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Jenny 12m
The ticklish the rain
The tiny the drops
The dozen of scars
The mind remains calm.

The blow of wind
An abandoned site
Surrounded by trees
Being judged for it is.

The braids that blows
The tear don’t flow
The ink has smeared
The skin peeled off.

Wind so strong
Sound so strange
Love so shallow
Time so estranged.

Heaven and sins
Mountain vanished
Drenching us all
The tiny the drops…
the swan's head fell in a collapsing tangent.
the swan couldn't keep it held, couldn't bear stick the feathers nobody believed to weigh a tonne of bricks.
the swan cared all too much, couldn't blend reality with the song of bliss the crows hissed of.
the swan mustered to persevere,
blazing nature's matrons music ear to ear
the swan saw leaves fall as autumn made it's seasonal call,
would you ever guess - the swan blamed only itself.
for the earthly demise wields a beautiful disguise.
the swan named fallacy would never see,
for fall's weight fell into every atom in it's tragedy.
the swan felt death in layers of travesty each sacred hour,
the swan revered the crows and deer, the sea's flows and freer galaxies,
condemned to the fragile atonement of mortality's unutterable catastrophe.
An aching song
replaces the windful soul
of branches clanking on
to rhythms growing old-
-
the residue
of explosive tunes
drowns out the view
of old- now new.
-
there’s so much red in the sunset
so much red in the onset
so much red in the eyelids
so many tears still falling,
there’s not much green in the audience,
much more green in faucet
hidden green in the closet
too many tears still falling.
-
white hills with wheels
made of steel and fear
look to **** and steal
while the white hills men cheer.
-
gold dripping water
from self righteous fathers
get stored far from the thirsty
so they can gain and barter.
-
there’s no way to heal everyone
unless we become many ones,
reaching out to hold the youth
from plummeting into a deadly sun.
there aren’t many ones,
yet far too many anyones-
ghosts too selfish to lift a finger
or gain souls to breathe a helpful song.
-
when will good will
and will power will
something more than death
over every hill?
when will good will
and will power will
something innocent
instead of thrilling kills?
when will good will
and will power will
something truly good
to be a hearty fill?
when will good will
and will power’s will
be enough to keep us pure
enough to love still?
the way of St. James
preserves mounds of ancient steps
under bending oaks
To My Anam Cara:

I’ve walked the greens this morning,  
butterflies whipping through the air,  
a slight breeze gently kissing my hair.  

Thanking the tree, hoping you’d see  
what I see—  
sensing, feeding love, fleeting  
yet amplified across space and time.  

Tree-lined garden view through the picture window,  
golden retriever at my side,  
Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos encouraging the plants to prosper.  

Holding you sacred in the siempre and the now,  
sending notes of love and longing—  
may they catch your ear,  
touch your heart,  
and confirm that I am here,  
there,  
and everywhere with you.
Sent with love and longing  
for Dublin,  
my Anam Cara.
In every bloom,
Pollinated happiness
Intoxicates me with colorful hallucinations
Brightening the shadows within.

Long have I, like a vampire
Dreamt of catching light, tho so denied
And amid this paradise,
I let the warmth of the morning sun comfort me.

Here among the emerald,
Verdant rows with pops of violet or orange,
A vibrant kaleidoscope of crimson and apricot
I am entranced, bewildered by ancient magics
Holding me like a newborn babe,
Swaddled within a blanket of leaves.

I am happiest in this retreat,
Rocking in my chair,
Sipping sweet tea as the flies compete
Racing for supremacy, spiraling for control.
While busy bees pollinate and buzz a little song for me.

I can hear the gentle lullabies of trees
As zephyr winds shake within the canopies
As light dazzles through the concave of leaves,
Bountiful essences, nature teaches healing,
Through a balm of wonder and make-believe.

Catch me among the wilds,
Wrap me up in serendipity,
Let me wave off the shade of reality,
Lingering obligations.

I don’t want to wake up in the dark clouds
When the morning star shines so bright
Illuminating life in all blissful reprisals
I’ll sing a reverie for the waking world
In a chorus crescendo with song birds at the melody.

In every bloom,
Pollinated happiness.
Let me hallucinate for a while,
Among the emerald and pops of gemstone blooms
Where inside hope springs ever more eternal.
Nature is my sanctuary.
Wake up! Wake up! What's happening? The sky is turning red, the ocean is roaring loudly, there are no animals anywhere.

The earth cries out for help, but no one answers. We all ignored her when she needed us, but when we needed her, she was there and helped us survive.

How did we repay her? How did we thank her? We thanked her by cutting down trees, killing animals, throwing trash into the ocean as if trees and animals were nothing more than unimportant things.

We made Mother Earth cry, we made her suffer, and now that she's dying, what are we doing? How are we helping her?

"Please, help her, she needs your help, this is the last time she asks for it. Please."

Wake up, please.
Listen to the sound
of a butterfly
flying by

Feel the wind
from a bumblebee's buzzing

Clouds in the sky
The endless artwork
Three poems written by my beautiful wife.
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