Once More

don’t know how long
i shall awaken upon this earth
how many more steps
i shall walk in this world

how many mornings shall
greet me with glorious fury
or starry nights shall tickle
my fancy with wishes

if i can but once more
sit at the base of
the Rocky Mountains
and waggle my naked feet
and hands on pristine streams

i’d like to once again
see visions of the ocean's vastness
and their black of night
listen to the osprey and seagulls cawings
and the deep water fin fare

can i once more
touch the hand of naïve love
where only the gleam in the eyes
and that silent smile of desire
embracing two, yet,
uncontaminated hearts

listen to the violins
that Mozart commanded
titillating keys of Chopin and Liszt
voices of Lanza and Groban, Streisand
and Whitney, Nat King Cole and Vandross

inscribe on my epitaph some words
of Shakespeare, Shelley, Emily,
who would be read by passersby
and maybe by chance would look
upon my headstone and ask
'who was he and why'?

In Breath, Only

Our eyes meet
our face cheeks
come close
without touch
our breath intertwines
our body’s temperature
emit vapors that intermingle

Silence is our
common space
our bodies part
like two Flamenco dancers
without touch
yet our fingertips
come close

Social norm disallows
we’re both each
committed to another
desire and lust
evinces its
forbidden face
so we slowly
walk away

Maybe in
an ethereal place
or even in
the Nether
our temptations
may dance
Until then
our beings mingle
still only in breath

Journey

My quest
to learn how to see
how to feel
when to smile
and when to cry

The maiz grows tall
when rain falls
so to the flowers
and the birds
fly into it to refresh

The sun rises
because the earth turns
the day rises
as the night sleeps
Hate and dispair appears
when love is absent

My ears can hear
when my soul
is quiet
music can be heard
along with the ocean rush

My journey
is just beginning
“…and the sunlight grasps
the earth and the moon beams
kiss the sea,
what is all this kissing’s worth
if thou kiss not me?” (P.B.Shelley)

'The' Past

The wind blows
the russet leaves
fall from trees, early,
they dance with
the wind

The rain is heralded
by brittle arboreal limbs
they cry out in creaks of
anguished thirst and
crisp golden grasses
await their turn to drink

The grey smoke from
steel pipes of ant like
trails of smog
paints the sky testing
nature’s breath
changing Earth’s attire

The ocean waters
rant and rave
bringing torrents to
wash their terra firma skin
of grime left from
the uncaring human hand

The one legged toads
scurry to survive
amidst the contaminated
pharmaceutical laden lakes
and streams, lead heavy
nutriment that reside in
the seas now fill the bellies
of our children

The daylight has narrowed
sunlight has less time
to feed the verdant dress
and the corn that feeds
and the night
awaits to fill its space
our children will learn
to play in the dark

Care to Listen

If I did not speak of
the burdens of pain
little attention would
be given to caring

Judge me not for taking
on this challenge
a volitional choice
in spite of the slings
that may come my way

If our eyes do not behold
that which brings sadden tears
beauty would be indiscernible
their would be no caring

If one does not extend
one’s hand to lift another
one would be blind
and fall

If one does not listen
to the beating of a drum
one will not understand
the mellifluousness of melody

With what the heart is filled
one will not feel
if it does not let love in
their would be no caring

Daisy Day

The summer days,
quickly, they now come and go

In time
the years
grow in numbers
their faces
go dim

A daisy is born
its given attention
its freshness and youth
is witnessed by its peers
that came before

It grows along side others
the uniqueness,
distinction
now
fades


Its
pedals
now wilting
no longer giving
youthful pleasure
in the eyes
of the others

Or the others
have made judgment
that it will no longer
be viewed in the same

Whatever the reason
no one’s judgment
can take from it
the nature of
its unique intrinsic beauty

Not even time
will take away the
imprint of its soul
left in life’s canvass

Another Day

My eyes opened this morning
some dreams still half finished
it was a little before the first waking
birds began to yawn with their
morning vocal callings
their whistles, tweets and chirps

My body stayed still
until the synapses
charged it to move
toward the window pane
wanting the eyes to take pleasure
in the beginnings of the day

This day shall bring cherished moments
memories that will fit in
the already crowded pocket
of my life’s chemise
that wears the timber
of love on its sleeves
and warms the tears of my heart

I beckon for the good to prevail
the caring to raise up from
its slumber
sing to me songbird
and the sun give birth to
the flower and the rain
rinse the sadness away
my eyes open
to another day

Inspiration of Rain

My inspiration comes from rain
in spite of love and kisses
that have eerily waned
it seems to rinse away
the pain

The constant tiny crackling
falling and slapping leaves of trees
the sound of water running from
high points on base of trees
gullies of pine needles and leaves

Robins and cowbirds flail their wings
in saturated places pleasure overcomes
they’ve awaited this refreshing rain
amidst the drought of sun baked grasses
the hot and arid days

Corn leaves crumbling in farmers hands
livestock nibbling on what they can
brush and forests burning homes
they’re painting the night sky’s
in crimson and gold

I join the cowbirds and robins
flailing my arms to the sky
I Pray to Tlaloc, the god of rain
please bring your sponge clouds overhead
or the children of earth
will no longer be fed

Reading Tea Leaves

As I sip my tea
at the bottom of the cup
are tea leaves
I try to read them
but I cannot interpret
I run my finger tips on the veins
of their skin trying to feel
the life that runs through them
assimilating with the life in mine
thinking I might feel something
yet left still with an emptiness
I stand up to inhale the
the breath of life around me
wondering if this will
sate my sensorial vats
the vacuum that surrounds me,
thinking it will explain to me
my relevance, fill me
with knowledge and understanding
of why I’m here and how does this space
I'm filling where I stand affects that
which came before me and
how it will affect he or she
that will soon replace me
when I’m gone?
I stand here alone,
breathing in, wondering

a leaf moment

Once its veins full with chlorophyll
holding strong on it’s limb
the beating rain tickles
on its belly and dances
in its glittering gown
grasps tightly to the limbs hand
against the swales of wind
and winged giants come
and sit upon its chest
yet it holds on and flutters
and waves when its feathered
friend flies onto another
the warm and sometimes
hot sun scorches its face
but soon the coolness of the moon
lets it sleep quietly
and in the morning comes
another frenzied day

Now rusted and weak
a soft breeze catches its cheek
it lets go of its once strong hold
silently it floats down and rests
upon the lap of sinuous
grasses that for whom it once
provided shade and now it lays
its furled body on a golden field
that wears miniature rainbows
from a morning dew
sleeping now in unrequited attention
with a smile on its crested face
its fulfilled the cycle of life
now food for Mother earth
no less important than
the caterpillar and butterfly
I understand and praise
its short sojourn

Stillness

Stillness, how loud it is
its quiet screams of yesteryears
while hovering over joy yet
embraces desolate space
where pain resides and tears
flow like rapids in deep rivers

Stillness forces time to slow
yet aging is in the forefront
and the eyes when not closed
see the dark spots on the hands
between the crevices of life’s folds
the aches of labored past reside
when planting beds with mother and
now they grow where she rests

Stillness, it coddles love’s caress
where moments of gentle kiss
and warm breast pressed upon
my chest and her softness tantalizes
my finger tips as she screams
in loving yet lustful pleasure
when they tiptoe between her hips

Stillness lets music pleasure my ears
listening to songs from crooners in my day
and reminiscent melodies that inspired
my choice and desire to live when
all around me was destruction, pillage and death
losing faith in humankind

Stillness has found its abode
within me today for I choose to listen
to its praise hearing the birds sing,
seeing this mornings sun rise
while Jules and Jaz lay at my feet,
grateful, I awoke from my last night's sleep

I Hearken Stillness

The stillness is calming
the clouds have slowed their pace
the sun has not yet
shut its eyes
but the moon is ironically
yawning for its awakening

The days wet heat has begun
to succumb to the breath of
the evening air and the songs
of crickets and cicadas
have replaced the harmonies
of the wren, the cardinal and the blue jay

The white cotton patches slithering up high
have begun to reflect a crimson rouge
from the suns sleepy eyes
and the day has become
the evening where it lies back
and it rests

The calm is ethereal unlike
not too far from here
an angry Nature’s wrath has
woven an ugly arboreal
display upon earth’s chest

A State of Mind

Three weeks have passed and so to
have three friends and acquaintances
ne’r since 1971 have I shown up for these
traditional ’howling’ exercises seemingly
consoling those who have not departed

Not insensitive nor wanting to be
a downer but I wish to remember
these interlopers into my life
as fond human exchanges of faces
with smiles and not stuffed encases

But they come and they go
so quickly down my road
some say hi and stay awhile
and some just prick me with
their style and their smile

Mortality has poked me
with its long dark staff as I
observe those with saddened tears
of anguish and loss, dressed in
their own destined attire

Unlike most, instead of ‘folding within
like a flower sleeping at the end
of it’s season’ this refreshes my cognition,
regenerates my verve, awakens me
like that flower ’ leaving a little room
to start again’.

So when my eyes’ turn to close
let me go gently in the night
and I wish for you to sleep
knowing in the morning
awaits you a new sunrise

‘youth is wasted on the young’

Como un lobo

‘Como un lobo‘, I walk quietly
carefully, strolling so as not to disturb
life that seeks refuge from underneath
my every step

My ears are perked to be keen
for every sound that may
want to speak to me
sharing with me its own journey

In this sojourn I gather nuts
consume that which nature
provides just for sustenance
and go about my path

I stop in clearings
observe the path I’ve walked
and the journey before me
then I saunter on

Sometimes I go off road
but it matters not for whatever
path and steps I take
it is the path destined to me

From where I’ve been I’ve gathered
things that I like and those which I love,
many which I wish to keep, to hoard,
thinking they belong to me

Introspection, I recognize that when I started
on this path I had only what is 'me'
nothing less and nothing more
just my ears, my eyes, my heart

I howl at the moon, at the stars
for the light they’ve provided me
yet I lament for those things I’ve loved
but cannot take with me

I’ve now learned to walk at a slower pace
so that time does not rush me
and I take pleasure for that which
my eyes have seen, my ears have heard
my heart has shared, I howl

Sedentary Eyes

Erstwhile the numbers have grown
in the days and years behind me
the keenness of my attention
to every moment and every
sunrise and sunset has been honed
by the wind and sand not unlike
the promontories on sea shores
having seen much while hailing the winds
and have been relentlessly accosted
by the ocean’s slappings from ebbs and flows

But seemingly stable standing on shore
sedimentary accrues being sedentary,
it has no choice. I, though,
do have a choice as I capture
visions that pull the threads
of my passions, tug the strings of my heart,
displaying the weakness of my conviction
to convention of social norms, traditions
and morals, whilst my eyes pleasure in
the diversity of beauty, I fear shutting
them for they may not open again

Circus Mirror

Lamenting, I recall on what I saw today
in the reflection of the stores glass display
t’was my aging deteriorating
now paunchy carcass that encases
my life’s unrequited heart in place
while it dances with it’s shadow, my soul

It saddened me and also scared me
how could this be me when my mind,
my thoughts still ride the young pony
amidst childhood fields of wind blown
grasses and daffodils, pretty ladies
in their summer dresses
for my still youthful eyes to behold

Not often do I see myself this way
through someone else’s eyes
I know my aches my pains
now halt my running with the deer
or chasing after wondrous butterflies
yet still I see myself through my wife’s
loving eyes and not the reflection
that I recall of what must have been
a circus mirror in the store’s display

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Alone, Sonata no. 1

Although the day has been
wonderfully full of the suns touch
the flapping and scurrying
of life all around me outside
gives me joy yet I’m anguished
of the humans around me
seemingly not Caring for each other

Tonight my sleep is restless
seems darker, absent of space
I look around and witness
that I’m in my domicile
yet I feel empty of presence
unrecognized by that which
surrounds me

My chest, not a ‘Tell Tale Heart‘,
feels a dull constant ache
my left kidney a sharp stabbing
the ticking of the clock above
my recliner where I sleep
is relentlessly reminding me of time

Music is present in my ears
Ah, Ludwig and Amadeus
sprinkle into my ears, piano sonata no.1
so soothing, calming my angst
in the absence of self
the soft tickling keys a reminder
of self cognition in this realm
of lonely recognition

The Smile of Spring Rain

the rain that falls from the sky
it can not change it’s mind
once it begins it’s dissent
it must reach it’s destination
whether it falls atop a mountain
or on leaves of trees
or back in the mother sea
these rain drops do not speak
of what ocean they come from
nor where their spirit goes
once they cleanse all that they touch
if only they could whisper their secrets
of how their journey began
and how it feels when riding the wind
while in the world of Spring where upon
the pedals of daisies and daffodils
roses and lilies they put glistening smiles
for all to see

No Laughter in Houla

Laughter what is it worth
if it does not ride the eternal tide of joy

What is calm and contentment worth
if they are not sated by the taste
of universal peace

In Houla, tiny toads cannot be heard croaking
after a refreshing early morning rain
by the tiny ears of buried carcasses

Avian songs cannot be heard
from the raining of hell bombs falling
on Syrian streets by Bashar Asaad’s regime

This morning, here, we will watch
tiny earth worms crawling out
after a much needed rain

hearing a choir of our friends
in joyous song in our early morning rise,
morph voices, the children of Houla