That scent which rises up into my nostrils  
From the soil:

Iron, sand, leaf litter, first memories;
Black gumbo soil rich with organic decay

The scent that invades my nostrils
From the heavy rains:

Pine, pecan orchards, river, lake, fishy-ocean salt;
Awash in the field of drying grasses

It is an unwanted scent entering my nostrils
From the lack of a dusting cloth:

Aged, layered, rancid, oily, brittle pages, decay;
Things coming to their end.

You are the bright new future
Sparkling like a dime lying in the dust of an imploded building
Waiting to be picked up, pocketed, and saved for goods much
           needed.
Spend wisely young one.

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.

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.

What made
  us beautiful
Since we were never
  likely to happen
Yet here we are

There is never an end without a start

In the moments
  we are meant to share
We are carelessly
  forced apart
Until we all can share one heart

Triumph over tragedy is not being dismembered by it.
But how to stop the bleeding?  That is the thing . . .

For miles the white path leads
Silent, still, crisp air

Only a slight crunch beneath feet
Too cold to be damp

Come! We will walk
And feel the stillness of snow

Do you see me age, in actual time,
Like some flashing overlays
In a time-lapse production video?

Time is ongoing, flashing forward
As though with the clicks of frames;
Line by line, wrinkle by wrinkle

Transposed onto my face.
The body begins to break down
Before our very eyes;

Shrinking in size, at first unnoticed.
Do not let me become diminished
When you look and choose to remember

The sum that amounted to me.

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."

Her lips blanched then filled with red
As she released her teeth's edge.

The surreal sense of scent
Filled her nostrils then quickly went;

But it took her to another place
Of lovely florals, a greening space.

Had the rose been left for that very reason?
That here, in the greyish heart of winter's season

She might be transformed to have a rebel's heart
That simply would not believe spring could part?

Yet, autumn had faded into shorter darker days,
As winter closed its icy grip, this gift appeared from far away.

Frozen blackness changed with the scent of a sweet rose,
As the surreal sense of scent had filled her nose

And made her write in such pretty proses.

When I was a child thistles grew in the countryside
And we both ran wild across the green
Me on legs, it sends out seeds and systems of roots
Yes, the thistle intrigues me with its stately air, and

Even as a child, I would lie nearby to study it;
It with its bold, untouchable beauty standing
On hollow strong stem holding its pink head proudly
I had not realized it was connecting to a Scottish soul

When the mowers came and crossed its path
I would find them butchered among the grass
And pause to examine just how tender
This vulnerable, this seemingly iron-clad plant

Touch-me-not, better left free, for one cannot hold
The prickly beauty to one's breast nor remain unharmed
If enticed by its charm to grasp its prickles and thorns
When cut it quickly dies, thus you must love it from afar.  

I know people like that
My desire remained strong and I have longed
Merely to be near this wild ephemeral creature
For the air is sweetest where the thistle grows.

With the tide, coming in, going out
The boat rises and falls
Like our gentle rocking.
Rising and falling
Like your chest does now.
I lay my heard on you,
Listen to a heart that pounds
Afterwards.  You cradle me
In the warm ocean of love.

It has been said that
A man will shape his tools
Then his tools will shape him.
It is true of male or female.
Necessity is the parent of invention,
Invention becomes the driving force,
The power to move forward towards
Life.

There are so many things I could have become.
I could not concentrate on just one.
So, I flitted to a multitude until each was done.

Buzzing from knowledgeable flower & blossom like a bee;
Feeling that if I looked hard enough I would find 'me'.
But in the end, I see

I am all the total sum of the complete.

As summer pants its hot last breath
Autumn comes to give her rest.

And winter looks for spring to green;
Then summer once again ​we see.

Within the turning of each new season
Our hopes and dreams are given reason.

The echo of the lie
Carries on through time

Lie upon lie in time
- Stain

The filthy froth
The couplet wrought
- staining

Froth the filthy foam

Grief on grief
It is heaped
- stained

Grief, O, grief carried on

It is still cold outside.
I step into a warm patch
Where the sun's rays caress.

You reside in those spots
Where I begin to feel, again.
Then the warmth of you returns

And I feel your loving touch.
But I must go on, as do we all,
Making and collecting memories.

Stay-

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.

Words mean what they mean, I ask?
But, ah, they can be nuanced or veiled.
They can be soft as cotton, feather-light,
Or hit like the proverbial ton of bricks
Dead on the nail head hammering
Their impact home.  That's the power
Of the weight of words.  Weigh them carefully.

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.

I feel like a dragonfly who’s lost its wing;
No! I feel like the dragonfly’s wing, lost;

Left to flutter down slowly in the wind,
To dwell, an iridescent gossamer thing,
Amidst a muddy range of things that ****

Dragonflies, and collect dragonfly wings.

Things I have learned as I am aging:
I am still learning

The thirsty bulbs in jars on the windowsill greedily stretch for water;
The little avocado tree, from last season that I potted, droops next to them.

Like me it too is tired of the cold.  I have an aching in my bones.
For spring?  For change?  For what?

The small sounds of the house, the rock of a cradle of trees nearby
Blend with the cold patter of raindrops which, on the roof evaporate

Into steamy dreams and into the night.

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.

To change an opinion
it is not disingenuous.
Life and opinions
are situational.

As we grow as a person,
hopefully, our opinions
grow and become
more nuanced.

It is a sign of maturity.

Of the heart, I ask:
"What is wrong with you?"
I asked you a question.

"Why aren't you looking
at yourselves in the mirror?"
You do not look well!
"You idiot!"

The sick heart,
This heart, our heart,
Look at it, my love.

Du coeur je demande:
Of the heart, I ask
"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi:
What is wrong with you?

Du als Objekt:
I asked you a question.
Du als Reflexivpronomen:
"Why aren’t you looking
at yourselves in the mirror?"
Pourquoi ne vous
regardez-vous pas dans le miroir?

"Vous n'avez pas l'air bien!"
You do not look well!
Du mit einem Nomen: "You idiot!"
"Les malades du cœur"
The sick heart,

"Ce cœur, notre cœur"
This heart, our heart,
de la regarder:
Look at it,
mon Coeur: my love.

A mist is rising, collecting in a fog which wraps all.
Reflected in the tall highway lights, shadow-like.
Obscured from full vision the traffic whizzes past.
Day will soon be dawning, and the fog will not last.
For now, I sit in the veiled cloud of humidity rising.

Whatever the wounds of heart
Regardless of the pains
Whatever heart-wound felt
Whether bruised and purple
Again, and again

Though it can be likened to
Walking a mile
With a pebble in our shoe
And a burden on our backs
We are assured we can rely on you

A thread like a river leads,
I follow its course in this weave.

My garment is woven to hold you
In my heart like a precious gem.

I open the bag as I open my heart
And see love gleaming within both.

You are the thread woven through
The warp and weft of my life.

What a beautiful fabric-

You cannot survive on dreams of hope
You must have hopes to dream,
Dreams to survive.

Stealthily moving through the forest,
Slinking in and out of trees, weeds, wildflowers, is the fox.
Red deer appear in an open meadow grazing.  Dusk is near,
The yawning day begins to close its bleary heavy eyes.  And
A distant raven caws a warning that he knows you are there.
Nature is not fooled by the games we play.

Our ancient genes carried us forwards, theirs, and ours.
Millenniums have passed by, and we each have stood
In one another’s presence.  The forest, the field,
**** and wildflower, the fox, the deer, the ravens.  
Not by pure magic, not by happenstance, but by design.
And we are so very blessed to be among one another.
  
A rich tapestry weaves like a comforting blanket around us.

I see your beauty through cables and wires,
Lines that marked "progress" in other ages.
I watch and wait for you to be wire free,

When suddenly it occurs to me,
You move like musical notes up a scale.
O, play your glorious symphony for me!

As I watch you rise in my sky, shaking free, so bright
Your image is superimposed behind lids closed tight
I may go blind from your splendored beauty.

And see a million suns for all eternity.

Wrapped in a gossamer bag
Translucent and light
Shimmering with many threads

Finely woven together.
Your gold to my silver
Will forever hold our love.

Time cannot accumulate
It can only be spent

Time cannot go backward
It can only move forward

Time should be treasured
Like the gifted jewel that it is

Cherish every second
For it cannot be relived

Time does not shape her,
For she holds it like threads in her hands,
Weaving moments, stitching hours,
Gathering days, weeks, months, years
Into centuries to be rolled out like fabric.

She makes her cloaks from the substance
Of time and wears ancient stardust in her hair.
She is old and she is new; time does not shape her.
Never allow it to shape you, folding you
Like some worn-out garment to be discarded.

While it is in your hands to do so, you shape time.

Believe me, I was once vibrant and young,
Strong but lithe and slight of frame, and pretty.
Filled with love of life and with hope,
I felt nothing could match my strength,
And throughout much of my life, few things did.
There was this whole world that was for the taking!

I strove with gusto to grasp much knowledge.
And flitted like a butterfly amongst it at my will.
Trees and fields were my currency, and
I felt rich in nature, which surrounded me.
It was what I valued, wealth spent judiciously.

I renewed and burned through storehouses of energy.
I wrapped myself in cloaks of green, wore flowers
Like talismans, encircled charms about the head and neck.
And I walked carpets of wildflowers as my path.
Nature, treasured, is imprinted on my soul to this day.
It is where I long to be, here and now, aging.

To my beloved family, I ask, only this request:
When life is done, sprinkle me among the pecan orchards,
Which was my first school, filled with many teachers, where
I, in studious quietude, spent my formative years. Remember
What shapes a person carries a person forward in life, yet,
Time, which we cannot alter, has its way with us, after all.

It takes time, little elephant, so try
It takes time, tiny baby, you'll crawl
It takes time to build a relationship
It takes time for one to dissipate

It takes time, my heart, so break
It takes time, You broken heart, now heal
It takes time, so dream, realize and feel
It all takes time

I see your beautiful mouth as you edge forward.
Your lips open, almost caressing the mic
And then honey pours out.

Your lyrics curl around those sitting here
Like smoke from a lone cigarette in a tray
And bind us all together.

Eyes close with tender inflection
Dragging us into his pain, again and again.
The music ends and his pain is gone

But will resurface the next time he sings.

Watching an already tiny mind
Grow tinnier day by day
Treating other average humans
As simple throw aways

We lean in, look closer and find
Those with tiny minds too
Will one day thrown away
And all the quicker

The bunny rabbit
would climb from her pocket
and hop around on her lap,
And we would all laugh.

Joy at seeing a remarkable sight,
She had a tiny little rabbit
Which lived in her apron pocket.
We believed it to be true.

For we had seen the tiny babies
That she would often save from dogs.
She kept them warm and fed
Until strong enough to be set free.

But this little one was always there
Living in her apron pocket and never grew.
Only as we grew did we come to understand.
She always had a hanky or tissue.

It magically transformed into the creature.

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.

We deserve an answer,
We are not just prancers

In your dance.
We have the right

To have a chance,
And equal might.

No, we are not the dancers
For perverted glancers.

We too have free-will
Not solely for your thrill.

We too are people
And our pains are real.

We hurt, we cry, we feel.
So I am fighting with the quill!

We are all your equals!
Listen up you creep-os!

Stop strangling me
With marionette strings!

"How strange it is to be nothing at all,"
He thought, looking down to see
If there was actual flesh and bones.

Bad childhood memories have fathers
Who caused their births
And mothers who allowed them.

Light, perfect light,
You cannot scoop it up,
Get a sponge to absorb,
Collect it in jars.

Beautiful, just right
Light, it is ethereal
And cannot be captured
Nor contained.

But be assured that
With each new day
It will glow again
In its perfection

Across the morning sky.

“Often the Muse will not respond to direct and logical requests.
She must be lured in with the playful and gentle.” – Jill Badonsky

Step one: the lure

O, muse, love so true,
You Precursor,
You appear as prelude
In all that I do.

Where are you now?
Why have you flew
To unknown places,
Strangers you never knew?

Do you, come back, live here!
Remain, here, forever friend.
I will create a safe place for you
And it will be just you and me.

You, you, you!
You, like a box full of Paris in springtime
Blossoms blowing in the gentle breeze,
A spicy dance of can-can at Moulin Rouge,
Or meandering along the banks of the Seine,
And a stroll down the Champs-Elysee
As far as the Arc de Triomphe along the way.

You, a luxuriant lounge on The French Riviera
And traveling in Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur.
You are delicious clean air that fills the lungs
When the smell of lavender is everywhere.
Come! Float along the course of the Roia River.
Un titre tu es mon Jardin de délices!
Toi, toi, toi!

Tu es mon seul désir. You are my one desire.

A couple of stars wink at me
Amid the clouds of the night sky.
Amid a cloudy and dark night's sky
I see your glow . . .

Amid the clouds of the night sky
A gentle wind whispers, and it calls to me
"Come live among the stars."
A tempting offer . . .

But I will stand and dream of heavenly things
And dream and dream of other things
Watching you amid the clouds of the night sky
As I wink back and sigh.