Who saw
you, Little Leaf,
sway gently
down
down
down
to the earth below?

Only me,
as I meander
through these woods
in
this
moment,
pausing here to adorate.

You are beautiful, Little Leaf.

Am I in your dreams, nightly,
like a shard of glass brightly,
catching the light of your attention?

Always there, in the back,
cutting you no slack,
festering, no need to mention.

So far away but near
when I whisper, can you hear
incredible sorrow, all those sad voices?

After I came to my muddled senses,
seeing clearly the broken fences
how I had taken away your few choices!

I took a scalpel to your life
with my thirsty, rusted knife.
marrying another, phoning you the night before.

An endless wave,
of options are laid
before mine eyes.

Something bold
and hopeful,
fills the broken sky.

Ominous and foreboding,
your wheels begin to turn,
something deep and perilous,
initiates a burn.

Your life is held for ransom,
because of your misdeeds.
The seeds which you have planted,
have grown to noxious weeds.

A course laid out before you,
which you have not foreseen.
You walk a lone and twisted path,
into a dark ravine!

Mr Bird be his name, and indeed his nose
can be said to resemble a beak,
those eyes dart swiftly from side to side.
Hard to imagine him ever flighty, though,
or migrating to some foreign clime.
He served his time in the marriage bed;
widowed now, his wife, always somewhat wispy,
dwindled away completely last autumn.
His dog and cat likewise vacated the nest
and he’s left with a garden ornamented
by statuettes of storks and swans;
a stair-lift, mobility scooter,
a colostomy bag and a parrot gifted

Once he left, all the smart leaders laughed
at the big bully baby so daft
that he crawled back for less
well, of course they said yes
what a mess when you get your own shaft!

I feel the spectrum of your troubled gray,
Where droplets stream and wish the world away.
The running glass, a mirror for desire,
Like rising steam meets a cooling fire.
Though power fails, currents find their course;
A torrent strong, a deeply flowing source.

Our souls, like cogs in clockwork fine,
Are swept and swallowed by strange design.
Awakened phantoms chill drafted air;
Illusions past we suddenly share.

lonely, you sent for me in Pensacola, where you stayed
flying, coming from the Midwest, fated to be betrayed...
Driving back from paradise, we bid farewell to white sands,
(and) goodbye to the innocence of my tender heart's plans.

Married but a very short time, I quickened with our child
shaky on fatherhood, made you think you'd been beguiled,
so untrue, but your fears and fantasy grew, crippling you
treating me terribly, silence was not the worst you'd do...

I need to fly
In that blue sky
Because that is my home
That God had made for me
I am happy that I can fly
In that blue sky
Also I fly over the ocean
And mountains
People that are on top
Of the mountains
Watch me with their
Binoculars
In they can see me closer
With their binoculars
I am the bird that my father
Made with his holy hands
Trust me nothing bad will
Happen to me
In the sky
The people will live me alone
To fly
Now the morning is ending

Has November

 stepped in yet? 

On my home’s calendar, 

the pages turn yellow parchment, 

wrinkled, And more fragile. 

More foliage

 falls.

There's an echo before me,
An aria of joy.
Although but a whisper,
It's one no man can destroy.

I heard it in the trees,
In bustling valleys too.
And in amongst the chaos,
Its message grew and grew.

I saw it in weakness,
But not in glory's eyes.
In songs above the shouting,
That drowned out people's cries.

I feel it in my heart,
It permeates my soul.
And if I'm feeling doubtful,
I'm reminded of its goal.