solstice of the spirit

 

On Solstice Eve we pretend

to play a day that never ends, staying

waves of night that sweep

from an eternal darkness.

So much do we see, that also denies

roost-less birds and bees rise with night sparks.

The faithful lotus keeps its honey scents,

as a windless pause of sunset

joins the comedy of abstinence.

But we are the Stars before vast stars

slowly emerge to claim their due,

and in sticky sweat begins

a year-long shift that ends in frosted air.

We pretend, as in so much of life,

that a day does not end, but

in the heart we know, all worldly things end-

whether well or otherwise- we accept

the hold of gravity on  hourglass sand.

In a longest day, beyond calendars,

the Solstice of the spirit; we lavish all,

immersed in love we have created.

There nothing ends, except as we allow.

Within each grain of hope is pain

of losing; we bear faithful intent to endure,

to beam along an endless path

like the light of mothering stars.

In a Solstice of seasons of being,

we hold the day, and speak in prayer

to the God within each man

to mold a place of light and will

and set seas to roll in endless tides.

lingers past dawn

In a space that might let slip 
the wisp of an angel's wing
or a moment so mercurial
it passes like a taste on  tongue
You come like the portal of a dream

Inviting as a flower on the wind-
a night scent that lingers past dawn-
the haunting that only plies in memory,
where play wishes we might have made.

You, in a reach for happiness
inspired by the nearness of breath,
are a touch of fingertips and brush of lips
and a rush of feelings that crowd  into escape,
 sounds that steal breath,
and reveal beyond words,
a meaning of loving You.

Miles and miles

The blank sheet, tabula raza, mind fall-
is a sponge of life in this moment,
when every wisp of wind sweeps like a tide,
the flicker of a fly's wings, a fascination,
and the jazz man's horn
forms a cornucopia of vivid dreamlets;
streamlets flown in the spring's thaw of spirit,
joined to gurgling streams, mist-cloud cascades.

The world on a string of pungent thought
a thought of the woman and last night
the woman I wanted and never saw again
again the dream of a moment I would remake
the mistake that teaches the ache
of an unforgiven silence

and floating away to dream again
to re-arm for the assault of day
the challenge to be no less than to be
resist the will to shrink away, when time
spares nothing, and the race is yet won...
by the weary



________________________________
Miles Davis, Jazz Musician, and in this instance:
My Funny Valentine, and Something I dreamed Last Night
by the Miles Davis Quintet.

missing home...

Unfolding like new leaves in springtime sun
a dream begun in a smile, the familiar-
a view down Main Street in my little town.

Pacing past store windows, glass panels chronicle
my reach to the sun and the way my eyes
took on the wisdom of shade-dark circles.
Beneath a determined brow, a slanted sun
spring begun in the early walks and wondering

A view, the tall building where mother lived
defiant happiness, turning the world's indifference
into a patient golden glow...like this springtime sun
painting my portrait on lower Main.
Below Market and Broadway, another tower
where my sister held court
in a lively flow of rumor and near chance,
together, a lofty pair of deep and doubtless faiths.

The smile in the dreamy view
wrinkled anew as I dream-stepped
across a wide expanse of time, relaxed in expectation
the touch of love; and then, as if at shimmers end,
the vision took to sudden flight.
with so many still moments of knowing
the warmth of care and the shared ways
feelings we'd made into a cocoon of eruptive life.

They are not there any longer
neither together nor separately there,
gone, and the tall buildings
are just that, stoney anthills,
No longer the seats of love
no longer ...home