Posed like the cool hand man, the sax man swings jazz,
playing round the city streets at night.
In search of the real thing, don't he know it's gone - - -
far out of sight.
Like the bane of the taps of a blind man's cane
the sax trills tap the glass down avenues past
in a search all on its syncopated way.
Inside voyeurs packed tight,
****** of souls search the elusive night.
In a dream scape vision bathed in neon blurred light.
Intoxicating lipstick spread, the tender trap distracts.
A mirage of the real thing beguiles.  Tap tap tap - - -
Lost loves' lonesome embrace mimics a charade duet.
Plays the sax man at night. Neophyte,
have you found the real thing yet?

P. Suess

Upon a scalloped splintered throne,
room enough for skin and bone,
beneath a clinging lead cloak dwells
a heart beating forth
from shadows' darkened well.

Here reigns low the sound of
melancholy's black velvet bell
whose tone sustains the torment
of a silent soul's refrain:
a munted, numbing, muted theme,
despair's  plangent  lament.

This reverie of subtle force
depriving hope's desire
presses mournful tears of self-defeat---
leaving sallow days of same and sorrow,
draining dreams of evermorrow.

P. Suess

Where does the bird hold up the sky?
Where time tells wisdom to the sun.
Where mystic songs strike off the clouds---
With obscure varied cryptic sounds.
Here a winged celestial voice sings.
The watchers' vigil there begins.
While echoed color and feathered mysteries found.
With a wisp they disappear.
The watcher is the volunteer.
A challenge fair remains the game,
forever novice made again.
Within this temporal realm of glory.
Below the sky held high and bright.
This novel fate befalls each flight.

P. Suess

I must face the fear
and coming sorrow
and with the loss, embrace
and endure this journey
into fate's tumult braced.

Yet I fear
and still I fear
too soon this coming sorrow
too soon to dance alone
with shadows of those
no longer there.

P. Suess

Donning autumn's royal colored cloak
and crown bedight---
Adorned with fallen glowing leaves
as titian hair and flaxen husks
wove with wheats englodened sheaves.

Softened ochred gourds
anchor draggled rooted vines
beneath the wind strewn hay.
The shifting sun of shortened days,
The fading light and mist and shades of grey---
Embrace the seasoned autumn,
spiced with wisdom's sage.

P. Suess

One warm summer evening, early,
Resting in the cosmos weary
To kip upon a pillowed disk
Within corollas white and blue
Enfolded in one satin petal
Clutching to its gold dust revenue

A bee, black and yellow, sleeping,
Swaying on cosmo's slender stem
Dreaming, gliding with wings abuzz
Dreaming of its flowers tended
Dreaming of many more to come
Dreaming of its royal ambered home
Now so far far away

P. Suess