In Tulsa

It was a clear day

quiet on the highway, middle America

and they way it can see

on a clear quiet day, a moment

became a flame..and the darkness of the mystery

surrounds someone beloved, bright now

in a cloak of faith

So beloved that when he fell the hearts

of a sullen people fell, further still

we again witness the evil

the will of fear and tainted vision

that even on a clear, quiet day

cannot abide peace; and the highway

grows cold on a summer day.

Fear rises like heat of day, words they say

to cloud the air, words that reflect the limits of care

to those we see in a particular way

Love finds the clear highway,

such thirsty ground; and eyes verge,

lips tremble, breath is hard.

A memory and a smile

becomes another way to say

we loved this man, now...that he is gone,

we love this man.

Late Summer...

The time is upon us when

neither nature nor we can turn face from summer

not completely, not without the lingering wish

for warmth, and bright touch of  sun...

nostalgia takes on a present tense in every

waterside photo, and thoughts of lapping waves

that caress a part of recent memory mark

tender day's fall into cooling nights.

The first shudder and curl of covers

tells us that evenings foretell

how steep the descent to the coldest

when the earth tilts her chin and

the moon takes on an anomalous warmth

in vapors of words I speak to her.

In the stillness of the slow walk

down this winding stair into cooler air

i am glad for the way summer clings to me

the inner side

Somewhere between the closing of a lid

And the way we in the world absorb your eyes

Is a place where beauty takes voice

Speaks its refusal...to leave.

A disquiet that precedes rebellion

takes hold in this tiny space

As skin holds the  ripeness of light

To curl around the cherry lips

The warming of the inner side

Rises to the side we see.

Frailty becomes a delicate petal of night

in the moon’s special flavor;

Wrapped in the hour of its own choosing.

within your smile

 

In the time that passes from me to thee

A reflection of something so much greater

returns within your smile

Than the man before you; standing

in a space filled with your admiration.

When you hold my image

Speak my name

Or re-send a song I taught you,

There am I, small and hidden in one you invent

The one grown within your gaze

autumn’s eves

An uneasy truce towards dawn

Between those who love darkness

And them that it had crept upon

To hold to the stillness before morn

And want of the day

It was an unseemly silence but

It held all enthrall; birds kept their songs

And the familiar  early whirrs were not heard.

The drip of August dews rang like bells against

The paling blue sky  - an uneasy truce as time plodded by

The purposes of all the to-do

Came clear as the faraway glow

Began to show above the vague horizon

For now, we leave summer’s ends for autumn’s eves

So precious is the change

We enter the last of a long, strange year

So eventful as to be kept long after the final lines

And the heartfelt, heavenly applause.

clear day flood

There was a contest of will
between mankind and the sea;
in frozen layers, time
held a secret security- it kept waters cool and low.

Beyond man's reach, it seemed,
each year the white ice rose from the deep blue sea
covering land and other waters
unseen by test of any human memory.

The bet went on, and man
unfurled wings of movement.
Dependent on burning and dumping into the air
billions joined the cavalcade;
few took the time to care
what they did-- how it built upon itself.

When industry decided it was king
and could make ruins of any and all things
to fuel its need for greed;
there came time to burn without limit.

So the magic was cast-- there would never be
a limit, we burn as we please and the world will bend
until we say enough.
 We have burned and
the world kept its promise to hold all of the gifts
come of greed- in air, water, and soils; it held all.
The warnings rose without seduction
crystal clear by any measure we made;
we simply had to settle on the plain induction of truth
or the winding road of self-deceit. So it was easy,
self-deceit it was, and those few and true
could only wait and watch.
The small minds with limitless wealth  turned
ignorance into man's greatest gift to the world.

Now... we have wet shoes and brilliant sunsets
the coastlines have begun to merge
with the consequences of our urgent urges-- we burned
and now we have wet toes
and our dry ankles know  the wisdom of the past
We have burned  and now we will see...wet knees.

Scoffing at the rising tides, clear day flood,
first, comes to streets and cities near the tides.
Soon, they come for all of us. Admit or deny
words will be wet...for the world is at one;
unconvinced of its credulity, in denial
they now hurl words blank confusion
a form of internally combusted stupidity
that,  like the dry taste of truth...
does not impress the rising seas.

sun and early birds

Stumbled upon, there is justice at day's end,

life is a long march towards truth;

We waver each moment along the way

testing winds and tasting breezes.

Like the sweetness at the season's end

when the blessings of sun and time have ripened

the natural world, and we can see the goodness

of patience and care; we must step towards the eternal

sunrise, the glow on the next horizon.

Coming day blends away darkness we must pass

to stagger, sometimes blind, and forward

unto a truth distilled by drops;

they fall like verging tears

or faithful dew gathered before first light

and the call of mourning doves.

We are the slithers in the wet grass

when sun and early birds are near

rising to the call of an unerring voice

we fall and yet we know

there is sadness in the moments we spend

and want in happiness we cannot keep.

Bound to the circles of life, unbroken until they end;

we flourish as spirit and world contrive us to be:

a breath, an insinuation, a dot of day, and at last...

an echo..