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Stars cast
reflections
on river bed
star fish
move around
to gather light
thoughts move
mind stays still
under eyelids
I’ve heard people tell of the moment they knew
That death would come what may, nor go away
Your dog died, mine did too, ants get squished and lamb’s for stew.
It just never seemed too much ado, nor hold much sway
Mortality does not take up residence, in the spare room,
Something’s alive, then not, so death has gone, not to the sky
Nor to the cellar, it’s just not there, not worth a scare.
Personal, yes, a car hit cat, I bashed it’s head, and knew why
we're all convinced
we're ninjas
at some point in our lives
when i was young
i wrapped a long sleeve shirt
around my head
so i could just see
through a slit
where the neck hole was
and jumped on couches
off steps
doing roundhouses
and karate chops
and hiding from people
it's the hiding part
that makes the most sense
it seems
like a watched pot
doesn't boil
there's no such thing
as a high profile
ninja
Nature’s gifts
A new day is born
plants have newer leaves
spring had sprung
now will bring fresher seeds
and apples and oranges and watermelons and pineapples,
yes pears
plenty of bananas
all just nature’sgifts free
but men will en-cash it all,
do see
so behind your houses
in the lawns plant guava trees
be happy it’s a sweet drink
and also for the mind
a nourishing ink
be happy
that's all one can say today
it's the last day of May
gliding on wings of a bee
we hover like a copter over our prey
legs laden with a bounty of pollen
using straws to suck their juice
with a sting to mesmerize the posies
we ziz zagged on our route with the loot
thrilled by this joyous ride with the bee
breathless we lied under a leaf
when the rain cleared I pruned her wings
then she took off on our fateful trip
we managed to miss some racquet strings
during a match in US Open
laughing with the crowd as they yelled
then joined in their Mexican wave
Forty pages are missing in a poetry book.
Somebody liked the poems, I guess,
and took them out and sent the rest back
to wander on the market of used books.
Now I only think about the lost pages.
What was in there?
What words and feelings
rebellious thoughts, complains or regrets,
revelations, a breath of elated spirit?
And where are they? In a dusty draw
or one of them folded into a boat float
down the stream of rain water
next to the squeaking and jumping pair
of new boots?
Sullied feet,
Filled to the brim
Like dry-wood termite.
In the mockery morgue,
Unintended jail peace
Grounded together.
In the profuse chamber,
lies a great harvest of silent peace
And piercing prudent people.
O for the sake of unborn
Let me speak louder
Been a crusader
Let me bear the consequence
The heartless are mindless
The can never heed the poets
Where ever the frontline is not civil
There must be evil
And there will be no sanity or transformation
Where I was born and regard as a citizen
Do I have right?
Every morning I wake up
I see the guise, the deceitful echelon
Program mate only on their own seed
Not for us but only their root
For these channelled course
Most of our pedestrian youths
Trapped inside for at least six weeks
by scars that heal at their own pace,
each night dreaming of mountain peaks
and crisp autumn sun on my old face.
I content myself with old memories
of decades spent on wooded trails
where leaves chased each other on a cold breeze
and told one another summer tales.
My mind drifts off to young men's places
places I'll likely never go again;
mountain valleys where white water races,
wild beaver ponds in isolated fens.
Breezes that carry a mind far away
Or the view that makes someone want to stay
A tropical isle in the pacific
Or some tranquil place, much less specific
A well-worn desk, with quill and with paper
Cobblestone streets or city skyscraper
A fiery hell, if their love’s by their side
A home in the clouds, with no greed or pride
Land that’s never been seen by surveyor
A world in answer to every prayer
Somewhere to continue the day’s good work
Anywhere shrimp’s at the end of a fork