sails solo

Tempest rest

I smell you 

in the rain

your breath

is the steam

rising from the soil

still hot from the afternoon sun

it whispers my name

in between lightning strikes

and rolling thunder

the constant tap

of the falling raindrops

on my skin

is your heartbeat

syncing with my own

the wind flows through me

I am the tree

you are my storm

 

Wet what

whether in weathered

rain or ocean deep

or standing against

the river water rush

it drips, it drowns

it pulls it all away

it pressurizes in

its silent dark depths

and flows through all

the inner streams

it is the glass

calling for a sip

it is the fog that

blurs reality's sight

it is the ice that bites

and the steam that stings

it is the stirring in

the sky that inspires

children to see things

other than what they are

it is the vast sea that 

keeps people apart only

to incite them to

take the journey across

it is the tapping 

on the windows

or the tears from the

windows of the soul

Nice trip?

those thoughts 

tripped and fell

and were lost

to the cracks

in the sidewalk

to that world

where ants dig

out after down

pours of rain

where weed

seeds gather

and create a

micro climate

amid scorching

suns in July

those thoughts

can only be 

found again 

through use of

a screwdriver

and patience

 

Idling

the value of nothing

is priceless

yet doing nothing

is something

allowing what

will be is silencing

the will in

the great emptiness

of choosing

not to choose

it's surrendering the will

to the one who gave it

everything and anything

will always find nothing

for there is inertia in

both stillness and movement

and the void will not

last long

Trusting the process

I can feel it

every time

I'm reminded

that all of it

isn't just a

figment of

some dream

that all the

signals and

all the little

crumbs that

someone has

left along the

trail are true

they are all

guidance on

my path to you

 

Other than just now

somewhere in the outer

orbit the stardust glimmers

somehow inside you that

same stardust glimmers

sometime that stardust

will return to the outer orbit

somewhere in the peripheral

the light shines brightest

somehow the brightest light

comes from within you

sometime you will learn

to let that light shine out

somewhere just out of reach 

the sweetest music plays

somehow the sweetest music

resounds from within you

sometime everyone will hear

the sweetest music from you

somewhere, somehow

sometime other than just now

is the moment that has

been waiting forever for you

Tarot ho!

buried at the bottom

of the grave isn't

the body of her husband

but the widow weeps still

deep within the earth

rests a ship within

a glass bottle sealed

in wax sealed in soil

crystal sings from glass

that encases the sails

as three cards are pulled

hermit, magician, fool

the crystal cracks as

earth rises and winds blow

and from the sea is seen

a smile from a not so strange stranger

 

What does it spell

a green light glimmers

off bronze glazed skin

in a pool of gold stones

and blue colored gems

Mushika lays at the feet

of an elephant divine

who's flanked by tarot

and a spent cone of pine

the scales hold the cusp

of bull and twins energy

weighing the gravity

of true destiny's synergy

under the upcoming moon

in the blue archer's time

will the ship finally sail

to a dime and another dime

20/20

these two eyes

one sees from the soul

the other's vision

comes from the mind

they cross when 

they disagree with 

what's in sight

a true deliberation

of the meaning 

of any interaction

with the external world

they roll when

they are chasing after

whatever they think

may be important 

to self preservation

they wink when

they want the other

to miss something

the one wants to focus on

and they cry when

they agree 

 

Comforting thoughts

comfort can entrap

maybe not meaning to

seemingly not meaning to

but inevitably doing so

and comfort can become

way too comfortable

it can outgrow its purpose

and no longer provide ease

it's that perfect pillow

that allows the neck relaxation

to where you sleep

a little too well and

your neck gets a crook

because you didn't toss

and you sure didn't turn

that is comfort past its prime

comfort that has spoiled

or comfort that has spoiled you

from forgetting how to grow

blessed is the idiom of

just don't get too comfortable

don't want to drown in throw pillows

when your ship has already set sail

T-storm

same in essence

the tiny sparks

seen in the dark

when static shines

in fabric friction

the great energy

that rolls in sound

and flashes light

when the turning

of the earth rock

pulls at the ocean

levitating in the air

and the same spark

illuminates the sky

to behold what flows

through everything

in grandest display

a show of bolts and

music of the gods

 

In the numerical ocean

nine is the mirror

mine is the nearer

to your breath

holding the two mirrors

your birth is given

the moment I hold 

nearly as dear as

a time of two dimes

and if all this was true

I'd somehow make it through

and give into you

for you to count 

the fingers on my month

that's half of your own

and offer up to you

my crown and my throne

Mid-May distractions

those thoughts of

liliums replacing alliums

means someone may be

middle aged that is

if that someone lives

to be the ripe old age

of ninety, nine, a good

year it was to complete

high school and live

a surreal moment when

congratulations met

graduations, a time

of year for towns to

get wiped off the map

and more than a whirlwind

meets schedules for 

grandparents and estranged

relatives, it's all relative

but merely a distraction

 

Your sun sign

you are that circle

that peers through 

the drifting clouds

angry with thunder

you are that orb that

warms my flesh when

the chilling wind

blows through me

you have left your

mark upon my chest

in mid winter visits

and evening routine

you have slumbered

within my heart and

I have found a home

within your own

you will never be

alone through life

for our souls are in

ever conversation

you will always have

my offerings of peace

of joy, pleasure, strength

but most of all, love

Heads up

just above my head

hovers a swarm of gnats

notes bouncing up and

down a music scale

unheard by these ears

further out from these

little songbirds flutter

through arms of trees

and maple seeds are

flung by the breeze

propelling through air

to find their retreat

higher yet the raptor

surveying as it sails

through the gray waves

of the mirrored ocean

and my arms reach out

to wish the rise above

or the fall from earth

into whatever exists

far beyond any of this

 

Familiar dreams

getting an answer

for a question

never asked

is being in a dream

you remember

did I walk into

the corridors of

your psyche last night

is that where I was

when I killed the wolf

that had jumped the fence

or did you walk into

my hall of reflections

with the writhing alligators

being handed to the woman 

behind the desk

I'm not really sure anymore

who's responsible

for any of the thoughts

or any of the dreams

as you are always in them

and where you are

I long to linger

Green Lynx

tiny green spider

a tickle on 

my shoulder

somehow you

tagged along

I picked you up

from who knows

where

to wear as a pin

momentarily

for you have

places to go

and tinier bugs

to eat

no question

on how

no judgement

on who

just a wish

of safe travels

into the air

on silk paths

 

Blow hard

loose windows knock

on windy days

doors slam shut

on those same days

things are thrown

furniture is knocked over

on windy days

dead branches fall and

ash is blown from chimneys

on windy days

faded flowers disappear

and roots are stimulated

on windy days

dusty air is cleared

dandelion seeds travel far

and whispers fly to the stars

on windy days

Looking out the kitchen window

this connection

the tether between us

it shifts my soul

it is a furnace

burning within me

refining my being

because of this

because of us

I can no longer

belittle myself for

I wouldn't just be

belittling myself

you have shown me

my worth and beauty

by showing me your own

I feel you when

I touch my face

and my face is held

within your hands

so gentle and calm

 

Take off

jumping off this cliff

I was sure I'd fall

because that's what happens

I was confident 

you would catch me

because that's what happens

but I had forgotten

I had wings

because that's what happens

when you're told

you will fall if you jump

Time out

so many words

lost to the moment

a flock of birds

that have scattered

into the sky

when the frustration

fumes into the ether

around dusk dancing

with twigs donning new leaves

that is where the words leave

in a sigh

in a deep breath

all those words collecting

behind that mental dam

to cause a pause and retreat

to a moment to lose words

 

There when you're not there

you're in the numbers

on the clock

your whispers dance

upon my shoulder

when I'm kneeling

in the garden

you caress my face

in the breeze

when I have the window

down cruising through town

your arm is around me

while I watch my

favorite French movie

your hands are on my hips

while I'm at the stove

cooking a spinach omelet

for breakfast

your hand is warm on my chest

as I turn on my side

in bed and fall asleep

Once more

perhaps white butterflies

come back as seagulls

or better yet the small

fluffy clouds that take

shape as other things

and shift their shapes

until they disappear

it's just the same as

the perpetual march

of the flora fountain

diminishing daffodils

bow out to iris glory

for them to yield to

heavy lily perfumes

for all blooming beauty 

to yield only to even more

within the heart of

the divine and eternal

 

Son of Sun

to hold the sun

in this skin

as it reminds

us where we've come

from akin to sun

those past ones

that still burn

within our neurons

the firelight

in ancient nights

that bowed out

to new kings to

take new thrones

and reign in

these days of glory

The third of you

I followed

gladly I followed

your footsteps

through the streets

the alleys dimmed

by building shadows

and labyrinthine paths

I held in my heart

the past images

of you in a striped shirt

while we danced

at the fair

or when you looked

simply looked at me

from across the room

and I was yours

but this time

when we emerged 

into a courtyard

where the building facades

were married with vegetation

and we came to a pause

at a door and a line

to wait for entry

I felt a whimper in my chest

as you were two steps

ahead of me

but you looked back to me

held out your hand

motioned for me

and the world was heaven

as you took my hand

 

Sir Gallivant

the journeys, I know

are supposed to simply be

just that, journeys

adventures out and about

to construct that energy

those paths before us

as an ant may go out to scout

but I have it in me

to always take the dress rehearsals

so seriously

and invest it all in the moment

in the chance I want to take

and rise to look destiny

directly in the eyes

but only find sighs

and the lack of

the not yet

and reminded the journey

is the focus for now

Pastoral

green among

the golden grass remains

both goose and gosling

weave through willow

water's edge

paddling in the puddle

under the barking blackbirds

striped red with wings

off further follows

cattle calls and calves

running with young joy

the early energy 

that's spent so soon

and is overly observed

by standing smooth stones

through the years

 

What hides in grass

in the light

and shadow

at the foot 

of the spruce

a rabbit hops

between the two 

worlds to nibble

on the green grass

unknowing what

its fodder may

have been donned

with by the very ones

who cause the rabbits

to run from this

very moment as

they ride through

the scene on assailant

lawn mowers

Released

here I felt

all was lost

here my hope

all was gone

until you gave 

me the keys

to my prison 

here I thought

twas all or nothing

here I feared

the ship had sailed

until you turned

the key in the lock

of my prison cell

 

Morning view

of fish and fire

that escape from

glasses of water

to dance upon

desktops in sunlight

early in the day

where crows dance

atop the power poles

to the rhythm of robins

who watch a traffic river

so set on destination

flow to and fro

so very far below

still creeps the light

through filtered blind

so fish and fire

can make a daring escape

from the glass of water

Streamlined

we are walking

beside a stream

the water trickles

over the smooth

stones in its path

little pools form

where the stones

encircle pebbles

and golden sand

tiny fish swim

about with and

against the current

while dragonflies

float on leaves

that surrendered

to the liquid flow

we are passing by

the serenity of this

constant movement

that pauses for no

one and nothing

and just as gravity

pulls upon each

clear drop of water

so it pulls on us

at either bank of

this eternal stream

until it's determined

which gravity will

overtake the other

 

A harvest yet unknown

the ticking numbers

have come to a trickle

while Winter still fights

to stay relevant 

half way though Spring

views of fallow ground

leave a silent numbness

within the soul while

anticipation burns

for hot humid Summer

this lingering between

tests the tenacity of will

and tempts the defeat

from deep within

while time marches on

yet the promise waiting

down the road in Autumn

is more than enough mindset

to endure the chill

and float in time's river

The farewell

I let myself go

last night

I said a farewell

to this one

and my dreams

cut the cord

somewhere in my

ethereal body

blood was pooling

from within

and the physician

at my side

made me aware that

I hadn't long

I looked around at

my life

at all the things in

my house

at the sun in the trees 

along the street

at the eyes of those

I loved

and the river of grief

poured out

as the ego within

let go

 

Release

in minute yellow fields

the sun is reflected

in tiny tufts of petals

where flora flatters

the solar sentiment

where bees visit to

make it possible

for each tiny sun

to explode into a

supernova of itself

to scatter the seed

to release the future

upon it's unknown self

to drift far off and away

from anything known

to remember the lost

to find what is new

and to trust the wind

Someday

there's no rush

the thumping 

between our hearts

is slow

but steady

we both stare

at the same sunsets

and spend eternities

in their fleeting minutes

we both look

in the mirror

and watch our bodies

react to the knowing

somehow shifting

with the wind

that aligns 

grains of sands

in the Sahara

there's no need

to vanquish the time

that is the distance

between us

we both hear

the echoes of each other

laughing with friends

and our whispers

we utter into the night

there's no race

to what is already ours

 

Gated community

I asked to 

enter your dreams

and for you

to open the gate

and you delivered

though I walked

through the valley

of slot machines

the significance of it 

being a dime machine

I won at was not lost on me

but the true win

was returning to our room

where I waited

and when you walked

through the door

and your eyes met mine

I didn't hold back

then the gate slammed shut

Cloud drifts

if a cloud chooses

to shed a piece

of itself

then a piece of it

drifted downward

in a motion slow and soft

floating through sunlight

and the fingertips of the trees

where spider silks glisten

lifting my hand to catch it

it elusively flowed through

my two inner fingers

not just once but twice

and descended towards

the freshly cut grass

to nestle between the blades

 

May view

the cool breeze

didn't break through

the solar embrace

while heavy clouds

drifted overhead

the sun filtered

by mulberry branches

returned to gaze

upon a hungry cottontail

grazing upon rampion leaves

and dandelion blossoms

but the bunny must have

longed for greener pastures

and passed through 

the gape at the foot of the gate

lit by the evening sun

 

Yellow rail

movement flows

under harebell leaves

a tiny rarity

pops out at the end

of the overgrown foliage

feathers dressed in

a young fawn's fur

with the sharpest

brightest yellow beak

carried on oversized

clawed feet to easily

grasp any tedious spot

it finds in a marshy home

it pauses with a smirk

to nod an acknowledgment

of the happiness

right around the corner

Lune en scorpion

the scorpion dances

in the midnight sky

holding her glowing

face in its sharp tail

glowing petals fall

from her pale hand

shining scattered in

the celestial bowl

the scorpion holds

within its sharp claws

the fire of the future

burning in its grasp

fleur flames lay down

a path for the lovers

while grains of stars

make a bed for the sage

 

Evening attire

Sol’s sweet caress

lingers in the evening glory

while brisk breezes 

dance on the ends of hairs

stiffened by their presence

 

the dressing of night

smudges the blue hue

and shines the gems 

hidden from view 

this wave of a fine 

dark feather fan

releases the eternal above 

to humble what daylight reveals

and expand the possibilities ahead

in this starlit lunar show

where the crows go

Just maybe

maybe I'm crazy

sitting under the moon

waiting for you

maybe I've read

too many romances

and believed them too

but the moon has

told me you've read

those same romances

and that you're crazy too

maybe I'm crazy

looking in a mirror

searching for you

maybe my reflection

shows me a better

point of view

but the mirror's

told me you've looked

at that same view

and that you're crazy too

maybe I'm crazy

howling under the moon

calling for you

maybe I cry out 

too many times

thinking I'll find you

but the moon has

whispered to me

you've been calling too

and that I'm crazy for you

 

Beltane night

this fire

a herald of May

let its sparks fly

littering the grass

with dandelion gold

and red flickers

in tulip blush

its radiant glow

shining though

daffodil collars

hail the queen

this month of May

dressed in clouds

of Spring rains

and lilac blooms

reigning with scepter

of sweet lily white

and Helios light

call the Flower Moon

this first day of May

full and fresh

the lunar request

to shine down upon 

to kiss and bless

the Earth with warmth

and bloom's delight

for future's fruit

and unseen root

from this Beltane night

A flock of seagulls

the travel log 

must be extraordinary

for the seabirds

that return to the middle

and to give up

that briny shore and

salty ocean breeze

where primordial life 

once poured out of

for the middle

where one must follow

a tractor and plow

to scrounge in the earth

for whatever may crawl 

or wriggle out to sacrifice

itself for dinner

instead of plunging into

endless deep blue waves 

for a pound of silvery fish flesh

one must question

the reasoning behind

this seasoning travel

 

Letting go

a release of obligation

to further let go

of something that 

never was mine

to further surrender

to the eternal and divine

all that is kept

inside the chambers

of the heart

all that is mine

all that's divine

for it's possession

serving as deception

of that flame that never

consumes what it burns

let me walk through

that very same fire

let it consume both

my longing and desire

so I may come to rest

in what will always be

the unity of you and me

Cold wet grass

bare feet on

cold wet grass

flesh flows over

the fallen rain

hanging on each blade

the sky above echoes of

the wings of crows

as night filters through

the heavy sullen clouds

in silken petals shines

the golden sun

beacons among 

the shadows and green

bare feet grasp

the ache of wet cold

yet tarry on the lawn

 

Clearing of thistles

the sharp teethed leaves

in green rosette

of the early growth

so eager and vicious

tucked in among

the wild violet blooms

and blushing peony stems

and anywhere else

the downy seeds 

may have fallen last Fall

yet sharper blades

plunge into the earth

knightly swords plunging

into the bosom of

the scaly dragonish beast

never giving chance 

for violet silks to give rise 

to the same downy seeds

that may have fallen last Fall

In the music

this music

makes me think

of our talks

when we'd sneak

away in the dark

to get lost in

each other's words

there was none

of this silence

every little thought

would spill out

uninterrupted and

willing

sometimes my

voice would become

yours and you

would finish where

I had left off

and if we had gone

to a palm reader

I bet they wouldn't

have known whose hand

was whose

you always

gave me perspective

and I hope I

always gave you

hope

when our talks

felt like music

 

Weaving it

rain gently drips

on tulip petals

my fingertips flow down

the back of your neck

thick gray clouds

drift through the sky

your warm breath 

whispers in my ear

temps in the forties

chill the house

our eyers linger

within their gaze

water beads on 

the roof of the car

your laughter feels

like home

the rain sounds

an applause on the roof

we get lost without

going anywhere

Some October eve

we tarry here

at the gate

on the threshold

at the brink 

of a moment 

we have looked at

over and over again

attempting to figure out

the when and where

for the thunder in

our chests knows the why

and the who

well that's me and you

as for the what

well we need some wonder

but the first two

are the vital keys to the gate

and the how we'll leave to Fate

 

Molehills lost

he blindfolded me

and walked me

through the mountains

my trust was in

his guidance

and his trust was

in my following

and through obeying

our trust in each other

the mountains were

merely a gravel path

in a meadow

Jungles

a path is sometimes

not what it seems

and much of the time

that can only be found

once it has been traveled

then does one regret

that time spent to do so

traveling a path not meant

for them in the first place

or perhaps it always was

trudging through muddy

emotions makes a burden

heavy to the most driven

of a courageous heart

but alas it has to be done

the path can seem impassible

at times, so dark and twisted

or at times so very pleasing

when the parasitic hitchhikers

go unseen under loose attire

most difficult is when a path

plainly leads one off and away

from their heart's longing for 

but comfort in this that one only

needs to bushwhack elsewhere

 

Damn the ebbing

these constant waves

I know the reason now

the desert always returns

after the heaviest downpour

after my hand pushes through

to almost reach out and touch you

everything then withdraws

everything retreats

it all pulls in

within

and then blooms

once again, very slowly

into the garden we have known

into the splendor of the sun we share

into the moments we have longed to know

to again slowly fade from our view

trying to make a memory of you

when you were there so real

so present, so very true

burning deep within

until the wave...

Cardinal

he whispers in

a presence alight

in the reddest ember

to catch any eye

amid the blackbirds

the mask he wears

gives rise to his air

and dashing spirit

he's a ruby rose

that has found 

lightning essence

and the vehicle

in which to fulfill

his wish for flight

 

Supplication

let me tremble

when your hands

touch my face

let the divinity 

of you meet the

divinity within me

may we melt as wax

that carries the flame

into the endless night

may our heads rest

on each other's chests

listening to our drum

let us reach through

the mirror of our souls

to whisper our desires

let your burden be

upon my shoulders

may my eyes always

rest on your presence

may our heart ever

beat in its own time

let your blue flow

into my verdant green

and let your thoughts

slowly dance with mine

Reflecting

I watched you

walk down the hall

past me

your eyes glanced

my way

and the slight breeze

you stirred up as you

went by stirred me

it was all a reflection

as perfect as the ones

that stood in the glass

behind me

in that moment 

as you passed by me

in another place

in another time

 

Sunning the bull

always a push

and pull in this

for after I reached

outward all signs

are pointing inward

but the glimpses

I have been given

the very thought

of your laugh at

something I've said

makes my soul warm

visions have returned

turning inward into

the halls of our heart

all the bones of our

first conversations

yeah they remain

but the evolution 

well it continues until...

Enough said of bread

there's bread

in the back yard

again

little fluttery flights

getting too caught up

in their bird brain

drama

it was just one

the one bird who

thought,

"I don't give a flock"

and took off with

the chunk of bread

for itself

it was chased down

over my back yard

where fear took

over flight 

and bombs away

another bread crust

bites the dust

 

Tricky kits

I leave these little

good luck charms

in the garden

on all fours

and intact

instead of on keychains

though the price

may be a cherry bush

decapitated tulip or

nibbled foliage throughout

I've found their

tricks are much better

than any breakfast cereal

When our eyes meet

sometimes the silence

sums it all up

sure the small talk chatter

is the energy of the stream

flowing over the rocks

so many noises to expel

into the otherwise void

the deep conversations

is the energy of the waves

that assuredly come

and go as aquatic cymbals

for the shore to strike

but stepping back from

these flows of emotions

inland and inward 

the silence awakens 

and settles between two

sets of eyes that need

nothing more to do

than to soak in the silence

 

Split dream soup

there was an overgrown

field where he stalked

he was always distant

and I knew I had to keep

him exactly in the distance

I couldn't let him closer

I couldn't let him get by

and my presence was enough

the dilapidated house

was good enough for

a meager existence that

was all that could be

afforded in the sunset

of the couple's lives

and somehow no roof

was good enough to

let the light shine in

if only for a few more

the overgrown field returned

and yes, off in the distance

beyond the goose which might

have been thinking the same

I just need to keep him away

and my presence is enough

Jumper cables

it was a simple moment

where the mis in misled

was more of a hit than a miss

and the motivation for us

was found in helping another

the universe asked not once

but twice for me to show up

I provided help not because

that's a Good Samaritan's duty

but because it was the whole point

sure my goal was something else

it was hopefully a meeting of us

but I followed regardless

and was there nonetheless

in the intention of connection

and that was fulfilled and I...

I was fully content in the lesson

 

Damn it

your voice I

heard clearly

your face I

saw clearly

your breath I

felt clearly

but in the dawn

your voice faded

your face vanished

your breath silenced

and clearly became

something to forget

House of extractions

I knew her once

and found her

in a secluded home

tucked in the rolling

hills of the plains

I knew what she was

and her kiss came

as a great surprise

I wondered how she

could overcome

her primal instinct

and resist the impulse

to bite instead

her guests were many

and just as she was

and vanity seemed

to be the only topic

of their conversations

I found myself somewhat

giving freely what they

wanted from me as they

took it from my neck

with a syringe again

and again in my agony

a clear liquid they extracted

in between my shrieks

but what else should 

I had expected in 

the company of vampires

 

North from Woodlawn

vulture circles emerge

and waltz across

the morning sky

they have waited

for the sun's glory

to have faded

from the clouds

these obsidian aviators

are methodical in

their morning maneuvers

more so than their smaller

cawing counterparts

who take more joy

in their chaotic spontaneity

Ten ten

will it be too cold

the first part of October

will the sun be out

or will the clouds

crowd the sky

will I still melt

when your hand

reaches my shoulder

in the cool Autumn air

will you still ask

what we've rehearsed

in endless winter nights

will the trees have held tight

to their falling glory

will you also hold me tight

oh these stupid questions

 

A mid-April night

my heart never

belonged to me

it was always

meant for you

my soul has

outpoured all

the beautiful words

that have been

said between us

in the silent moments

of the night

those words escape me

like sand falling

through my fingers

but I know I will

find them again

when I look

into your eyes

And then there are tools

so many distractions

these clowns that

wear masks

who truly are

the teachers you

search for

and they may show

you the way of

what to do

or the way of 

what not to do

either way they

are there to show

you the way

and whatever trinkets

they are selling

in the long run

you will find

they become the tools

you will need 

to learn that the only

tool you will ever need

is your own heart

 

Alarmed clock

there's something

to be said

about being roused

from sleep

at 6:30 am on a 

Sunday morning

from a voice

that simply says,

"Hey!"

it pulls you from

possibly touring

a collection of items

you may have

once possessed

in a former life

or wipes away

visions of your grandparents

who came back

after their funeral

because though that

may have been

a big event for them

that wasn't all there

was for them

they have more lessons

to teach you

but instead that voice

echoes through your

ears as you lay awake

suspended in not knowing 

who exactly just said,

"Hey!"

Hail to pay

pea-sized hail falls

sounds worse than it is

just like the silence

that echoes between us

sounds so much worse

than it actually is

it's not a test

that we can endure

it's not a punishment

no wrong has been done

just a shift in it all

in the connection

maybe even to bring

the inner out

to pull the moisture

out of the clouds

and shift the rain

to pea-sized hail