You come to my bed with prose written on your skin
And because of your love stories I let you in.

I would rather have honey than candied treats
And the nature of you makes it twice as sweet.

Your art and your song complete my thoughts
By your candlelight’s glow my heart is taught

To open wide to the possibility of you.

I watch

You sleeping;
The movement of your body,

Your breathing,

It’s like a soul ballet.
And quietly, softly,

I watch

From a corner across the room

The dance.

With delicate needles made from animal bone
They sow warm winter clothing for the family.
Each sit, these tribal sisters, by the light of a fire pit.
The walls of the cave, a natural shelter, are sooted
And lapping tongues of flames flicker across the scene;
Children play at the mouth of the cave, running, giggling.
They are bundled up in skins along with fur-shod feet,
Their mothers keep an eye on these precious offshoots.
The men are gathered toward the back of the cave
Sharing stories of the hunt, one sketches on the wall.
They will go and track game before the morning dawns.
Then men and women will prepare the bounty together
And the tribal sisters will sit to sew with delicate needles.

Forget all those stars.  You are the stars!
And you are the light of eons traveling,
Unraveling trails across time to light my sky.

Evil is a light sleeper
Hate is a light sleeper
Prejudice is a light sleeper

Bedfellows who keep one eye open
Rouse at the slightest vibration
Of their wicked spiderweb

Glorious dots swirl above our heads like millions of
glowing bees as we spin arms outstretched.

The air is warm while the earth is cool beneath bare feet
And a light mist rises among the pecan orchard trees.

I want to keep this place living in our minds.  We can
Never grow old in this childish embrace of memory.

I borrowed a fabulous line used by Meira Love and changed the tone a bit.

Between a season
Warmer than autumn
Softer than summer
More temperate than winter
You lie ahead

Diminutive flowers burst onto the scene.
I am grateful to at last see that it really is Spring.
I was beginning to wonder-

The Winter birds will wing their way on;
Flying long distance to their Summer home.
They are a wonder-

Winter brought heartbreak, but some fun and joy.
A happy farewell to that harshest of seasons, boy!
Little wonder-

You always know
When the birds feel
Spring is near

They fly in loopty-loops
In a sky filled with swirls
Of wispy clouds

They play tag with mates
Look for the best nest spots
Fights for territory break out

As I watch with glee
Joy is plain to see
In their every hopeful motion.

Splayed and 'splooting'
With the cool pavement colluding
A massive heat sync necessary
On such a hot day.

Stand
On the shoulders of the giants
So that you might see
The places we are going,
The places we have been.
Stand to be seen.

Stand,
So that you can see
The future you,
The future me
Looking into the past
Standing in the future.

Standing
You realize that giants stood
Upon the shoulders of giants
And all walked with purpose
So that we all could climb up.

Don't let that be for nothing.

Seeing you once again,
So very much makes me long
For that sweetness of your sting

And the heat, which throbs bright red
Pumping out an intoxicating cocktail
To rush throughout my skin.

Who knew such poison could be 'friend'?
Desires now past are to become craved.
I **** my throbbing wound going to the grave.

Yet, I do not mourn, I do not rage nor rave.
It is done and I am too satisfied to die
With you upon my lips.

The stitches pull apart at the seams
Unless the words are undone
And you un-speak them;
Something that can never be.
We eat whole heartedly, parted,
On the barrier resentment has erected.

Night came,
stole her away.
It slipped in through a slit in the light,

The stranger, pale and grey,
with unfamiliar rudeness wrapped
tight boney fingers around her neck.

Then she was gone.
Now we both are captives
of the night.

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

Just as "we make our beds and have to lie in them",
So do we choose our bedfellows.  The locale of the bed
We end up in should be presently considered.

I watch him from afar
From across the bayou
He lies and sits next to
The building on a ledge
It is not his true home
It is his summer home
I guess as I watch him
Sleep all day, lie, and sit
Lie and sit, and stare
It appears that he sees me
As I see him seeing me there
On his roost, day after day
What is he thinking
When he sees me watching
Does he envy my comfy space
Does he wonder about my life
As I wonder about his life
When he is not there I worry
Has something happened
On rainy days he's not there
And I hope he has a dry place
Is as safe as the homeless can be
Does he panhandle nearby
Does he make enough to eat
Are others kind to him
Is he a ******* or insane
How can he sleep on cement
Long hours go by, he sleeps
Where will he go when it's cold
I wish that he would just go
Out of sight out of mind
But he will haunt me a while
Even when he's no longer there
But I wish that he would leave
My heart can't take in his pain
He has already filled it up

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

I have limits
For I am only human,
Imperfect in body
And with a feeble mind.
I reach for the stars
Anyway.

I like the strings you pluck.
They sound through me and feel
Like a low hum.

I love the rub of friction
As you squeak quickly to move
Across the bridge;

Or a bow sawing back and forth,
Vibrating in my jaw.  Running
Down into the soul.

I stretch out my wing;  
The Pin you placed seems
to be holding.  Your Mercy
was the thing,
which held me aloft
until my heartbreak oft
had been forgotten,
until my diaphragmatic
flight had gotten
ground free.

In the garden of delight
At the eve of dusky-night
-Twilight holds no grudge

The brush had been light
You had seen him in his flight
-Lights dimmed, everything buzzed

Hoping that he'd soon light
You hoped he'd light on you
-Before a shark bite you get a nudge

Ah, tender kisses on the skin
Are just a prelude to the sting.
-Blood smudged

You do not see the criminal.
You say to me,

"You only see stuff that fear allows me to show."
You are the tongue of mass ******.

What was the motive?
In another cell a complex code casts you the victim.

We tie our lips up in knots
In order not to name the truths we know.

Who decides what beauty is?
A trend-setting, shallow puff of smoke?
Here today, gone tomorrow narrow thinking?
Taking with them what ideal supposedly is
As volumes of Truth go unread by the self-appointed.

Judges are too often bought, paid for by industries.

Each ones true beauty is purposely hidden.
For corruption is a filthy film over minds,
While truth is purity, bright and honest.
Rub fists into blighted spheres to clean them, then
Go, let your mind's eye begin to see more clearly.

I can smell the heat of the day
The off gassing of materials
The decomposition of grass
I smell the earth drying in the bake
         of this southern sky.

A bright sun heated this ground and we richly sowed in fertile soil.

Spring was full of possibilities, which we now enjoy in summer produce, so luscious.

Ah, as tasty as sweet melon and as fresh as scent of cucumber love is.

And we have seen that the bounty we receive is equal to the worth of our toil.

When the sun begins its rise
And as it moves into view
Rising higher in the heavens,
It grows in its spectacular glow
And it sprinkles golden dust
On everything it touches.
It is a magical period in time,
This golden hour, which belongs
To the sun and its glorious rise
And is then gifted to us.

The staff was shocked.  I being the
Only patient to ever do yoga stretches
Afterward on the gurney,
My recovery time was cut in half.
Now to deal with this pain!
Writing my Meditation . . .

Wings spread
Wonder flies
Into eyes
Across faces
Into hearts
Minds explode

Swallows soar
Insects hurry
Into beaks
Savored flavor
Swallows swallow
Each Sustained

It is often true that you
Must sink to the bottom
Before you can rise upward.
Swim!

Take one moment for your anger
And one more for your sadness,
And another for your regrets.
Then two more move past these,
Then strive to let it go.
Only then will you regain your joy,
Your love, your life, your true purpose.

"I can hardly wait
(My friend the diabetic)
to taste the poison."
He takes seppuku serious;
So many sweet things are here!

Soft gentle breezes
Rain paints color on petals
Green smells the grasses
Drifting across many meadows
Your hand has the sweetest touch

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?

Springs and spirals cling and climb.  
Ever upwards, ever onward day by day.
Greening our everyday lives along their way.

Twinkling tiny lights sparkle
In a backdrop of fragility;
A world in miniature, stupendous!

Tree-like ferns, wee mossy meadows;
Breathtaking, the surreal list!  It is
“A poem of stone, powered by stars,” 

Oh, the towering keep within a jar!

In my mind
I follow the line of beauty
In every fiber of your being.

It stretches from the 1st time
I saw your face to the last.
Its continuum tethers me, still.

You are frozen in time,
As though a bug in amber.

Awaken from your slumber
Before you run out of rhyme.

For Rumi us reminded to awaken!
Dawn's breeze is not to be forsaken

Because it has secrets to tell you.

Winter ended up six feet high and weighing down on us;
With a brief sun came the melt, which only hardened everything.
Now, in the continued thaw, we are washed away.
But spring drinks heartily to gain the roots of what is left;
And we happily give way to its hopefulness.

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.

The mockingbird heralds
Each new sunrise.
This morning unbeknownst to it

Man declares it to be
A whole new year in its life.

So, sing on my friend.
May we enjoy many more days
Of your lovely song.

My trust is left as fragile as a spider web,
Yet, my love was as strong as a single thread,
As strong as a steel girder in one of your buildings.
When you hurt me, it seemed that the dark night
Would never stop trembling within me.
I was left to sleep outdoors with our children.

My heart lay in my chest bruised and wounded.
For a while it was black and putrid with hatred.
This was not the man that I knew so well,
Fell in love with, happily married.  No, some
Evil "other" put poison into the vein to overpower.
As the fang bites deeper and they secure the grip.

The bite perfected with each attempt, at first
That which was only a snag of a fang held until
Both fangs could drip a poisonous brew into you.
Threads of the web slowly broken by her design
To envenomate and poison a "forever-bound" love.
She said, "Let me free you from the web.  

Here, taste this."

You are like the weight of an object picked up.
Like the endless depth of a jug when filling.

In these moments of surprise, one briefly falters,
Questioning their understanding of actuality.

We measure the breadth, the depth, the weight
Of all things encountered.  And you,

You speak and I hear beyond the words,
Then I am crushed by the weight of your wisdom.

I love the sky, sunrise and sunset, so much
That at times I can hardly breathe.

Only when we’re brave enough to explore
Do we find the breathless moments.

I love you so much that I am forever breathless.

When the veil of mist hangs
Across the pastures and fields
The day is dawning gradually
Turning all things to color.

The sun swims in these pools
As a diver swimming slowly immerges
Out of the depths into sea-blue light
And begins to see clearly.

We feel the brief touch of cool mist
Before it can fully dissipate
Leaving us to immerge into our day
Warmed by the touch of the sun.

This new day breathed its first breath.

True love does not vary
Nor change like shifting shadows
True love remains ever in the light
For all to see its honesty

A love that maintains its vow
To love, respect, and cherish
It does not alter or "bend
With the remover to remove"

Love is everlasting and true
Real love is yielding to the other
It does not possess, nor smother
It trusts because it gives it to receive

Love is the very soul of equality
It does not reveal but protects intimacy
Love grows with time and with maturity
True love by all is easily seen

Only fools poke out their own eyes
Mistaking true love for hypocrisy
True love is from celestial heights above
And lights the way to unfaltering love

Tragic poets were often mocked
By comic poets during dramatic festivals.
Some travestied more than most.

They write to record.

Frequently shocked by the heresies
Put into the mouths of powerful men,
Many, too frightened to begin again

Commit political suicide.

She has a kind of magical thinking about her life.
She sees her name written across the sky, in stars,
In clouds, in sunbeams, written in the sunset.

She finds a penny, knows it was placed there, especially for her.

In her magical thinking, the universe is cheering her on,
Setting her up, leading her to somewhere she doesn't know.
In her magical thinking, she finds the delights and she goes. . .

The crow calls out to say,

"The sunrise is on its way.
Hurry do not delay.
Go, look, and see.
The beauty of a sunrise is free.
You do not need to pay."

I no longer go to the museum.

Ducks and geese and floating feathers
Falling amidst the shimmering sparkles on the bay;
All to the tune of children’s laughter
As they spin and twirl and play.