ROOSTER LOVE

Take me to the Red Hen

I have rooster love for the Inn

Hospitality is a gift, unlike freedom.

The seat next to me, belongs to anyone

Free for the taking, but so am I-

will I remain?

Will I sustain the unspoken welcome-

Do you care as I do?

Because I can feel what I see the long shadow of hatred

The will to inflict pain cause misery- for those that – like me

Are the sun-kissed children of God

Will I smile at messengers of dread?

Will I sit with evil?

Gratitude is the truest beauty

It is the humble thanks for the greatness of Love

Take me to the Red Hen,

Let me feel gratitude, and I too

Wil not sit, break bread, with evil.

seance on a watermelon

Deep green on deeper green
the heft of a verdant globe
a mystery awaits discovery
as the thin blade splits the shell into a seam
and the wet redness so inviting
succulence for the eyes
amidst a throng of expectant young palates
it is an urgency that begs a pause--

for a ripe and sweet melon
is an occasion for philosophy.

So the state of the world
descends upon the room
as the sure blade parcels red delicacy
a lesson in whom we trust, and what we ought to be.

It is the fortune borne by gray hairs on my chin
and  furrowed brow that now
I am a fount of wisdom gained through pain.

So I say:
the world is full
of liars and cheats, not trusted
as much as the worth of a spitted seed;
their need is power and an endless want haunts their eyes.

You my gathered legacy
must remember; You are what you must be...
true to echoes that come when you whisper to your heart
You must be the man  and  You must  be the woman
that fills the mirror within your soul

Glad eyes above smiling lips
as now, upon the generous stage
on which a purposeful life is played,
the melon is so much sweeter.

trumpet man

 the bulging veins in his neck, raise my eyes
to the bubbled jaws stretched  threaten to burst
the furrows making rivulets of perspiration beads
and the hands on the mother of pearl tips
two keys down
fingers hovered above
the Herculean strain he made to keep
the mighty horn...in a whisper

the sentence begins slowly and evolves
a question then a riddle..
and slowly he takes us down the page
line after line of sweet intensity
until we once again arrive at the beginning
and slowly, surely..we turnaround