softness of words

We need not celebrate the self,

but find that it has a wondrous dimension,

to create, and recreate- become a feeling,

a consciousness immersed in something of itself.

It is as close as we can come to touching, 

when we agree to be within a feeling...

We cease to be an insular entity

when the inner creativity, builds 

a fortress  comes from a bubble of air

We stand, as thought beings

woman and man but far less than

the rift between seen and unseen.

No need of any other sense to know

the wanting turns to stillness,

the ache finds its balm, and in

the depths of wonder, there is wonder still

of the reach of some dearest eyes

The spirit vines like life to sun

lifted on wings define the winds;

 float upon the softness of words

that stay and fold into memory, that we

were just...this way

Eco-ku

in my dream...
green meadow breezes turn 
windmills white

ancient trees--
each passing year brings a new
smoke ring

at the old pond...
a frog jumps into the sound
of oil slicks

meadow music...
humingbirds and windmills
whirrrr

winter-ku 2

hungry birds...
pecking at the ends
snowy cigarette butt

frosty window...
the full moon catches
my breath

night cocoon
under warm covers...
fluttering eyes

to man on a wire...
a deeper wisdom comes
in sudden winds

Caesura

There in the space between

a touch and wanting, in lights of night sky,

over shoulder a search for stars and wonders,

somehow finds a higher use.

When candle hiss and kiss coincide,

an occult of flesh and will,

within a moon-made shadow

amidst invented songs from

near still birds and breezy leaves,

we make a slow, slow dance, and

dawn... retreats from view

Kyiv - a chapter falls

There is fire in the ice,
as if made to still, the gleam
of a more distant sun pales
against the eye's-own anger
and the heart's rush of heat.

There is fire in the icy breath
as if dragons and beasts of fury,
that crowd the mind's theater,
act out upon a glossy stage;
so much rage displayed for consumption
of a greater beast, the global feast
upon sudden misery.

[Democracy has a messy birth]

It is in the waning hours of each day,
the play unwinds; a chapter falls,
and winds of change carry
a stench of burnt tires.

For some it is a whiff of a window
from west into the west, to others a stain
upon a treasure- and Kyiv can bleed,
hot defiant blood, for change is also...
a fire, in the ice. 

delta of a smile

I softly sang to you  

and gently washed your hair

filled the air with warm whispers

and closed your eyes with touches

of soft wet lips to skin

and each water rope and braid 

became a wish...to stay, this way

I pause to take in the reflection

of things we try to say, the calm wonder

that beauty within rises to the skin

and I watch and merge into the spray

listen to falling flow as if a summer rain

and my fingertips wander, and mind follows

across curve of chin into the delta of a smile

where a seed of love...has taken root

Winter Villanelle

 We know the cold wet snow goes swirling thus

  to mute the air and feather rigid ground;

  time shapes tomorrow’s past, in trust with us.

 Above the hungered chill grown perilous

 in crystalled winds no mercy asked or found;

 We know the cold wet snow goes swirling thus

 The winter lightning flash so ominous

a gathered wrath of heat in iced surround;

Time shapes tomorrow’s past, in trust with us.

Mere toe hold 'gainst the howls precarious

as life can fly to sky without a sound.

We know the cold wet snow goes swirling thus,

when love could leave the heavens envious

of passing fateful chance of  touch abound.

Time shapes tomorrow’s past, in trust with us.

 to hold like night and stars most precious,

 for time unto time, the restless tide unbound.

 We know the cold wet snow goes swirling thus;

Time shapes tomorrow’s past, in trust with us.