moody-ku

swimming in the stream...
a still minnow

rising clouds...
angels climb a  rainbow


raised by spring gusts
a woman's skirt ...
old man's slow smile

a lover  leaves,
watching
cherry blossoms fall

heard
in the sound of your voice...
the taste of a kiss

passage

the beginning of a storm
a subtle thing, more felt than seen;
leaf tips turn, a  long clouded sky
seems more certain to descend and touch.
Aromatic earth lies open as if in wait.

The end of a storm, quiet falls like
a curtain upon the stage; the last bolt of fire
and last belly roars fill distant peaks.
It was all the matters in between
that shook ground and resounded
through to the root of us- and everything
seen, touched, tasted-- so different; our
wet skins basted in coolness
as sky and surface mate in elastic
air.
We notice a quiet surrender
upward flow of new clouds
reformed sun to prism-ed arcs.

Yet it is such as we, revel in the spent and shared;
a blend like soft summer winds and dripped leaves.
We can sometimes know a thing of  infinite wonder
how life passes...like the edges of a storm.

a shorter race

When life is a too brief page of poetry,

a start that climbs to interruption;

words yet rising to the high point  

an unmet crescendo of song.

Simply not long enough it seems

to meet the reach of dreams, the utter want…

the deep passion for things not done

We can see the race against time;

apace, never won, for it covers like a skin.

Yet we contend for it is all we know-

just as the voice within- it carries our truths.

Until it leaves and just the others race on,

those done and those yet to be…found in untold mystery

as faith and spirit speak of light.

When life is a deep ache, an emptiness;

a dreaded silence at the end of love

by two's

An  howling wind
rends shredded sails and turned
the sea into walls of white fury
 black depths beckon
as if there were no path but descent.

Still in a dream of safe harbor
a boat surrenders itself
from vessel into an Ark
whose ventures wait in
a dark and clouded horizon
and courage sings death
a dirge drawn of merciless water.

Hope has been gathered by two's:
woman's wait, man's dream remembered
reside in a place of fond agreement
while he and she exchange
breath and pulse on opposite sides
of storm and night.

kept...

Sometimes a drift is the only sign

as I go where the sea flows,  read

fishtail swirls and wind dimples,

attempt to understand the pulse of waves.

The sea speaks, even from great distance,

I can never truly lose her- as if some part,

some inseparable part of happiness-

necessary, like breath before laughter.

I find a thought of the sea

in billowed clouds sails, in wind swept treetops;

siren call of her voice rises in pauses

between spoken words and ambient sound.

Just as I’d stand on trembled shores

try to reach beyond edge of water and sky

only to imagine- she is still there

rolling on the rounding belly of the world

on turn to the place I stand but only if I too

spin with pregnant swells of land .

Wandered above gentle touches; waves to shore

a rush of wind becomes her exhale;

misty air a salty kiss, and mind

brings a breathless immersion

I can never truly lose her, for she

is the sweetness of air