"It is like a wildfire that you cannot stop",
Burning all around, you in the middle,
Until all is burned down.

You stand looking out, wondering

How you made it through,
Made it out only slightly singed.
Life is a wildfire that you cannot stop.

Large white wings flapping
Carried the creature away
Into the bright mist of morning.

A thousand feelings rush in.
Summer rains have faded
To autumn, then winter.

A thousand feelings
Flung like cards being played
Some hard, some soft.

Was the bird soft or hard?
The mist was soft hanging there.
The morning, like many, was hard.

The weight of things, so like life.

Your black heart will rot in your chest
And worms will eat your body;
Your name will be whispered in hushed tones
By mouths too ashamed to give it full voice.

Outside my window
Dark wings go flitting by
Like a shadowy great hand
I sit looking out, and inside I cry
A darkness is growing in this land
From the evil of men

I will build a castle from the rubble of love
And send out invitations on the wings of doves
Encouraging all to come

Come to share in this banquet so richly prepared
Come enjoy joyful gatherings beyond all compare
In this castle that Love has built

He comes to visit; I never know when.
He enters and takes me by the hand.
He leads me where I may not know
But I do not fight it as onwards we go.
Sometimes we travel fast, sometimes slow.
At times it is amazing, other times so-so.
My man, Muse is my dearest friend.

Paint the night sky
With my breath
With my soul

Canvass of black velvet
Crystalline drops of mist
An essence eked

Paint the black velvet
**** in
My soul

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?

Though racked and broken,
Bringing words of wisdom spoken
Like a prophet crying out in the wilderness.

With a reputation for cleverness, lo,
Thought to be vexatious by some, numb,
Carry on in a wasteland, with hums slow.

Hail the great lyric poets, those actual,
For the rhythms of an old poet, practical,
Are somewhat freer, more natural,

And filled with absolute truths.

With death comes a release.
No, I do not mean for the dead, but for the living.
The living can love more fully in their memories,

letting pain go.  

Like cream which rises in fresh warm, white milk
The seconds, moments, hours, days, months, years
That was filled with joy rise to the top of our thoughts,

And we have that release of bitterness, pain, anger,
Now settled to the very bottom or are discarded completely.
Thus, it leaves an uncomfortable dissonance.

We are
As ancient forests
Petrified through time
Flesh traded for minerals
Minerals turned into stone
We stand firm with no life
Isolated in our inability
To reach one another
We stand together
Yet alone hardhearted

For the sake of good fun
She came along, and
You decided she would be
A sort of a plaything
Slipped onto a keyring
And fondled when bored

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.

Droplets of red
Splatter across
The room
Pooling into puddles
O, the horrors
A messy scene
As I slice into

The strawberries

Every day
Is special
When you
Love.

for Kathrine
She loved every season, getting all that each had to offer.
Sunbonnet on her head, she would venture out into the hot summer garden;

Waiting for the change that would allow pumpkin, turnips,
and greens to be grown in the fall

When the sun would soften and the turning trees begin to feel the coolness.

Then, into the mellowed golden rows she would venture
hoping to gather what summer may have left behind.

Later, in the sharp chill of winter, she would stand in the fallow field
planning out each row and path to spring planting;

Dreaming of abundance.

She was just crazy enough
To compliment his CRAZY.
They had a decades-long love
Which did not mean devoid of drama
And the pain and suffering drama brings.
Yet they were safe and secure
Within their own crazy kind of love.
That in itself, I always found to be crazy.

I love you beyond the moon
Beyond the stars

Beyond all reason
Beyond any metaphor

Which I could create
And then I love you still

Beyond the body and mind
Limits set not by man, but God

On and on, and yet more
Beyond time, tide, shores

Then, my darling, I love you
Beyond these boundaries

And back again.

Should an army of emotions
Set up a camp against me
My heart will not fear
Though war break out against me
Even then, I will not fear
My confidence is a stronghold
When you are near.

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.

A feather is not a bird.
A rock is not a mountain.

A petal is not a flower.
A seed is not a garden.

The true nature of desire
Is not "want" but "need."

"It is like a wildfire that you cannot stop",
Burning all around, you in the middle,
Until all is burned down.
You stand looking out, wondering
How you made it through,
Made it out only slightly singed.
Life is a wildfire that you cannot stop.

The scent of my love
Was rose and sandalwood.
Yours was patchouli,
Which you rubbed into
Your mustache and beard.
And with each kiss
We created our perfume,
The Scent of Our Love.

You stand
Gathered together,
The lines of your branches,
The ink of your markings
Standing out.
On your white paper
I will fill your book
With beautiful poetry.

Echo, I cry out
Echo, my words bounce back
Echo, a controlled narrative

In this vast echo chamber
I cry out the words I want to hear.
Then I no longer hear the truths

Which causes me to fear.

The facts become a strange thing
As truth has flown on fragile wings
And all sound reason with it.

When a tree falls in the forest
And there is no one there to hear
Will it echo in the mountains or valley?

Sound, sound, sound on through time?

If no one is to lie against my chest, listening to its patter,
Does my heart really beat at all?  Beat at all, at all, at all.
Or are these things mere echoes throughout time

Without sounds?

Spires of dreams, space,
Time, to see beyond the seen,
A fourth dimension,
Daily we take a quantum leap.
Spacetime is just a mathematical object.
Who can escape the hanging pendulum?
Back and forth it and we go.
Does time flow at different rates
At different points in space?
Time relative to beyond the known,
General relativity predicts
What is yet unpredictable.
Is life itself just a mathematical theory?
In spires of dreams all is possible.

Inspired by Marc Morais' comments on his poem, Lily and Moon

The night hovered, a dark sheet of a night.
The moon spotlit my terrace despite.

One flower-face exceptionally bright
Turns upwards towards the light.

Shyly glancing up at such a great height
We in glorious slender stay in our respite,

And wrap this memory like a cloak of beauty
About us forever, so very tightly.

Memories are like tears
Shed in times of joy,
And in times of sorrow
As though kept in a bottle
Until tomorrow.
When opened we can
Feel its fleeting power.
Memories, they mix
And blend until
Even sorrow is diluted
Into unmitigated joy.

There is something that fascinates
Me about your language.

Hairs bristle on the back of my neck,
My ears tingle when the words

Touch them and I burn for wanting
More of those lines.  Leaving me

Wanting so much more than words.

In the little house at number 23
On the street lined with willow trees
A garden wall surrounds and shields me.

But I do have my welcomed guests.
Welcomed dear and lovely bees;
Who I never consider an invasive pest.

O, I truly do love them the very best!
As I observe their every move, you see;
I love them for their beauty, and for their industry.

I love words that make you visualize
The intent of what the writer desires.
What the writer sees within the mind
Conveys what I can see in mine.

Glass bottles and other whimsies,
Sparkle in rows on windowsills.
Around the world there are tchotchkes.
These little booms of whimsies live
As blooms of plants die.
Is that their secret?

Give me your eyes
In love, look solely at me
Give me your body, wholly,
To be part of mine

Your hands are mine
For only my caresses.
Your feet are mine, also,
To walk straight back to me.

I give unto you the "all" of me,
All who I am or might be.
All that I become is yours
And you are my gift, as well.

The sky was filled
With the most
Beautiful shades of gray

We don't often
Think of gray
As being beautiful

There is a depth
To this color
And much nuance

There are many
Shades of gray
There is gray

With a pink tinge
Gray like charcoal
And icy gray

Dusty-rose is but
Rose with gray
What gray is should be

Black and white, after all

I had a cherry
You had a kumquat

I found a key instead of a pit
And you found a lock

Together we fit

A fragrant memory among those left behind,
Memories of you are like a walk in a blooming garden.

One stops to take in the perfume of each flower,
And says, "Yes, I remember this one."

Reality should soon set in, I warn you.
We are coming into that time of the year,
When temperatures rise and energy is too costly
As wages go down and prices climb higher.

Yes, we have failed ourselves and one another.
You will see those hungry faces looking for a crust.
While you are grateful for a roof and a bed
Hunger will continue to spread even to you.

As the insurance they paid into is cut off
The elderly will swelter and die in the heat.
As others look on, unable to sustain themselves
Or save precious others.

(A little ditty for the friend which we all have.)
Je t'aime,
Yet again!
No, no, no
This time it's real
She says,
Yet again!

She blew her brains out
Out by the dumpster
The note she left said
She had no one who cared
And she went out that way
Because she didn't want to
Leave a mess for the cleaning lady
I found a bucket, a good bucket
(I think it may have been hers)
Castoff and tossed afterwards
I needed a bucket like she
Needed to have a friend to care
So, now when I use it, I keep her
In my mind and alive,
Although I never knew her

May your grateful heart
Be filled with laughter, joy,
And the magic of each new day.
May the spirit of wisdom
Color your life through many years
Just as the mountains and the oceans
Cover our wonder-filled earth.
May your grateful heart be full.

Moon, intermingle all shadows and light,
Your underbelly glows, bathed in warmth
Your earth is washed in glow even in the night

With an unobstructed horizon, I see you peeking
Until the bright yellow sun comes creeping
And all past is the unquiet sky of storm

When you dive into the deepest, darkest voids;
The dark velvet space envelopes you
Like a womb that you had no longer remembered;
And you realize that the farther you go,
The more you learn and the more you come to know that
Amid the blackness, it's full of light and stars that glow brightly
Which more clearly comes into view around you.
It is this type of warmth and light that engenders growth;
Then you come to realize that in truth
You were planted firmly on the most fertile of grounds all along.

As write, post, and rework my poems I rely on your feedback to work my craft.  To write poetry is not mere pastime it is necessity for me .  Oh not that it pays the bills.  It merely helps to keep me sane.  An important endevor.

As we move into 2025 let's elevate our the quality of our work together.

My sincere thanks

All free-born and wild

Into field stride
Nature's child
Barefoot run
- a peach
- a pear
- a plum

Bird song
Insect hum
Orchard fun
- a pear
- a plum
- a peach

One for each
For bird and bug
And for the child
- a peach
- a plum
- a pear

Into fields where
They can eat
Their fill of
- peach
- pear
- plum

The Biblical heart
The complete inner person,
including one’s
desires,
thoughts,
disposition,
attitude,
capabilities,
motivations,
and goals.

The metaphorical heart
can be led astray,
down a path,
into harm,
leap,
be joyful
jump for joy
guide,
blacken,
Love.

Know your own heart
For out of it are
The sources of life,
Love,
Wisdom,
Integrity,
Health,
Envy,
Hate,
Your "fate."

Fate is not
something written
and unchangeable.  
It is the will,
the determining cause
like an arrow aimed taking a certain course.
That depends on the skill of the one aiming it.
Fate is in your hands,
not the universe.
It is not an unforeseen excuse for you to use.

There they go
The true ladies of the night

Walking the streets
In a protective routine

I hear them laughing
I hear the banter

Out there, down below
My balcony

In the dark of night
Before the dawn's light

They stroll circulative
Calling out occasionally

What wicked deed
Is their goal in darkness

They are the walkers
In our retirement village

My days had gone by more quickly than a weaver’s shuttle,
And they came to an end without hope.
     - Until I looked back at the tapestry that had been woven.

We can often be such foolish creatures
Never listening to common sense preachers;

But then we all but learn too soon
We’ve just been howling at the moon.

O, the message of love, at last, achieves full bloom;
That heart we once had feels full weight the doom.

And all along we find we've had the hidden room,
That place to learn to love from the unknown teachers.

We find ourselves to have been such a foolish creature
And finally, listen to the common sense preachers.

For we knew the tune, but only dared to hum along.
But, now, having been shown, we let it out in full-throated song.

Learning to live without fear
Learning to love without fear
Learning to love Fear
Because Fear needs someone
To live