As I stand beneath
this beautiful tree
I ask it's limbs
to hug me tender
and raise me up
so that I may see
the color of Autumn
in all it's splendor

He came to study the brooding skies,
Of blues and pewter grays,
Before they bowed and curtsied,
To the lighter, warmer days
And paint emerging scenes of Spring,
With Winter in its shadows,
Among the empty, amber fields,
Sprouting into blissful meadows,
Of saving grace

Beware of the employment of hate
For there is no target
unworthy of it's attention
and it abides by no rules
of common decency or sense

Carried by the charged breath
of an ever expanding universe
Time flies into tomorrow
on the wings of itself

Maybe it’s those
closed pores in your heart
you are mistaking
for a few slivers of light
from God

The world cares not
how much of it's weight
you are willing to carry

So many
live as prisoners
behind bars
made of the cold steel of hate
Dead men walking
with hearts too hardened
to grant reprieves

Where my world
meets their world
I caught a glimpse today
A precious scene
of does and fawns
and the fawns had come to play
Behind my kitchen window
I dared not make a sound
But then, I think they noticed me
and were gone in leaps and bounds

Maybe happiness is gratitude
That I’m not anywhere but here
Completely in the moment
With little doubt or fear
Wearing a warm and gentle smile
That rides in with the wind
Asking the child I thought was gone
To come out and play again

like
a monk’s brilliant mosaic
of colored sand
inspired by God
and then gone
with the wave of his hand
art may capture one
of beauty’s glorious
but fleeting moments
and ease the pain
of its stubborn impermanence

Nothing but the vastness
of it’s own empty space
for the mind
that so desperately
searches for words

I have an eye
for sunsets in the sky
A feeling for a breeze
that rustles through the trees
An ear for the tears
falling from a rain
and the silence on a casual stroll
down a country lane

The songs of birds
The morning mist
The cool, wet air
gently kissed
by the breaking sun
Before losers lose
and winners win
Before all the madness
can begin
the battle for the day
is all but won

Wise man say
the worth of a day
and the serene of between
it's highs and lows
lies not in what one does
for oneself
but, lies in what one
does for others

Why do we have
these crosses to bear?
Do our woes not fit us
like the clothes
that we wear?
We often ask God
"Could it be
I can’t see?”
and then the epiphany
It might just be me

I'd like to hear Mozart
from the starlings in Vienna
Then pull them from the azure
and put them into my piano

I'd like to see the cypress trees
waving in the wind
Pleading for my intention
to sketch them once again

Paint the weathered boats of Delft
along its waterway
Fill a mural with peasant girls
sleeping in the hay

When it's time to awaken
from this pleasant reverie
I'll need to take a step towards earth
and return to reality

She appears along the avenue
In Victorian elegance
Her feet bouncing beneath her skirt
As if itching for a dance
She twirls her lacy parasol
High into the air
Moves across a crowded walk
As if no one else was there
May dear sweet Eliza-Doo
Woven in the fabric of her time
I find myself an unhappy man
Living without her in mine

I beseech thee dream weaver
For tomorrow's sake
May you spin no frightful yarn
that may force by bed awake
Grant me this one request
of a good night's sleep
So, when I rise, I'll be my best
from slumber long and deep

Imagine lying
in a lush green field
cradled within an ancient glen
Timeless is
the still life portrait
of what the gods
were like back then

Oh, we who remain
betrothed to faith
yet, always manage to falter
If truth be known
we get cold feet
and leave it at the alter

On the inside
of the window pane
I hear the tapping
of a summer rain
It cools the fire
of the noonday sun
And all is still
until it’s done

If there is but one hour
of lighthearted ease
And within that hour
a moment's peace
How do I think ill of the day
and dismiss myself
from among the grateful?

So many rain clouds
One for each parade
Marching down
the streets of town
where smiles are unmade

I float on a sea
of indigestible unease
riding the quells
of a roller coaster in hell
making deals with the fears
I cannot appease

Back in the days
of puppies and kittens
When my pages were full
Of stories unwritten
I’d begin each day
with my very best friend
chasing the sun
until the day’s end
But, as time wears on
and I get older
As I slow down
and the wind grows colder
I always remember
What I had been told
“You’re a short time young
and a long time old”

If only for a day
I could be a leaf
a leaf that rides an Autumn wind
from a orange colored tree top
to a meandering stream of a Fall-bitten mountain side
adrift and yet content
with the random nature of the world

He thought he was
a child of nature
Loving all creatures
you see
He couldn’t believe
what had just occurred
“How could this happen to me?”

As he sat in the road
all ******
talking to the EMT
he suspected
it was a woodpecker
that had mistaken his head
for a tree!

May the glorious sun
be the face of god
and all it’s light his robe
as he takes
a morning stroll
across this sleepy globe

Curse this hat upon my head
For it can’t keep the sun at bay
It won’t shield my eyes
From all the bugs that fly
And so many come my way
**** all the goo in my hands
I think that I would understand
If the boss man could not stand
My act for another day

How are these colors of Autumn
possibly described by words?
It is like God speaking to us
through a prism of light
unique to the day
A special painting
that like a footprint in the sand
is erased by an evening tide
but never in our imaginations or our memories

Ambling through lives
Thirsting for meaning that seems
To turn to dust
Searching for a selfless direction
That may lead to all that inspires us

Tempted by a dark flame
We fear will consume our souls
In a desperate need of the salvation
Calling to us
From one side to the other
We walk a bridge of fire

What in God’s name
has this sorry world done?
When the looks of such misery
are on faces so young
When the agents of darkness
walk around in the sun
When no one will say it
but the evil has won
What has the world come to?
What has it done?

Picture lying
in a lush green field
cradled within an ancient glen
Boundless is your imagination
of where the gods lived back then

Music is a language
spoken by so few
yet, inspires so many
To be not deaf
and not hear it
would be a cruel twist
of irony

Mindful to tread
ever so lightly
that fertile ground
we visit nightly
Careful now
it’s takes so little
to awaken adrift
in sweat and spittle
The pleasant dream
betrays yet again
hurling the psyche
into a den
of frightening, blood-thirsty nightmares

**** those dreadful wounds
for which there are nary enough
long cries
and sleepless nights to ease
May we never be cut so deep
as to bleed such unjust tears of sadness

Again
he dreamt of Anna
at the back of a line
in the wind and the cold
In her hand
A bandana
begging for food
that could not be sold

They hid in the woods
by a roadway
all huddled together
on that cold winter's day
Nothing but silence
wedged between them
until they came
to chase them away

There's been nothing
but years of searching
ever since that awful day
and no matter
how often he asks her
his beloved sister
has nothing to say

I stand in a field
of cold stillness
Amidst it’s golden strands
I raise my arms
to hold the sun’s face
so warmly in my hands

Acts of kindness
and generosity
are often cloaked
in anonymity

To lighten the load
of too solemn a day
blow kisses with laughter
to chase it away
And if the blues
don’t want to stay
then it ain’t no more
than heaven

It’s cold and it’s daybreak
and he’s in his chair again
Alone on an empty porch
No thought to where he’s been
He begins this drunken pantomime
with a violin and bow
singing this haunting melody
feeling mighty low

“Why did she leave me?”
“Whatever did I do?”

But, he knows all too well
his story's a bit untrue
She did not abandon him
because she never was
“Better to have loved and lost
than to do what a loser does"
As the sun completes it’s rise
he decides to go to bed
“Folks, I’m here all **** week”
Then bangs the door into his head

One lonely cornstalk
in a dying field
surrounded by casualties
but, this one will not yield

The sun that was so good to them
had turned into a foe
the draught had taken most of them
but, this one will not go

One stubborn stalk of corn
standing all alone
" you live on
when all are gone”
the farmer sadly moaned

Wake up
in the cold rain
of a dark alley
to feel the desperate
nature of existence

Dreams are to escape
The laws of physics
They’re the playgrounds of analysts, psychics, and mystics
Ethereal visions of a make- believe earth
But in the end
We’re unsure of their worth

I want to go….
Where I can render harmless
The aftershocks of a quaking world

Where I can sweat in warm night air
Filled with a late summer’s peace
Ride on mattresses made of puffy white clouds
That slowly float past a bright harvest moon

Where I can pleasantly reel in the past
Smile at the younger version of myself
and forgive

A thought
for a bleak and dreary day
When darkness comes
and wants to play
A glimpse of people
hand in hand
Linking smiles
across the land
A string of lights
wrapped around the world

Like a Christmas tree

In the shadow of fear
May my strength of heart
Not let death’s foul breath
Keep me apart
From the hope of my passing
That I go unharmed
To the loving hospitality
Of God’s open arms

As we awaken
and rise for the day
we prepare to go
our separate ways
This morning I feel
the need to say
you are my dearest
and I’ll miss you today

The serenity of wheat
sways in the sun so sweet
I walk in peace
on the golden fleece
that bends beneath my feet
I stand next to a tree
and as far as I can see
this kiss of gold
‘spite what I’m told
is exclusively for me

Walking through a field
lush with wildflowers
Making my way
towards a warm setting sun
A vision of death
or a flight of fantasy
Only time
will tell which one