I am a chef,
I cook the food
That everyone loves.
The food that change(s)
A body language.
The food that unveils
A path to destiny.

A chef that I am,
My food interprets
A language of the soul.
It's melodious,
With a Mysterious rhythm.

The aroma of sound,
Is what they perceive.
The delicacy for both spirits,
A feeder for living things
And none.
A music cooker that I am,
The feeder of souls.

Well, I guess that I could say
I'll meet you in Paris in the spring
or some romantic place far, far away.
Now that would really be something.

Or I could gift you a diamond broach
heart shaped with sapphire in the center.
Such a gift would be beyond reproach
on a day like this at start of winter.

Perhaps I could write you a love sonnet
about passion or emotions bold
envelope it with a wax seal on it.
For such things I fear I am too old.

We all have a vision
Knowing it is the mission
Seeing it is a decision
Grabbing it makes the conclusion

Time is a salient factor
Human a leading actor
Knowledge an indispensable rector
Wisdom a requisite director

Get your vision potential
Make that dream substantial
Acquire the skills essential
Then your worth becomes reverential

You cannot be too young to succeed
Although might be too old to proceed
Don’t make a thought to recede
Lethargic demeanor forces you to concede

This is the wind that blew in uninvited;
a stray note, wafted from the car in front,
I followed it home, that hand uncurled lightly
through the passenger window,
conducting the planing air, smoothing
Frail as crepe paper, yet cured by a touched care.
Look, what this sound could be:
in the strange concert of night, unseen friend,
a warble as you career around the bend.

On turquoise background
shadows of clouds,
              dark blue ink.

Colonies of algae,
pictographic tangle
words of absent minded 
lines and rings.

Oceanic liner
lost in the horizon.
Moon semitransparent 
           melting gold.

Gliding in and out
of uplifting current
        birds and children's voices 
                 cut through wind.

Firm and grainy surface.
   Sand  and salty flotsam.
     It is simply awesome
 to splay my toes on sand.

bendy buses
squiggle through
swarms of
yellow honks
and packaged pedestrians
amidst
grills and grates
belching steam
and screeches
beneath a fleet
of frozen feet

till

anesthetizing snow

suddenly
silence
stillness
a city succombs

briefly

tacit
relief
from the constant cacophony

untill

(wait for it)

the whirl and whine
from snowbound blowhards
start reving up their complaints
in frighteous indignation

I'm a spendthrift
and a hack
and I don't need you
to contradict me on that.

I remember when Self Esteem
was so important to me.

But now the door closes
and I shut it all out,
because if I don't
I'll drive myself mad.

And man, I wish I was mad.

And I wish it would all go away.
I can trace my failures all the way back
to every bad decision, choice, and failure I remember.

Where are you going and why are you going there
What is it that’s happening, and why do you care

Why do you go, what is the purpose of your quest
Too also, with the mysteries of love and compassion be blessed

Or to bear witness to a life put to death, yet who also forgave
While you were not there, you ran away; your life to save

By persecution and fear, your faith you had spurned
Yet, in the caverns of your mind, it still burned

Your servitude, put in question by your cowardice
Is rewarded only, when you realize you are powerless