seasons of the heart

So tied to these tasks, that I must ask
memory to recall the brilliance of summer moon
and August night;  so faraway now
the smell of sweet summer vines is on my lips
but no longer hidden sugar under my tongue

The end of the string has not been seen.
It is a journey of faith that travels the lines
of a small page; flat and depth-less like
the green leaf, that holds within itself
a more beautiful set of skin and bones.

Seen as the common sense of day that yet hides
the boundless beauty of each moment
that breath can create a whisper, and
the wants of a lifetime come fulfilled
by the substance of the shadow.
Into the broken silence from a creaking floor
or whoosh of a closing door, when thoughts leap
from anticipation to delight.

It is the silent miracle of a river's flow
 that it has learned to resemble
the slow  seasons of the heart,  found
as your eyes capture the arc of my hopes
among the fall of  summer stars.





________________________________________
Inspired by: Lxxxiv From: ‘cien Sonetos De Amor’ - Poem by Pablo Neruda

Something beautiful... (Lyrics)

didn't write this song for you
even though I wanted to
say something beautiful, for you

I didn't sit and carefully
assign words to melody
even though it seems... to... be

just the way winds rise and warm
the night sky into a quiet storm 
the way the darkened clouds
makes me see a  unicorn
and the way a sparrow song
opens my eyes at dawn
all saying something beautiful for you

Here is where
the notes all change
i find a key to fit my range
but it doesn't matter
it always  ends the same ...

I give my next breath
forget what sounds best
and let my heart do the rest


to say something beautiful...for you
just  something beautiful...for you

for Carol...

There is an ache in the spirit,
such an emptiness, that it cries out.
we are caught in a hollow time 
in stillness and echoes of heartbeats.

When we only have words,
we must let them be words of life;
words that start the healing
and keep the embers, care made so tender.

When love is all we have,
then let it be the gathered treasure of a life,
that adorns each moment
with a golden memory.




_____________________________
For my friend Carol, who has enriched my life with the power of her words
and strength of her wisdom-- at a time which tests all that we know.  There are
moments when the earth beneath our feet quakes and then dissolves away, and
we are left  with faith that makes wings...hdm

from the mythic...

There are powerful currents

In this stream, as thoughts waken

The still tired slumber, and become lost

In a penumbra between wishes and acceptance.

Reality is a fatal compromise.

What of  the night train, the tides marked in grains

That makes the bed of the sea inside me.

A glyphic fantasy of movements

Trails of the nails dragged to hold

The welled spells of time (--) they burst

Like tears from the mythic, tears

That made the ancient deep rivers.

To now,  I know

The rivers of a woman’s eyes;

Deep as memory and beyond.

They are boundless as endless night

Deep as the need of two

To dissolve distance unto… one.

Cecil...

We imagine a King among beasts
we see regal majesty, a commanding
voice and stature; fills childhood
with myth and legend. We see
what we wish and wish so much
that we lose touch with a greater miracle-
the truth of a lion, sire and master
of a daunting harem, hunters and takers
surviving by benefit of thousands years
trials.

We must re-imagine, the plastic brown eyes
the fixed face and imaginary roar
the plastic teeth that look so real and men-acing
and the small man, whose pictured
near the proof of no-further -life; he comes home
to a family and wife to show his pride
that he slaughtered a Pride, paid a princely
ransom, to kill a King



_________
Seems a US dentist had a yearning to kill a magnificent male  lion and paid to shoot an arrow into a national treasure of Zimbabwe- a lion called Cecil. A protected tagged animal who was famous and adored as a symbol of efforts there to preserve the dwindling species.  I do not see the benefit in killing an animal for sport. It is not sport unless the animal has a chance to kill you. The dentist didn't sign up for that tour-- the one where you hunt with camera  or the other one where you hunt alone in the bush with a spear-- I could respect either choice-- but shooting a defenseless animal just for the thrill of killing it-- oh, someone must have mistreated this man as a boy...hdm

the old, old stars

Here, the last thought of you

soaks into a vision, warm air

comes heavy like wet fog

rising pungent earth, clinging to all

Giving the world a shape of dreams

Here, as softness in the inhale

Brings forgiveness to the sun and moon

For carrying on while my heart stays

lost, in the motile shadows that come

Full circle and inch to the west

As you stay so far, away in the east

There is no easy peace, the old, old stars

Confess Love and endure

Aflame in the emptiness, a defiance of reason

The heart lives its will; yes, and Love

The gift I give and keep, in a boundless

Space...is always in my eyes,

Here, they find the deep, slow rivers

Of your wide, dark eyes.

The night funnels the moon

Across wastrel waves to shore;

The last dark mast eases into horizon.

As I close away the beauty of night

raise a hidden light, a beacon

calling…you home

Inspired by: Aqui, te amo...by Pablo Neruda

of petals and the moon...

She was a rare and beautiful flower
translating powers of sun and change
into folds of delicate lines and spaces
as nature teaches itself a perfection of form.
Air transports sultry evidence
to those who taste upon wandering winds
and are drawn like the irresistible tug
to eye, and the senses of wanting.

Rare in the plenty of limitless things
beauty in a world defined by night stars
and day dreams, such are the ways
that the unthinkable occurs, and in its shadow
there is a more remarkable light.

If the ever-changing  constancy of the Moon
were all of the things I have given her to be,
then it would measure the small reach of mortal man
to find favored among precious things given,
but for the vast ignorance of a simple man-
as rich in imaginings as he is poor in time- she
would be a flower in  the near reach to heavens;
a rare and beautiful  creature of confluences,
a collage of untied moments.

So am I part of a story not of my invention,
but an intention of far greater things.
Merely, a blurred page in a history that fades
before it can be written, a passing episode;
holder of the brief candle
that somehow flames into a fullness of life.