The air is absolutely still
on this cool late autumn day
and such a cloudless crystal blue
one sneeze could blow it all away

It's Thanksgiving and the limbs are bare
each tree a sketch of varied gray
save scattered green cedars and pines
where the finches flit and play

Far shore's reflected on the pond
standing the whole world on its head
where the red hawks soar inverted
and rising sun turns the ground red

Sing

sing of it children, free and unafraid
each syllable's ring, each consonant laid
laugh at the high spot, weep into the blue
bemoan wet feet from the holes in your shoe
rest in the chemical scent of her shade

As time passes that sunlit serenade
will hold you up and fix your barricade
you'll ponder how much she remembers you
sing of it children

Perched on his knee
a time of glee
we were going to play horsey
jumping up and down
always acting the clown
he made me giddy with joy
my uncle, a big strapping boy

My memories are distant
I wrack my brain, torment
trying to think when we stopped visiting
parents busy, his life not permitting

Waves of energy flow off your wings
seep into them weeping hope springs
cradled my head smoothing back hair
bring me to peace show me you care

Revealed in an atom of radiated joy
bathing in bliss , pain cannot enjoy
evermore near nor evermore farther
I wander this planet scared and scarred

My angel of mercy rapture pure heart
brought me in closer never to part
silky soft kisses that light up the dawn
makes a heart joyful never you mourn

You are Rumpelstiltskin, of our time
with thread; you spin out gold in verses
In the fixture of words, a master
of confusion and of mysteries
abrasively noshing verse lovers
with astute adjectival phrases
This poet is a teacher of logic
throwing up inevitable traps
in simple puzzle to mesmerize

Ringing of steel
Slams as it closed
Made with bars
for be juxtaposed

Turning of key
Snap of the lock
Prison is made
Of concrete and block

No crime committed
Yet price be paid
Sins from another
Onto me was laid

Six long years
I will patiently stitch
A master plan
go off without hitch

For I know
That we both know
Who really is the lier
When I get out of here
I'm bringing brimstone and fire

Some thoughts of winter I've recalled,
and what it meant to us.
It meant for one thing bundling up
to meet school’s morning bus.

It also was a time to spend
in scratching out our names,
as well as hearts and other things,
on frozen window panes.

Of coming in from out of doors
all frozen through and through,
and sitting close to fire place
our whole day in review.

And listening to those hissing sounds
steam radiators make,
heard while lying in your bed
'til sleep could overtake.

Distant purple plateaus seem so clear
Over ruddy hues of russet tans so near.
Endless undulating desert’s sand
Roasting in nature’s low geoid pan.
Sunburned sages droop under the heat;
A little shade from a lonely mesquite.
All this under a vast blue shroud,
And a single white billowy cloud.
Just a puff that is so desolate---
Perhaps searching for a missing mate.

In the land of make-believe, I've been told
A beautiful princess doth dwell, oh tell
Its not for me to inform, not so bold
by all accounts shes a damsel, so swell
Oh, her skin so fair, could be transparent
the countenance of a mischievous child
narrator of this tale, love apparent
Obvious, enchanting girl him beguiled
Ah, his listeners curiosity piqued
to find her, compulsion, an aching need
this princess was in every nook seeked
some put a bounty on her head,the greed

Ekaette, rounded and complete
Paragon of African beauty
A lone daughter of Monsieur Morgan
Adored by many as a model
He was the father I never had

Ekaette, lady to the core
Cool and calculated in her ways
Groups regretted you weren’t a man
But you looked after your father’s house
Cared for the sick and raised their spirits

Ekaette, Florence Nightingale
A guiding seraph when in dire need
Mere seeing you, I fantasized love
I was shy and young to say the word
You were at hand, like my real sister