I had a cherry
You had a kumquat

I found a key instead of a pit
And you found a lock

Together we fit

If nothing else in this life had I.  Nothing
Sought nor found other than you,
My circle would complete its circuit
With my heart settled on you.

If I were a bird, able to fly, I'd stay,
Take feathers plucked from my chest
To make a feathered nest for you
And for us two.

I would throw colors at the moon
Should it be pale, and paint the stars
In lovelier hues all for you,
In a world made only for me and you.

I was never here.
You never saw me.
Mums the word.

If we were in one of those old British shows
I would lay my finger next to my nose.

With a brief tap
You’d know that
I was incognito.

You are like moonlight in a jar,
The reflections, on water, of stars,
Soft strumming of acoustic guitar,

A cool breeze on a sultry night.
The thought of you sparks life,
And causes one to indulge in dreams.

It is often the only way to clear out non-transient thoughts.  
The eviction makes room for the fugacious pleasures of life.  
Not easily applied with ink to paper.

Plump un-pecked cherries,
Strawberries and raspberries,
Picked to pop into mouths

Of reddened lips.
A glance of eyes
And hopes of romance

Within the secret of a garden.
Standing close I search
For your hand in shaded wonder.

Everything points to a brighter future.
What fuels our world’s beauty, forests, fields, and gardens?

Is it not decay, the litter-layer, scrap & waste, the uncultivated?
Reclaimed?  New life springs from deadwood, from the effluvia.

Superfluous matter feeds life and produces the crown
This the natural world wears on her weary head.

As they say of one man’s trash or animal regarding that matter . . .
Our systems are breaking down, thankfully though painful;

Giving hope of a bright new world springing forth.

Though things at present may look bleak.
Everything points to a brighter future.
What fuels our world's beauty, forests, fields, and gardens?
Is it, not decay, the litter layer, a waste uncultivated?
Superfluous matter feeds life and produces beauty.
"One man's trash," as they say, or animals for that fact -
Our systems are breaking down, building up, breaking down
Again.  In this churning regenerating it is giving hope.
The hope of a bright new world, before us, springs up.

The foreshore
is where
The mudlarks go
To search
For finds of the past.

Back bent, head forward
they stroll along
In quiet meditation
Lost in reflection
Seeking treasures lost, then found.

Bringing 'past' into 'present', and 'future'.

We do not have to agree.  
We truly can still remain friends.
Yet, if we really care for others,
We'll help to lift the fog
Which holds good minds down.
Corrupt is bad but corrupt and crazy
Is simply straight up insanity!
People, you are on the wrong street.
You seem to be on Insanity Street!
Take a walk down Reality Lane

Inside a warm domicile
Cover up, hunker down.
Stay awhile, don't venture out
For the great black cloud
With an icy fist will come
To steal the sun for everyone

breath
life
color
elements

you
me
the sea
a thousand shades of blue & green

I need sunshine.
That's what I need,
But I also need sleep.

Could I close my eyes,
See the sunlight
Through closed eyelids,
With shadows darting,
As I fall asleep.

Cool breeze, warm sun,
Best rest ever!
Wish it was like it was
When I was young.

You were a wild, tortured soul
It would take a warrior to tame
The beast that lodged within you

And so I fought in full-battle gear
Until I could not go on and lay down the sword
My armor had dropped off year after year

Until I was naked before all, defeated
Now you are dead my love,
But not by my hand.

Droplets of red
Splatter across
The room
Pooling into puddles
O, the horrors
A messy scene
As I slice into

The strawberries

You were written
In a language
No one understands.

You became a star
In the night sky.
While I?  I truly tried
To read your code

When you burst
Into a supernova
Overhead.

And just like that…
Here in my space
I write you into
Existence

Have the crocus bloomed, yet,
In their rainbow colors?
I wait for them above all others.
Not because they are the loveliest.
Not because they are delicate & fair.
But, because they bravely poke their heads
Into the rarified air.
And then I know hope.
Spring is on its way!

You invaded minds
Like a brain-worm
Munched your way
Until all is in decay

Should I sit around and think about
how miserable I will be tomorrow
or should I live this day more fully?

On the one hand, lamenting what
has not happened yet steals the life
from the moments of the day;

On the other hand,
there is something to be said for
advanced-planning!

Buttoned into wrinkles
Of time and mind

Like a melody
On a tin whistle

A lingering sense
Of otherworldliness

Hardwired for folktales
Oral traditions filled

With mythical traditions
And practical wisdom

Time, like a whistled tune
Blown and gone, remains

Amidst haunting,
Faint memories

And your green isle

You bought the dawn paying such a high price,
Spending the darkness like fake money,

Saving up your hopes like a hoarder;
Looking for someone else to bring your joy

Wading through the denseness to you.
Throw open the windows, the doors;

The light was out there, waiting, all along
For your open eyes.

Straight ahead and out of my bed,
Every morning between 5 am - 7 am
I go out onto my balcony and photograph

From the dawning until the sunrise's completion.
It feels me with joy and admiration
And gets me out into the morning's pollution.

Like a heavy stone lid
Over the vessel of my soul
You overshadowed all,
All the buds of flowers
Which within me desired
To grow.

When it is dark enough to hold the stars in your hands
And caress the mighty heaven's vast expanse with fingertips,
Look up.  That sky is efflorescent.  O!  All those stars
In phosphorescent twinkle, the clouds so effervescent,
Together boil an exhilarating brew.  
My lover's gaze is contagious, you see.  
May it intoxicate you to see design.

The Biblical heart
The complete inner person,
including one’s
desires,
thoughts,
disposition,
attitude,
capabilities,
motivations,
and goals.

The metaphorical heart
can be led astray,
down a path,
into harm,
leap,
be joyful
jump for joy
guide,
blacken,
Love.

Know your own heart
For out of it are
The sources of life,
Love,
Wisdom,
Integrity,
Health,
Envy,
Hate,
Your "fate."

Fate is not
something written
and unchangeable.  
It is the will,
the determining cause
like an arrow aimed taking a certain course.
That depends on the skill of the one aiming it.
Fate is in your hands,
not the universe.
It is not an unforeseen excuse for you to use.

A feather is not a bird.
A rock is not a mountain.

A petal is not a flower.
A seed is not a garden.

The true nature of desire
Is not "want" but "need."

Spring cannot be far-off.  
The Spring Peepers have sung.

Let the greening have its start
For flowering has begun.

Soon the bees will flit about
And sweetly start to hum.

Spring simply cannot be far-off
For the Spring Peepers have sung.

Like a nomad and the desert
A bird and its feathers
Like rain in stormy weather
You and I go together

If the nomad leaves the desert
Or the bird drops its feathers
Or no rain comes in stormy weather
You and I will still be together

And on the winds of weather
We fly as if with feathers
To hide within the desert
Forgotten but together

In eternal love

April 2,
It snowed in Minnesota
The poor who were cold
Are caught in the trap
Their help is long gone
The programs cut
Why?  To help the rich,
Of course.

As write, post, and rework my poems I rely on your feedback to work my craft.  To write poetry is not mere pastime it is necessity for me .  Oh not that it pays the bills.  It merely helps to keep me sane.  An important endevor.

As we move into 2025 let's elevate our the quality of our work together.

My sincere thanks

Grapes flew like amethysts across the sky;
Blood sprayed and drops fell like rubies in my eyes;
And diamonds of tears will flow, that cannot be denied.
But, it was only alloy, not gold, the setting was a lie.
Where, now, are your pearls of wisdom?

Are we junk?  Waste,
Shard and smear,
Empty symbol made by
“Doled out Poet’s papers,
Hoarded like sweets?”

Our awkward secrets
stumble
cislunar.

What is the magic in the sum of 19?
It is not quite 20, in the mind a small enough amount.
It is more than 15, which would make you a cheapskate.
So many really good charities keep asking me for just 19.

You are looking at me
With adoring eyes
Imagining that you see
Perfection

I am an expert on your culture.
After all, I have cable tv
With many channels to inform me.

I have earned the right, as any vulture,
To pick you apart at your weakest seam.
In darkest moments you'll get no reprieve.

I am justified in my judgements, you see.
For I have cable tv to teach me
All the narrow truths that I need.

A mockingbird suddenly chirps
Just like a cricket's sound.
Then it beeps like a car alarm.
It runs through its amazing repertoire,
None of which these creatures truly are.
I've known men just like that.

Hazy thoughts
Like smoke dissipating

Clung to
Yet too soon fleeting

Like one of your cigarettes
Snubbed out

Whiskey breath
The scents are all I have left

Even as an orange fog ascends across the land
The blossom of a precious rose continues to bloom
A bright spot growing, its scent is prophetic

"But as these things start to occur, stand up straight and
lift up your heads, because your deliverance is getting near.”
Luke 21:28

A man found a spiderweb in the corner of the room.
He brushed it away with his handy kitchen broom,

And then he walked away.

Upon his return, which was actually quite soon,
Not only had the web reappear but it had mushroomed!

This only proved to make him madder.

But, now here is the moral of the story, which is true
Try as you might, no matter what you do,

You cannot remove the results of the problem
And allow the cause to stay.

You must get at the spider of the matter.

Rain-scented perfume, this
Aromatic smell of rain-soaked earth
Monsoon-infused, centuries-old.

A man turns his head towards the laughter
As he crushes a batch of ancient clay.
Knowingly his attention returns to his family.

It is the smell of the baked, parched soil
When the first rains arrive after the drought
Which concerns the artisan of scented oils.

The enticing fragrance fills the air
With each precious drop of heavy syrup
Eked from the ages, eked from eternity.

Captured in the tiny bottle, power-filled.
The process has survived the fall of civilizations
And empires and conquerors.

It is said to have healing powers.
Aged like the land and its ancient people,
Deep and rich, the liquor of the essence of time.

It must come from this land, this people.

This lily-rose-faced one, 'er
With lips set in a romantic pout,
And hips like a blooming flower
Opening.  Fresh with dew
Her alabaster skin glistens,
A slender neck begging for pearls,
Her long black hair is unbound.

With coverings of arabesque cloth
And tassels of gold in their richness,
Her sumptuousness abounds
Everywhere, on tables, lamps, beds.
She is the freest of free spirits set to fly
At a breath's moment, you will find,
Should you be able to be clear-eyed.

Will she stay for long enough? No!
She has already spread her wings to fly.
Though through life, she only glides.
But do not blink for a second an eye,
You will find that butterflies live brief
Lives.  And they and their beauty
Eventually, they die much too soon.

The sky was a fabric of cloud cover.
The threadbare heaven was covered
In moth-ridden holes with frayed edges.
Stringy clouds, as if the loose openings,
With a ratty-tatty weave created a gauze
Of tangled threads.

It is truly cold out, 32 degrees,
and into late night.

But, in order for me to write

I stay up late, eating ****** Nuts and ice-cream
and letting my feet freeze.

Night, crowded with a pale haze, a lavender mystery
Even darkness was grateful that the moon wasn't having it
As it beamed through low whispered wind and intrigue intermingling
Continue your deep slumber, uninterrupted by any queries or controversies
The last few lights go out as dreams are counted one by one, longings promised
Yet, unfulfilled and unfulfillable when the night sky has other plans for sleeping heads
The oldest secrets are explained in unknown languages in encrypted symbols held within a fog
Across galaxies streaming onwards from its origins into the present constellations of understanding
The moon and its mythology wrap the night around a soul that wants to hide among the warm lavender night

Layer upon layer the act of love
Become like the comforting warmth of a bed,
A sheet, a blanket, a comforter on top. Piled high!
Acts of love build within us the very knowledge
That, yes, indeed we are cared for.  We are loved.

Learning to live without fear
Learning to love without fear
Learning to love Fear
Because Fear needs someone
To live

The Truth is often painful
Yet, truth is required.
We must face it head-on
For it cannot be denied.

When we look into an abyss
We see faces looking back.
Our humanity must accept
Some faces are long gone.

Our duty is to remember.

Let me be a river
To flow away from you

Let me be a cloud in the sky
And float away in the blue

Let me be a mouth
To open and scream

Let me be a Northern
Raging to the south

Let me be a night
Filled with sweet dreams

Let me be beauty
Where ugliness was

Let me be love

there is wonder of all kinds
never boring

beating my wings
moon over life

It is here that I feel!