morning whisper

Five AM cruising empty streets

a neon sign says gas is $3.09

frost begins to clear windows

as last night’s snow lifts from the hood

like a rising voice of wind.

Speed increases although one does not feel

motion-up so much as slowing down

for the color red overhead,

and possibility of 18-wheelers’

cranky starts and uncontrollable stops.

In the quiet of mind

that rises above the hum and drum,

there is a thought- held like sugar

under my tongue- of one

whose sweetness I consider

a delicacy of my time

I think of a gift ...a greatness

amidst this momentary pause called life,

and it is the smile that ends on lips

of whispers which began in my heart.

jazz...

Rising from bare range I hear,

smooth ride up my spine,

the lips tighten on the metal end

and melody bends inside me

A short breath that I can feel

then he peels away the loose ends of this night

Then her lips part

above the heave of her bosom,

she sets me in motion.

 A glide across an ocean of my feelings

immersed in a sea from which I feel

no need to escape,  time drapes over my shoulders

like a comfortable shawl and all 

that a moment can hold 

is boldly here...my lover is near

breath warm on my skin,

I sink deep into eyes that hold me here

in this special place where I am

the one...the only one 

Excerpt from the short story, Girl's Story . How music makes
a melody within us...hdm

written by the winds

life poised just above the sea
in beauty, soft tides, and shimmered waters
where mornings gleam and dusk holds
a lasting trace of sun-kissed sky

and poised in the terrifying howl
of Nature's open throat,
the power of a deepened storm
born of mankind's caress of the world
and the force of pregnant air.

We are life at such balance, now
to rest uneasy on thrones we have chosen;
when comes fury in the winds
that rip away the love of that day
and tell us of a lost tomorrow.

When all we would hold to heart, and keep
is sudden stripped away,  a throttling dream
swallows this breath and the next; we are
poised just above the sea
as winds tear the roots of the world

wayside of a dream

A songbird filled the air
suddenly too still, a  ragged space
an uneasy place between songs
has a measure--a question

When music begins again
like softer winds following a soft wind
when green trees sway and dance
delight flutters like candle flame.

A songbird fills the wayside of a dream
revives touch and splendor
moonlight touched a woman's skin
until eclipsed by bodies in occult,

and sweetness flowed in shadows.
From deep rivers of her eyes
a flight of song that could not stay
but in speed lifted from wants and needs

Sweet songbird draped in colors of love
bare to any eyes but mine, for I see
a poetry roamed across all of you
a filmy robe...of many blessings 

Girl's story Sonnet

In dark of morning, quiet' pause within

Time ‘tween days gone and day to be

When I allow the whims that prick my skin

To freely billow breaths of poetry

And etch my words upon a wastrel wind.

The arrogance of a learned path, submits

To a greater wisdom, a worldly dividend

Suspends belief, and justice has no fit.

When we consume the days of youngest ones

An innocence, a time when life's so fertile

For wealth's unholy need a sorrowed harvest done

Little boys into things, and things of little girls.

We harm the yield when we rob the seed

Of time in golden sun, unshadowed by greed


Girl's story is a short story of mine- recent thing- to mark the international Day of Children, November 20, 2013. The theme I have chosen is Child labor.  I set my story in 1916 but as I wrote it, it is still a fact of life today in Asia, and tomorrow in the US because the Right Wing will destroy the middle class ( repeal the minimum wage, right to work laws) and reduce it to the point of putting our children into hard labor ---if we let them. SO DON'T LET THEM.  They do it wherever they can, make $200 sneakers and pay workers $2 a day.

coals...

after loving,
so empty and so full,
we pour into each other.

I do not know why it feels so
but the moment we cannot save
somehow lasts, stays on

left in my thoughts, a warming glow
like the coals of the last fire
in wait for the next...