The Poem Poem

A beginning risen from the cool, damp ground

into morning’s fog;  as the low clouds spawn

on half winds and notions of air, and filled in sound
rolling surf calling unto the coming dawn

Rising in a subtle crescendo as deep velvet overhead

Bent into a warmer blue in the slow march of the East

And the fog gathered like welcoming spirits of the coming day

As wet grasses and seaside dunes gave up all hope of holding dampness

To bathe with the rest of us in heavy air and morning mists

A clan of deer stood in silence, and slowly began  retreat

Into shades of trees and fern covered crevices

Carved by snow melt streams, fed by overflowing springs

And Moon wandered near, and I could hear

The tinkled beams on the window glass

And in the drifted senses passions wear

I undress time, admit a grudging pass

Such as the times, the early fingers of sun

Brought the forest sounds in to a rising chorus

As the silence that filled darkness lost its hold on mystery

Morning reveals…the world begins to shed night hungers

Wet boot steps shed drops and splatters splashes

the next step that occupies the delicate remainder

As thought holds true as the Pole Star, courage washes

the dust of  the long journey, and yet a bit longer

It is to home, and to a memory of love; where

Tender breath warmed skin and

Eager hands embraced the edges my face

And I was a precious moment.

For what use these determined dreams

And the seeds carried  far as hope believes

She is  the fertile heart of life, and it seems

the part of home that I can never leave

an enduring light

An angels kiss,

lightness flows into every  room.

A warming glow from deep within

Flowing backwards down

The deep river of  dark eyes

The sunset lingers

In an angel’s kiss

The blush of sunset paints

On golden skin, and a smile

that simply lifts the burden

carried so long

There is love beyond life,

A hint of an enduring light

So much we dream and wonder

Comes real…

In an angel’s kiss

-----------------------------------

in memory  of Britta C.

unveiled...

The night in flower, a carousel spin

around a view of eternity.

Ancient stars seem to dance

to a song played softly in my heart.

Puny man with music of the spheres within;

imagination creates itself,

a spark drawn from Infinity.

Such a flimsy mantle

for the greatness inside all

To stand and see beyond sight and sense

and reach into unveiled imaginings.

‘Neath the flowering night

I stand at the petal’s edge  

And reason a world long gone

Or yet to be

Such a delicate filament

for an inspired flame

when the moon asks...

The Japanese maple  

climbs the west bedroom wall,

and shimmered  leafy shadows  

vignette my wood-framed leap

at the Powell and Market trolley.

I release the effort needed to stop

A wandering thought that seeks

reclaim, a tense reluctantly past-

and not so much as a scene but a way to see-

filters the crawling light

through  prisms of happiness.

Soon, the neighbor’s yard globe

eclipses the glowing ball of dusk;

the evening meal enlists smiles

of shoulder to shoulder and stolen touches

in the kitchen of that quaint downtown loft.

Even the music has a way of yesterday

and I dance Argentine Tango

with a memory of you;

finding restless air and  a sense of peace

is somehow within it.

For the most unsettling sound

would be the exhale of seat cushions

and thoughts that I would never

find us once again, when

the moon asks to open our favorite wine.

everywhere but here

I should be forgiven
like the shadow on the wall
I come because you glow within
and stay because I am called

when the light of sun or moon
washes over you, and I am there too
to see the moon and sun...more beautiful

You speak to me in the voice of the rain
and glisten in the morning like gifts of mists
When the heat of day falls dark again
every star listens and lifts a tender wish

If I could find a memory in the flower's fold
the scent of an evening long gone bye
drift to timeless place, nothing grows old
the thought of you would lift my eyes
slightly above the petal's edge...and more beautiful

I could find your eyes in the rainbow glows
over the Victoria Falls; could find your skin
where seas begin and end on every continent.
I could find your smile in the opening of the clouds
when gray departs and golden meadows stand proud.
I can find your kiss in the dreams I've left behind
the missing tastes of honey that linger in my mind.
You are always there and so completely dear
as fond as breath and beyond compare.
I can find you everywhere, everywhere but here,
I can find you everywhere, everywhere.... but here.

At wake, the morning dew holds the brink of a tear...
I can find you anywhere, and everywhere...but here

A Pretense of an Ark

The Fourth World does not emerge,

it is filled with change and yet,

in essence, it stays the same

It is an endless rain of danger

and death impatiently awaits;

although it  arrives both early and late.

The Fourth World was not discovered

It was born full grown, from those who own

The means to kill easily and at will, fill

the unpaid bills of generations past; it remains

a dark evil that lasts past sunrise.

The Fourth World is not a hell-bent continent

But an archipelago of human pain, where endless strife

strains the sinews of life. Pausing barely for breath

It lurches and careens down a mountain like

Boulders falling in an avalanche, woe be unto…

The path is strewn and the wreckage can break

The hard heart of the world, yet withstands

Turn the head, avert the heart, close the purse

Build walls of forgiving news, fold it into a blur

Undisturbed- the peace is a momentary glance;

A random dance to music from a source unknown

It is day and the steady rhythm is a racing heartbeat

The flare of sirens feed reports of success

on a Wall Street news ribbon. For in the Fourth World,

There are few remaining tears, the past has dreary years

and tomorrow the forecast is easy to say, more like today.

When sunlight fills the air, clouds make pretense of an Ark,

birds swoop low, and from a clearest glow of day comes

the deepest gray…the sudden flash and thunder, and

suddenly un-breathable air fills the suddenly un-breathing.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note:

There is a Fourth World where war and conflict run rampant like virulent disease. It is in Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Donetsk,  Central Africa, and Nigeria. Like a chain of islands surrounded by an unseen sea of utter turmoil, and they are connected by dreadful circumstance. It is up to the rest of us, the custodians of this planet- our lifeboat in the coldest Sea to do what must be done to bring the people of the Fourth World out of the grips of savagery. There have been heroic efforts and there have been instances of blind-eyed neglect. The fury of war is not a tame beast, it will always escape and find a new prey; it is the global human imperative, no one is safe from war until all are.

song of the sun-kissed child

drifting in the morning fog, a crow's call
the sound found wisdom of the few
who raised a cry for liberty, from dust and chains 

and the call falls upon the hearts of many
who see but to the nearest door, and never more
than needs be to gain the trappings of equality.

The timbre pierced the hard shell
grown upon the tender seeds
and the sun-kissed child, opens its arms
wide to a wider world; and heavens own
chalice lent to them to drink of forgiveness

the crow's call through morning cloud
the risen Sun determines thus
the bend of time and calculus of perils
fallen like dew on fresh formed petals
like the morning, a rose has but a day
but the beauty of a glance can linger
into the final fall of night

when I looked deep into the morning
and found it was the sweet martin
pretended...as a crow, and how it seemed
the king became the pauper, with so little

yet gifted the world  his golden cloak,
a mantle  made by his hands...
a rich coat of Love