fragment no. 715

Such glimmered web we weave
when we pry beneath the eave
window's glance by wicked chance
shed light upon the inner entity

for in all there is an angel's rise
and fall to storied depths we seek
when mind unbridled in stampede
thunders through --all that we can do

is hold to the power of flame for we
are filaments of passion now...and  yet to be.

unfound stars

I make a future memory
so dear, so precious, remarkable gem
even among a shining diadem, glows
captured on skin

The stars I will find in your eyes
the enduring softness of your touch
the words that will rise from within
and pour sweetly, sounds
in your passion song.

The hints in winds and trees
that follow my steps as I circle within
impatient days, fall of season
rise of season, there is an unchanging air-
an eager breath...my memory yet to be,
curled within each moment... I wait

a butterfly flight

An occasion of angels 

rests in warm thoughts 

when time reckons able 

we fall in to flight, as naught 

can stir the wish to ever be so 

held in a dream as love can do.

 

The mind makes a butterfly flight 

on edge of wind and cusp of light

the rhyme and reason is simply seen 

to taste the warmth of flower streams 

in air defined by fluttered sight, until 

follow whispers, to take our fill 

of all the heart can give,

of all the life, living can live.

pictured...(lyrics)

What's in a picture Dear? A memory
a day when your were here and feelin' so near
what is it Baby- the way you wore your hair,
how moonlight kept us there ...or a sight
of you that stilled the air

yes, was that but so much more
it was the breath that came before
words we spoke,  the times we swore
never to be this way...never empty hands
and forgotten books until-- we look at a picture
and find us, oh so long ago but  there...
and in love...still




Lyrics, inspired by a photo of Billie Holiday

autumn

A morning breeze leaves soft whispers
in trees, remnants of passed storms
and a morning murmur shared
as if to know soon grown bare,
will whisper far less as winds grow cold

Into the time of air and soft sounds
the busy backdrop of swirled thoughts
how we can touch like leaf and wind
when life is the shell gone to die
and yet the dreams it has always held
still play in the spirit

autumn when nature finds homes for seed
when life sweetens for its last; autumn,
when the world find a warm place
to curl in wait for spring...

only...

a time  of absolution
a drink made holy, to wash away
hints of sin, unkempt, mess-sided moments
and the need for forgiveness

men are not like God
She is eternal but men
have longer memories of things that hurt
except...forgiveness

There was a small part of a day,
something I'd started to say
in a way of tenderness, a moment given over
to feelings;  It was a thing like love,
 a moment like a bubble.
It held all the air I could have.

It rose within me
like something trapped in the sea
could not stay in deep light-less blue

There was a noise, some vague emptiness;
a distraction in the moment of my words
and they fell,  slowly, slowly
 like a dying leaf in the wind
fell, a whirly-seed shell with all of the
air I could have, all the love only I could give
fell
unseen, unnoticed  except by...only