Cultivated soil
Rich in love
That first seed
Planted
We will never
Be the same

With a soil
So rich
We plant again
Our harvest
Was precious
As we reaped

This fruitful
Field of ours
Thus became
Complete
We will never
Be the same

We are a garden

Her lips, like cherries,
Strawberry is spread
throughout her hair.
Pools of Saphire
Sparkle in her large eyes.
She is budding
From childhood into beauty.
Her ******* are blooming,
Fragrant roses.
She will walk on strong legs
With widening hips
Into the domain of men,
Where they will sigh
Quietly inside, and
She will hold every gaze
As she becomes queen
To some king.

I see your sunlight
Through clouds
Before I see a sun

I smell your rain
Before I see it
Falling on flowers

I see the greening
Of leaves and grass
As you bloom, and

I wonder, what else
Do you hold out
In wonder for me

The voice of nightfall
Calls.
I listen in the dimming light.

All is softened by it.
Eyes strain.
Change is never easy.

The beauty engulfs me
As I adapt
To a new realization

With each new night.
I open
To its wonder.

Look, listen, strive, and grasp at the depth of all things.

There is a depth of sadness in you that hurts my heart,
And the lack of desire therein to seek and to find pains me.

Where there are shadows there has to be light illuminating.
Even in those depths of darkness, there are degrees of dark
Light plays with light and darkness, layer upon layer.

In music there are highs and there are lows as it flows.
Crescendos and decrescendos.  Adagio and allegro.

Fortississimo and diminuendo.  By degree pianissimo
Largo and on and on and on it goes.  Life is the same.
As all this wonder comes together there is harmony.

Plumb the unfathomable depths of the art and song of life.

It is love that makes one remember.
If no love, then what?  Then what?
No memory-

An ocean sonata washes over me
When I remember, remember you.
Devine Music-

It is love that erases pain from memory
As we dance through life.  Remember?
Soul seeking-

And, I will always have you, my love.

"Life can only be seen in relief."
That is what Leonardo said;
"One must not stop at the surface."

Dive below, for no world is small
When you open your eyes wide
To take it all in, analyze the details.

You find that there are the minute
Universes upon universes to explore.
Let the wonder take your breath

Until you have no more.  Leo did.

Your web tingles.
Movement you discern.
A shimmer of dew falls.
Perfectly still listening
You wait momentarily,
Rush forward to him
With your love bite.

It is that which drives me
It is not hardheadedness
Although it has been called such
It is, rather, a stick-to-it-ness
That guides me to never give up
A dogged determined outlook
Which tells me not to stop
Because ultimately all will be okay

In the stiff northern breeze
Leaves are blowing from the trees
And gathering at our feet.

-A lovely time of the year.

Hot chocolate in hand we climb
A pile nearby to sit and enjoy our treat.
I recite my wintery rhymes.

-A cozy scene with you.

You say they are "so sweet."
A dagger to the heart of a poet.
Oh, happy dagger your pain?  I know it.

-Reality's brutal strike!

But sitting there with you,
Even for the moment, life feels complete.
Even if you are not truly bright.

-It takes a poet to understand a poet.

Accepting the moment in which we find ourselves
Allow reason and meaning to regather as we turn away
From the unacceptable things we find we are sinking in
Reconnecting to the truthful, to the beautiful.
Aspects of goodness you saw once in others.  
Aspects you know are deeply embedded within you.

Reconnect to the good in others we know is there
To find some heart recover yours in the shining glow
Of love, of goodness, of that which you've known
Tarnish must be polished away from other heart
Cleanse own's own heart if we are to be of any use
Have the courage to live another day.  

Enjoy what you can as you can.
The healing will come from those regions
Which the core foundation remains and can never erode.
How did you learn to love?  Who initially gave you hope?
You did when you decided to love, to be loved, to reach higher.
Trust that a higher power unseen will guide and will lead.

Follow the breadcrumbs that you know were laid for you.

Pain sits with a held hand.
It is enough.

Pain rises, carries on,
It was enough.

Because it doesn't want
To perpetuate the pain

Of others.
There is always enough.

When the glass is filled
One stops.

My grief lies below the 6-foot mark.
Yet, my hope rises above that depth
Where there are many hands to hold.
I recall that hope is an anchor for the soul.
And then I come to understand and know
That I can endure almost anything.

Though things at present may look bleak.
Everything points to a brighter future.
What fuels our world's beauty, forests, fields, and gardens?
Is it, not decay, the litter layer, a waste uncultivated?
Superfluous matter feeds life and produces beauty.
"One man's trash," as they say, or animals for that fact -
Our systems are breaking down, building up, breaking down
Again.  In this churning regenerating it is giving hope.
The hope of a bright new world, before us, springs up.

So many countries are like old junkies
Who refuse to give up their favorite drug
First, the teeth drop out, and they have no bite
Until the person rots from the inside out
And become walking skeletal remains gumming

Those who are selling hate as a commodity
Do not care to know that when each person
Is lifted up, regardless of gender or race
We all float to the surface where there is
Room for all.

Will the pluses outweigh the minuses?
The plus is a feather-light ephemeral thing.
A minus can weigh many, many tons.
Of the two to fall on you, choose which one,
Even though, my friend, it is already too late.

Steel your spines,
For the days ahead.
Much damage will
Be inflicted.

For those enchanted hours,
We traveled farther than
Anyone ever could.

Steel your spine,
For the journey is impeded,
It has only slowed.
Life and love will go on.

I see you're a bit damaged.
I'm a bit damaged, true.
After all we all at times fall.
Are we not human
With imperfect flesh?
Yes, at times, our lives
And our minds are a mess,
Yes, a big old ****** wreck,
Which others cannot seem
To avert their eyes away from.
Yet, they should look inward instead
Because they are damaged, too.
So, what is a human to do
But to make a tent of love
And protect all from
The damaging rains of hate.

always commit to your poetry
write them in a book, give them a name
do not leave them like an unwanted child
a child never given a name

revise, rewrite, recommitting each time
even though you rewrite them a hundred times
name and rename, but by all means lay claim

for they are your offspring after all
you have given life, you have birthed them
they are, in the end, only ink on paper
they will not rear up and hurt you, they are you

Some of us do not function well in chaos
Some of us can function quite well
And some maintain the status quo

Some of us will rise above
Even as some will sink below
There will be hands to slap away

Even as there will be hands to hold
And as time will undoubtedly go
What, in the end, will be your story told

Even as an orange fog ascends across the land
The blossom of a precious rose continues to bloom
A bright spot growing, its scent is prophetic

"But as these things start to occur, stand up straight and
lift up your heads, because your deliverance is getting near.”
Luke 21:28

When you force your thoughts and opinions
On me you are in one sense abusing and ****** me
Your saying is effectively true “It’s my way or the highway.”
At least it is certainly true for tiny minded you.
You will soon be left alone living in your empty mind.

They are supposed to be Supreme in the land.
Yet have become like vulture gathering
Over the Constitutional carcass to pick at its bones.
They give free reign to a man, a human to rule
Above his fellow humans.  It is a lair of jackals.

"Man’s way does not belong to him.  It does not
Belong to man who is walking even to direct his step."

Have any of you ever heard of or purchased a Poet's Market?  It's a wonderful resource for serious poets.  Search for Poet's Market, the 34th edition, which is the 2021 version.  I'm not sure what the latest version is.  However, an older copy will give you much valuable information and many of the same markets out there for poetry.

There was no sunrise this morning
There was only grey and rain, yet,
You will find that I won't complain,
For I love these thunderstorms and rain.

In the distance, on the overpass,
Through the smoke-like grey
A bus drives in the drizzling rain.
It is a beautiful, dreamy scene.

The faint sun strived to shine,
Yet all that it could manage is a glow
Turning dark grey to a lighter shade
Beneath the layers of heavy clouds.

Grey has long been a favorite color, and
Blankets of it can't help but comfort, so
You will find that I won't complain,
For I love the thunderstorms and its rains

And the dreamy comfort grey can bring.

Our town’s fire had burnt for years.  
Where all could come and share
It was the very center of our town

Massive rains, it happened one day,
And the floods put out our local fire
Sad but together all sat down in the ashes

But then single shout went out
“An ember over here glows.  It grows!”
Our community began a gentle blow

At first there was only grey smoke
Yet, then a mighty red coal glowed
As flames began to grow and grow

A cheer went up all around our town
We gathered wood from every home
Put it on the fire to help it grow and glow

Soon there was a bright and steady blaze
Each one began to dance and to sing
"As one divided, we fell, in unity we rejoice!"

The moral of the story, as they say, is
To learn to know, love and trust with no delay
Work to build your community the right way

Choose the most stable of materials
From every color, tribe, and home
For that will endure as the strongest

To rebuild your fire

There are no lizard people who walk our streets
Living in the country, living in the cities, or suburbia.
There are only lizard brains.

People in this country are not eating cats and dogs
Not in the country, not in the cities, not in suburbia.
There are only those with cannibalized brains.

Ask yourself: Who has the brain worm?
Who is in mental decline?
Who among us really is Mr. & Mrs. Kook-Among-Us?

The winter bites into the flesh.
Breath that is stolen by its icy fingers,

And the night's frost hanging in the air
Forms into an iron fist as it closes in.

Her name is pressed into cracked lips
And you desire the arms of your lover

With whispers of "summer, summer."

Love can be like watching clouds.
You spot one that makes you smile, and
You feel a little excited at the same time.
You know that it can and will transform
Becoming something more than it is.
And so you watch and wait for something,
You never know what "something" might be.
As you look at changes as it grows and morphs.
But clouds also can and do swiftly fade away.
What was one thing simply becomes nothing or
Changed to something no longer recognizable,
Nor try as you might can you come to understand.
And slowly you remember this truth about clouds:
Clouds are made of water droplets or ice crystals
That floats in the sky; and love is at times mere vapor.

We strut up and down the page.
Our poems are all the rage.
Our advice is more than sage
As we prance on poetry's stage.

Everyone reads our words, now.
Parades are given in city and town
To make our offspring proud.
Such a thing could happen.  How?

Yet, everybody surely knows
For neither fancy poems nor proses
Was such glory never shown!
When with a **** I am shaken.  Woe,

For I suddenly am awakened.

Dreams are the substance
As shadows move
But the darkness
Seems never to lift

Until suddenly
With the start of clarity
It becomes beautiful poetry
And flows across the page

You are left wondering
At its ability
To gather itself
And become reality

We strut up and down the page.
Our poems are all the rage.
Our advice is more than sage
As we prance on poetry's stage.

Everyone reads our words, now.
Parades are given in city and town
To make our offspring proud.
Such a thing could happen.  How?

Yet, everybody surely knows
For neither fancy poems nor proses
Was such glory never shown!
When with a **** I am shaken.  O, woe,

For I suddenly am awakened.

We pranced about when
The world was that of men.
As ones who cannot behave,
As ones unbridled on keyboards.

We were meandering in music.
She said, "Follow my notes
As I now place them  
In the piano's throat."

We pranced within the notes.
The world was not for girls
But I could not behave as such,
A master of the musical work.

They hid my female touch,
That soft and light touch when
Only men could embrace the pen.
Yet, we feel your import, now.

He had said, "You put it down as me.
Until my heyday is all but gone,
As they desire to identify mine
Yours they will begin to find."

One night I was swimming in my bed
At least I was swimming in my head
When a great bird flapping, suddenly
Flies off the screen of my theater-eyes
Its flit was quite swift, and it was fleet
As I run after it on bright shiny streets
I realize that I am in a hospital dying
Running after the bird was me trying
To stay alive

Alt. ending:  To stay alive, kept me from dying

Ballerina clouds dance overhead
elephants, rabbits, pigs, and bears
Pirouetting here and there
with an alligator nipping at their heels.
When quickly appears giant hands that come
to gently clear them all away.
And the sun suddenly shows its face
as it comes out to play.

If I acknowledge you,
If I say your unknown name
- For unknowable it remains
Will it honor you in some way?
I stand on this shore looking out, aways
Into oceans vast from where you came.

They took you from your home
Bound into servitude, alone.
- Alone, alone echoes
Friends, family, community, gone.
How can I take you back to your home?
Can I mingle blood, bone with dirt?

My blood and your blood mingle
Could not that ancient soil mingle
- from where you came
Onto these shores which I stand on?
Will it honor you in some way?
Is it enough to make your memory stay?

Or will it too, like you fade away?

Heart tissue in space
After just one month
Shows signs of aging.

Perhaps, this indicates
That we humans should
Keep our feet on the ground.

At least metaphorically.

He is off the tracks,
Wracked!
He is an utter
******!

A hateful
Hater!
Crazier than
Crazy!

I hear the refrain
Of a distant train
Taking him to the loony-bin.
Toot that horn buddy!

I want to hear it again and again!

Remember the adoring eyes
Of some little boy or girl
Who looked up to you?

How'd that feel now that it's gone?
Knowledge is like a time machine.
With it you can change your history.

You can go back, you can get it, again.

One set of blue eyes
Were crazy and to be feared
The other set of blue eyes
Were loved and revered

Beneath the one set
Was a mouth that screamed
Beneath the other set
Was a mouth with gentle smile

The poignancy of grief
Reaches deep
Down into a soul
Seeking answers to understand,

The search to know.

This fondness for 'lonely',
Desired desolate places, in grief,
Become a symbol of utter desolation
Of a soul so hurt it resides in total ruin

Absent of humankind.

I dream my poem as if a sketch
The stroke of my pen is the first step
From which it can become painted reality

The gabber-jaws
Come for us all
Peeking through curtains
Watching us as we live
Wanting something
Juicy for certain
Something to give
And to give
Gabber-jaws seek
Anything clean
They can turn *****
To use in elevating of self
Looking for your secrets
Big or the small
The good or the bad
They do not care a wit
They'll proclaim all
Just waiting for your fall
To climb your body
And be seen by all

The spirit of the snow is in the waters
Trickling down the mighty mountains
Flowing into streams, becoming waterfalls.

The spirit of the snow rushes to the sea.
It goes forward to waters bright and shining
To be taken up for next season's snowfall.

Turtles in vast oceans eats fish from waters.
Other creatures snack on remnants of flesh.
They in turn will be eaten by larger fish.

That same ancient spirit is in all.

The spirit of the snow is in the waters
Trickling down the mighty mountains
Flowing into streams, becoming waterfalls.

The spirit of the snow rushes to the sea.
It goes forward to waters bright and shining
To be taken up for next season's snowfall.

That same spirit, ancient, and is in all.

Summer rushes heavy with rain
When it was dry we cried
- "Let it rain!"
In sudden bursts after wildfires
The ground was churning out
- Wildflowers!

Autumn gently poured color
On leaves clinging to trees
That drop.  We rake them into piles
For into these we must jump
With faces broad with smiles, until
Then winter snow starts to fall

And begins to cover all
- Down-like
Dressing the land in winter-white
Among the young
And the very young at heart
The cry goes out

"Snow angels!"  Before the spring.

1: steadfast in affection or allegiance: Loyal//a faithful friend
2: firm in adherence to promises or in observance of duty
3: given with strong assurance: Binding//a faithful promise
4: true to the facts, to a standard, or to an original// a faithful copy

Choose the quality for yourself and in others.

What do I do
When what I suspect
Is true, really is true?
Do I cut all ties with you?
Will I peer through the fog
To peek at the truth?
Or pretend through blurry eyes?

Life with them is as though
We are playing the Hokey Pokey.

You put your whole self in
But they stop playing after an arm,
A leg, or simply, perhaps, a pinky.

They think they are the gateway
To all happiness.  They deeply believe this!
Without their presence there can be nothing.

It's like waiting for Santa Clause to arrive
In the parade or at the party.

Until they grace us with their appearance
Nothing can begin.

Empathic failure does not exist in them.
They are an unfinished puzzle and one
That can never finish,

Although they feel perfect while still in box.
Life with them is like some crazy dance
Which they lead but we will never learn.