a smile

a smile, it dispels the ills and woes

it waters the wilted flower
makes verdant the gold dry grasses
opens the mauve petals of a budding lily
clear streams run and the fish dance in them
a loved family dog quenching its thirst
a broken wing mends and flies to freedom
a mother's child rests on her bosom 
elderly lovers on a park bench
embracing each other
he whispers~ thank you~
a kiss is placed gently on her cheek
two hearts beat healthily
and the smile lives on

Smile with the moon

the soft white face of the moon

smiles as it rides with its finger like
light rays atop the white caps of
the winter’s breath rolling in

this I always miss when my

eyes close at night yet if its
the last vision they see somehow
its displayed in the background
of my dreams

when my eyes begin to open

after my nights sojourn
the moon begins to smile
welcoming its friend the sun
of whom it shares the glow
from its golden apron

sometimes I wonder if when

my eyes shall close for eternity
will they share the light
of the suns warm gold and 
share a smile with the soft white moon

storm

A demon storm has scathed the land where now lonely people stand

It blew in angry from the ocean fronts just before a holiday
pummeling the landscape with harrowing ocean winds
splintering into tiny sticks and bricks all that stood in its way
strewn about are lost life long possessions
A wailing mother stands in tattered garb screaming
a shrieking sound calling out a garbled name
her child’s tender and loving caress torn away from her
bloodied out stretched empty hands
Her muddied tears cover her face but not enough to shed
the anguish as the wind blows her tangled hair
like Medusa’s snakes but hers rolled in mud and rain
A little toddler holding her older sisters hand stands nearby
in the dirty rain while parts of clothing blow in the wind
some like banners blowing hanging from denuded branches
of a  lowly standing baron tree
A comfort couch and bed thrown atop a mangled car
A stove in the middle of piled debris still with
cooking wares inside where moments earlier it had
started warming turkey and ham and sweet potato pie
It now sits with oven door dangling open
in the middle of a swollen broken street

This lonely mother looking up at the dirty gray sky
trying to negotiate with whom she worships

of this savage storm that cared little about life
that's left her human heart broken and her love torn apart
She asks for answers with the divine grace of her deity
why she’s left to wander in the havoc and this empty desert
an unforgiving world who now seems to her cold and dead
She stands there all alone praying for forgiveness and asking
that her god also take her for without her little one to love and hold
life is no longer worth living in this emptiness
with no more faith and no more hope

 

vicarious existence

calming warmth surrounds me with

protection from outdoor ravages
of cold and rain howling winds
and those that wish to harm me
out of envy or predatory ways

sitting here in comfort with my thoughts

and creative nurturing to paint lovely
pictures with my words exhorting
the vicarious needs of calm and soothe
a choice to extricate myself from harm

while I do this the desert burns hot and arid

scorching and killing the soul of life
in the forest are the predators who ravage
without care the young fawn grazing
in the open fields tiny rodents scurry to
hide from the incising hawks beak or in the
rivers springs and oceans the fish are unaware
of the portentous eagles talons

gone awry is the human caring for a week

and feeble child who desires but a simple
caress which has been replaced by cold
abandonment and who just wants
to be loved and given one days crumbs
and a warm place to rest

and there are the angry and uncaring

who unabashedly prey upon the weak
for their nominal morsels, steal from
the unwitting, the same who denude our
forests and unabashedly still spew ugly
contaminants into the earths breath

looking outside my window onto swaying

trees whose leaves have been torn away
by the swirling winds that bring in the
winters snow and I sit here with my words
painting pictures of a wintry fest
but I dare not forget how with this pristine
loveliness comes a disheartening gray
and frigid cold

  

our chi at sea

If I can for a moment share with you my eyes

of how I see you and your powder blues
then lend you my heart so you’d feel
it flutter when I see your smile
and my lungs how they expand gasping
as your warm breath touches me

take a moments time and listen

to  my song I wrote for us of when
we laid upon a hill no words were spoken
looking upward till stars of night
covered us with glitter and
the moon rays kissed our cheeks

listen to the melody and how it takes

us soaring over the horizon
where the sky wades its feet upon the ocean
the osprey flies into the setting sun
and the dolphins arc their dorsal fins
in and out like quarter notes on 
a measure of a treble clef on a score

please take note of the words dancing

in tempo with the strumming of the strings
and the finger runs on the keys
for they’ve been carefully chosen
to take the rhythm of our hearts beat
in sync with the waves that roll
and keep the seas alive

they speak of our tender callings in each

others ears when our moments were
filled with love from the warm breezes
titillating our skin rolling naked in the grass
as the birds whistled and the fauna in
the flora and the trees gathered to witness
the yin yang of two human forms
connecting their chi in glee

 

Sundays best

Dia
de

sol(domingo)

ar

ri

ves

Oh too soon

iron pressed dressed

believers gather to reflect

upon their deeds and raise

their voices in song the ritual

of the supposed civilized even

though they’ve left the beggars

still begging and the children still

crying in darken coves where they

share their crumbs with rodent friends

believers read scriptures
from their book that

 has all the answers

 for this one day

amen !

wake of night

in the wake of night
I gather my days journey

assemble the thoughts

inspired by what my eyes

did see and the sounds

that harmonized with the sun

and winds song 

as I close my eyes

to sleep to sleep

fill them with

my hearts desires

of those who touched

my soul to keep

to dream to dream

and when I awaken

to the mornings call

of millions of gold sunrises

reflecting off the dew

my beginning

of the new day

is filled with wonderings

of my dreams in that

pot at rainbows end

I shall sit still

and in my ears

I will heed the rustling tree,

my eyes shall see the bird, the figurines

made from clouds swimming in the

azure sky and I shall feel

the wind upon my brow

so upon another wake of night

shall be readied

to sleep to sleep

to dream to dream

 

grain of sand

my spirit rolls around

like a tiny grain of sand

in an hour glass time piece

amidst many other grains of sand

being sieved down

tossed about uncontrolled

in tumult, tumbling closer, closer

to the vacuole, a ‘worm hole’,

caught in the eddy passing into

another plane then maybe a

deity’s hand shall grasp

the glass time piece, turn it over,

where this trip will begin again

 

 

believing what is to be true

or what is not

if not seen

even when seemingly clear

much like a grain of sand

entering from plane to plane

if there's absence of consciousness

it will matter not

and soon will be forgotten

so be here, now

 

 

head on a pillow

some days I wish not to rise

but then I think of those
who have neither a bed
or cove to rest their heads
and sleep

the day begins the sun rises

from the east
and the clouds will hover
trees will dance in the wind
birds will use them as fodder

today my head shall lift

give praise that my eyes
did open to witness a new day
I shall walk to find someone
to give a pillow away

smile

The day is well

 if there’s a smile

  before you’d walk a block

 now it’s a mile

 so when you walk away

you need not turn around

for your smile will last

 into another day

 

and like the art

     you’ve painted on your chest

the one next to your heart

your smile

is my very best

 

 

will it matter

throughout this

 

 

My existence

 

      I will have given much

 

 

o   received much

 

      I will have written

 

           words     

 

 

§  spoken well

 

 

mine eyes will have captured beauty

 

o   stolen many souls of trees

 

 birds, rivers and oceans

 

     maybe

     

o   my soul

 

 

                will have been received by those who love

 

§  much the way I did them

 

 

                                       and when my soul shall rise and shares


 the realm of all those who came before me

 

 

                   hopefully I will have mattered

 

 

and all this                                                  will not
 

 

§  have been for naught

the river's bend

If I sit here quietly, oh river’s bend,

will you share with me the stories
of long before your shading trees
were cut down, when wild deer
used to stop on your banks
to drink from the edge when
cool clear water ran, in the mornings
when mist would hover like a veil
while rainbow colored dragonflies
would play tag with the gold and silver
fish whose heads would rise from
underneath your clear blue water

tell me of when the Potawatomi Indian

children would play and mothers would
bathe them in your stream,
when Chiefs, ‘keepers
of the fire’, would sit and speak
then dance in celebration
of Mother Nature’s spirit watching
over all the land and your waters
would run coming from the Mississippi
bends far away washing rough edges away

tell me of when a soft blanket had been

laid upon your grassy noll with a basket
filled of apples and grapes,
bread made by hand from wheat fields
just round the bend and two lovers would
sit sharing their yesterdays with the day
thinking about their tomorrows in each others
embrace

tell me of all the lonely tears that trickled down

onto your grass from the elder man's cheeks that
had sat here in nostalgia, fond memories of his most
beloved partner in life now in the hands of
the great spirit as he awaits his own departure
from your river’s banks to join the spirit
of the Eagle who'd soar hovering over to fish
in your pristine stream

Oh, river’s bend if I sit here quietly will you bless

me with more whispers of those things that
passed by in your stream and made you smile

alone, grey and cold

tiny spits of drizzle turned ice cool

sprinkling all around
the sky is grey
birds have laid their nests
some in thick brush
and in the bushes
throughout my yard
I can hear them chirping
rustling about in
their cove for winter rest
quiet abounds
a feel of abandonment
from life’s verve
people in their homes
afraid of the cold

this grey before the snow

I’m not fond of it
all seem to choose isolation
as if they’re distancing
as if they’ve all run off
to some place in the dark
I feel left alone
a childhood memory

I know that all

is born alone
all die alone
view a star in the sky
looking up at night
how wondrous the fullness
of winks and sparkles
yet stare at one and notice
the black that surrounds it
leaves it isolated and cold

we’re here

in the same nest
I like to hear rustling
talk to me
talk to someone left alone
an abandoned child, the elderly,
a dog
all, once had someone
love is love only when shared

perennial

like a flower whose petals

desiccated by winter’s cold
is this the way you see me
now that I am old

you used to touch me tenderly

as if without your gentleness
I would break and shatter
In your hands  

you’d kiss my eyes my nose

run your fingers through my hair
you’d whisper such sweet words to me
kiss my lips till they turned red

now you walk by me

without your eyes meeting mine
you say the words ‘I love you’
without a feel of love inside

don’t you realize that

I am a perennial
if you water me and till
my soil my petals will
replenish fill with color

and when you next wish

to hold me to your face
smell my freshness, touch me
feel me, I will whisper what
my heart spoke once before…

                        ‘do not disdain portrayals of love

                        nor feign affection but receive
                        with open arms and heart
                        life’s every emanation
                        for loves they falter
                        and tend sometimes to
                        fade away when hearts are
                        scorned and cry from day to day
                        do not fold within like a
                        flower sleeping at the end of its season
                        but always leave a little
                        room to start again’

"And they call it, puppy love"

sky changes hue from mornings

thru mid day to evening
the clouds they soar
some stratus fast some cottons slow

days go by, weeks and

months travel in packs
they bundle in years

change is constant, chaos its drink

yet through all this, love is the same
there’s blue, there’s grey, there’s red
and there's unconditional

when first I knew love
was from it’s absence
clouds covering the sun,
stars not appearing at night,
when she walked away

doc told me today

my little one is being taken away
by an insidious malady
his cuddles and warmth
soon to be replaced,
abounding my day, with tears

I used to push love away

not deserving of it
abandoned as a child
uncaring cold took its place
then one day love swallowed my heart

love is a curious spirit

sometimes I wish I’d never
known it so in its absence
the pain would not be so great

Oh well, if through my latter years

the changes and chaos of the universe
should leave room for me to witness love again
I’ll probably hold it, embrace it and hope
if its absence rears again
it will be when my eyes have, forever, closed  

stranger in the midst

a stranger has crawled under my skin

with aged folds, long unkempt nails
he struggles to bathe every other day
his torn unwashed flannel shirt
sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans worn
needing to jump in the shower with him

he carries luggage, inside strewn pictures

and olden bound notebooks
with smudged pencil scribbles
and ink written memories now run
from line to line with the passing of time

this luggage with a skeleton key lock

has been opened takes him
on a path of trails intentionally
long forgotten he knows,
unless discarded in the river,
he'll carry this luggage around forever

he pulls out this note book,

thin wire bound card board flaps,
flips them open discovering
his forgotten demons plundered in pain
slightly legible on smudged pages stained
with tears and occasional drops
of fading blood

arm hair raise as he reads these

sadden memories causing his eyes
to weld with tears, heart laments 
with estranged beating rhythms
struggles confronting his past
wrestles with anguish and anger

I realize I do not like his company  

so I close the notebook flap
toss it back into the decrepit old luggage
I lumber to the rivers edge fling it
with great might out as far as possible
watch it as slowly to the bottom
it sinks where it will catch passing
debris and fish will nest upon it

so long stranger

a smile lost

we’ve carried the smile of our hearts

in our hands for so long, now.
feeling safe that we would
not drop it

the love sick smile that we

once stored in that secret
special place where only
you and I knew its keep

we would bring it out

to share to pleasure upon
even when there’d be pain
and turmoil rampant
we’d wrap ourselves
in our smile and all would
be fine

burning coals could be

underneath our naked feet
and we would not notice
with the nascence
of our smile

have we displaced its keep

or did it fall
slip between our fingers
while bathing in the suds of time  
rinsing in waters of complacency

will you help me find it

and grasp it tightly in our hands
shelter it in a new secret cove
not to be misplaced again

song of the stream

remember when we used to run

and climb, we’d jump into a pile of leaves
run through cool streams with shoes on
we’d stop and sit on the rivers’ bank
sometimes talk about our dreams
but mostly look into each others eyes
and promise to each other our tomorrow

tomorrow has come and no longer can I run

age has taken my legs my hips
still I wish to roll around the Fall of leaves
and listen to the song of that nearby stream

we now sit together on the rivers’ bank

share what we had seen when some of yesterdays
we’d look into each others’ eyes
when quiet and a swirling wind would whisper
in our ears in lieu of spoken words  
and we’d listen to the water in the stream
as it harmonized a chorus to our dreams

alone, a tiny stone

a tiny stone

sits all alone
amidst large rocks
and giant trees

comes a small child

picks it up
in his tiny hands
smiles finding it pleasing
he tosses it into
a cool wet stream

this tiny stone

for a moment
was not alone
it rode the wind
and felt a wet cool

the child felt

joy when the tiny
stone skipped more
than twice

no longer did this

tiny stone feel it was alone
in the largeness
of all around
someone noticed it

if you see a tiny stone

sitting all alone
place it in the palm
of your hand
smile at it
set it back

you will change

its world and
so too
your universe