Sunset Balcony

 sunset balcony

She has many fascinating faces
Of daytime calm and night fire thaws.
I have learned to love their soft embraces,

When far-off gazes filled empty spaces,
on sunset balcony through cloudy gauze.
She has many fascinating faces

As beauty rises to her skin, my eye traces;
like sister moon, I find art in her flaws,
I have learned to love their soft embraces.

In moody shadows that her smile erases
the most fleeting happiness can pause
She has many fascinating faces.

No time for tears now, as laughter laces
my days, and the time seem greater for cause
I have learned to love; their soft embraces

Spark delight in spare or crowded places
or found in foggy calls and caws.
She has many fascinating faces,
I have learned to love their soft embraces.

ciume

 You're the dream that i dream
while still awake, my reason to smile
and the risks that I take; you and the ways

you take my breath- a gleam that stays
to fight the darkness; when days fail
to meet the need, you are the promise-
the dawn that turns the world within to warmth
and a light, that guides us.

You are the sweetness that I keep
beneath my tongue, the little secret
of my knowing smile.
I confess to the most petty jealousy,
for i would steal the place...
of a water sip



Inspired by:  Medo de Amopr
Tom Jobim, lyrics by Vinicius de Moraes
 "ciume e o perfume do amor"

TheRump of the joke

Turn of the year, Russia's gift
For America a political facelift
At the now far Righter House, grown stiff
Into a much Whiter House, it was as if-
someone turned on the spigot
unto a flow of infamous bigots.

Out - poured Breitbart and Bannon
Sessions and unknowns for secession
And the man from Kansas, for suppression
Ensure a snow-white ballot, and guns-
neither anti-black, nor Latino, he notes
unless they’d use the right to vote.

One woman said: white supremacist
Was like calling Smog a big mist

There’s no doubt, came from the horse’s mouth
And spread across the West and South
Spoken aloud and in code far and near
Wherever there be a lendable ear—
But then someone said no- he’s is not
No white supremacist, not a jot!

We are left, humbled and blind to stumble
Like the titan in Gaza so mistaken we mumbled
We had no idea- if he is not a white supremacist then
He must be wearing a deception, a brokered skin…

It is so shocking, the entire world taken suddenly aback--
For If not a white supremacist- then he must be Black!

Authors of Confusion

Into my childhood ears, wisdom poured

From the lips that held the most precious breath

The voice that carried a wisdom from then unto then, and even now

The tones of truths held dear, re-echo, resound

Reappear as that which cannot be long hidden.

Time reaps and returns like the grasp of the seas

That take and keep all things- until returned to the light.

The proof of what was, and that it has ever been,

Held in deeps and keep of the ages, but never gone.

God is not the author of confusion…

In the mysteries of eternities,

there is clarity in the mind of a child;

purity lies in the warm heart of truth

as age turns the young green leaves to gold.

Honesty is abundant like the sun

free to fill the eyes of all that welcome warmth,

and  so too is choice--

the voice within that quietly submits

to the noisy world.

As time molds and shapes us

Like trees agreed with wind and rain

To stand thus; we yet fulfill

The fruits of seasons. The sweetness

Of the inner place can fall from its natural place

Of inherent reflection, a fallen grace, buried

Beneath a worldly gold, and thus

Inscribed, a soul lost in the midst of life.

Tossed in chaos; the inner strife divided

The mansion of many rooms dissolves

Unfound, among rumors of crows in a defiant fog.

Defiant, even unto the burning thaw of dawn. Reborn

Are they now, disciples of the Lost, and chain bound followers,

Dedications of the  authors of confusion.

The Death of the Apple Tree...

...was not a thing foretold.

It had no predicate in augury or suspicion.

The slow demise that sudden sprung

Caught my sight and breath

The apple tree undone, severed  by a pale wisp of wind.

[I call the Apple he and she
to honor the latent memory
legend, belief, and mystery -
He and She  the human journey
began in Eden with a tree]

He and she had grown old and weak, for so long

Was old and strong…what went wrong?

Why did the lichen covered trunk suddenly

Bend the green grass?

Leaves withered over half. Dry twigs for supple branches

She once wore robin’s nests in her hair, now so bare

And the fruits...tiny and forgiving

food for squirrels and flowers for bees.

The death of the Apple tree on the corner

At the juncture of Oak and winding streets with forgettable names

There in the soft gaze of a drooping fir, 

and not so far from the old Sycamore.

 The old apple fell; a mere block away, the nearest apple tree, bent low

like an old weeping woman, seems in peril too.

Why should this gnarled and broken tree

Speak any consequence to me.

On an urban island, its tragedy

Confined to casual passersby.

I see the core gone empty

where once was heartwood, sturdy

Life water left rings of age and purity.

Was it the early swelling of its nodes

when her white blankets  unfold

and earth would soon lift her chin’

And tend to my delight the slow  bend

From frigid air to buzzing bees.

Perhaps the flash of deepest red and early

blossoms so fragile that we dread flurry

from gusts, or rain in windy pelting

No, I think it is the time;  I am blessed to see

Many things at beauty’s end, simply…and so many

 

The death of the apple tree ripples news, as cars pause to note

The change from yesterday and the scores of years before

As he and she rose from sapling to be the throne

of red top cardinal and vibrant Blue Jay

Now. A solitary Pecker sights the culprits beneath the tired old skin

Rap-a-tap gobble down too late

For the Apple tree is gone- and the roots

Crackle and sigh in the night for the sun

Can only whisper now…of glory days  and sweet fruit.