For all the wondrous peals of shared, sad, laughter
At the frivolities and serendipities of life.

For all the care and listening given non quid pro quo
On accounts tallied against future interest.

For the quiet calming silences made the more so
By the gentle ssssssssnip of grey white locks.
The hummmmmmed clip of tumbling tresses.

For the knowing without asking.
The questions and answers spoken by our eyes.
For the love of stories told and spirits called.

For these we give thanks.

my in search of happiness

to my imagination
happiness is simply a state of mind;
it has nothing to do with money or wealth,
health
maybe yes.

But some with scores of dollars
are unhappy,
many with a loaf of bread are found smiling,
some have sex daily with many,
but are dissatisfied …
others don’t know what it means
and are still happy
saints they!

Empty corridors leading to
rooms that hold the sounds
as to the heighth and breadth of a life;

blasphemy and unconditional love
has exited simultaneously
from, said mouth.

Avenues plowing through to
dens, that shelter the sights
as to the width and depth of a life;

honesty and deceptional activities
have existed at the same time,
from said brain.

it sounds insane
but, the fact still remains,
truer words, were never spoken;

nocturnal daydreams
slumber of elder babies
rescued briefly
battered, beaten, broken ones
inhale deep
relief fading
abrasive, harsh transmission waves
lapping over sacred grounds
soothed lullabies jolted
scorching light consumes
inevitable reality

The Lotus Eaters [Euthanasia]

They ate of the seed of the lotus
hues of yellow white and dawn red
scents of eastern spices
gracefully flowing
on a warm Aegean breeze
and into the bliss of forgetfulness
they fell
lost to this world’s dreaming
no thoughts of a Heaven
no fears of a hell
and from a distance
I saw their wanderings
these eaters of the lotus seed
as each began to fade
into a sleep strange
and still
never to wake again.

Longo-Geremia

that night when words were whispering
and the room was quiet and stark
the thought in fearless beguile
mounted the empty page

like muses from the ages
it clasped the trembling hand
and in a fondled embrace
penned the painted picture down

courage sprung from syllables
from impressions old as time
and in that blessed time span
many a poem was conceived

i enthuse - my existence
resembles not an illusion
nor a sheer waste of ink
but rather a portrait
or a spirited work of art

Summanus chants
Ratri Ratri

supple thunder
Anoints the collared courtesan

worthy now to rove within his sovereignty

allowed hommage
palm may rest upon her lovers marbled skin

no awl to fear
no elegy to prose

Black trees
Dead grass
Dusty roads
Seen through
Venetian blinds
Become
Grand Canals
Sun tossed wavelets
And bobbing gondolas

On Brighton Beach
she had me

structuring castles with toe holds
and a moat to hold the ocean back

In those days
I could do no wrong

After thirty years
and many human failings

I still catch a glimpse
from her eyes
the stardom of fatherhood

Fate
The first date
He couldn't wait
To mate
Not procreate
But sate
Now she's late
He hates
The rate
Growth generates
Her belly emanates
Baby evacuates
Don't Commiserate
His Mood elevates
He recreates
That first date
And the first mate
Fate