I stood on my third floor balcony, looking up to the heavens
and I will be truthful, I became afraid. That huge, reddish-gold
ball loomed before my eyes; it seemed an apparition jumped
dimension, the moon, so huge, coming low to touch the earth.

I knew the moon was not falling, gravitational waves were not
shaking up the globe; but instinct found no other explanation
to a moon filling up the sky. I stayed a while, staring out, easy in
my logic, but turbulent in my soul. The eye for God now wider.

Ode to the brave little souls
The ones who are beaten, bruised
Their eyes are pools of sorrow, despair
Their little hearts, once innocent, now refused

They may be small, they may not talk
Rest assured though, they remember
They may be down trodden, even broken
But I will make them whole by the end of November

Their deep brown eyes, melting hearts
Their cowering demeanours, at every gesture
They back away yet wish to approach
Their wounds, though unseen, seem to fester

I waited in line for the amusement park
One of a hundred electrically-charged quarks
The line snaking around like a question mark
I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in before dark

When one of us waiting started a musical part
And it was like kindling for our fiery hearts
Pretty soon it was like a full on flow chart
Each one adding a little bit to the art

Is it not basic right to be obscene
Not a reversion to a cursing teen
And certainly not a foul mouth has-been
Rather a bleeping lean and mean machine

Need a damn Obscene Spelling Bee sorely
With no age limit for the constituents
That’s one hell of an idea surely
To enhance the profanity quotients

No need to be a monastic sourpuss
There is really nothing to discuss
Do not understand the self-righteous fuss
Just let go the inhibitions and cuss

Give me Strength
Oh! Lord /GOD /SOUL
THE UNKNOWN IMMORTAL ONE

To live up to
hopes
desires
and
good wishes
of all who send
lovely
Blessings

Bestow upon me
the Power
to compose
Exquisite language
as well as prose
so that all
who
Love Confidence
shall have an endurable
Friend
for all Times to come
who will in their Hearts
forever shall glow
as emotion does
like a RIVER flow

She is lost to her shopping
Rooms of shoes to be worn once or twice
Instantly bored of her sunglasses
She needs new bathrobes today.

The masses bleed for compassion,
Babies torn from a mother’s breast
Screaming in foreigners’ arms
O soft spoken beauty
This was your Evita moment
To spread your magic fashion smile.

If you could shed a tear
On your high Slavic cheeks
And wave your wand! All,
All will adore you!

Things are beginning to get better now;
the sloth had been my pet deer,
and a crumbling of faith, my friend.

I know you tried to show me
the power of the mind, how mind
determines the world for you,
because through mind, you see.

I am reminded of Einstein’s words,
you can’t see within the cause,
and all truths are but theories
gleaned from observing the effects.

And your mind told me of eternals!
of values, higher than life. of things
beyond the physical grasp.

As sparrows trip to my window sill
and chirp before the sun is up,
I feel then like I'd let my quill
to fill with music my morning's cup.
So soft and sweet, with tender tweet
they touch my heart with a special joy,
and no matter how is down the beat,
the tweets are sure to pack up the coy.

The melodies grow to magical tunes,
till unfurls the sun on the sandy dunes.

Let me start….by smacking you upside the head
For all the silly things done and said
Let me continue with words of encouragement
You have not yet lost, what you have not yet met

You flew the coop, excited and young
A new-found freedom flowed through you veins
But, oh journey its been, times gone bung
And where, oh where my dear girl were your brains?

the bearded
are proud
of their ability
to grow
something
keep a garden
on their face
keep their IDs
in their wallets
be prickly
but still get kisses
(or get prickly
when she
withholds kisses)
the bearded
see each other
pass by
and nod
knowingly
knowing what
it takes to grow
and garden
woo
and experience woe
though they’re
reaping
what they didn’t
exactly sow
short or long
messy or neat
bushy or five o’clock