Blue sky’s, Green trees, all this beauty brings me to my knees.                                                                                                                      
White moon, Yellow sun, playing all day just for fun.                                                                                                                                      
Red roses, Pink flowers, thinking about her for more then an hour.                                                                                                              

Where are you I need to talk?
To walk as I do, with new thoughts
A strange quietness to my ways
Where equals are so different.

Fly high with thoughts anew
Where is it going I ask?
Be gentle with their worlds
We can see many new words

Coldness that freezes Ice
Warmth that would melt rocks
Yet both held at bay.
Touching the mind.

To sing stories of old
Prayers from many tongues
Worlds kissing at a whim,
Then pursuing their own path.

THE DAKOTAS:
[SEASONS: WINTER]

Arctic winds seized
the Dakotas
with no warning
and the northern trees
froze in mid breathing.
snow lay heavy
crashing in silent thuds
from roofs and mountain sides.
suddenly the earth
seemed to die
and Nature spoke its desolation

For a long time now
I've been fed
the same menu;
same meal courses
served in the form of reports
about murdered casualties,
innocent hostages,
and camouflaged conferences
to satisfy the killers
and the chairs' owners

then
you get your dessert
elegantly displayed
by our mother nature
as a volcanic eruption,
an earthquake,
or a tsunami

a satisfying meal
always served
stale
there
in the cuisine of time
for you
and me

we coax
embrace
pure perpetual essence
at the centre of imagination

devolve our eternal given spirit
through eons
from unconditioned, free
invisible
to dazed confinement
consigned in stardust

first consciousness
resides
wrapped
quietly hidden
the fingerprint of sentience behind
what is
has been
will be without end

while
into void
from potential
we
somehow
bring life to myth
.

passing between soft lips
the breeze-blown cloth of nightgown
and imagination
the soft skin
your cover is touching
the laces
stretch and slide across
softness kissing warmth

A brown jewel
I long to kiss
black lace releases
the mystery
braided in code
I must solve
silk black hair

The last ragged leaves of green
are turning now to gold
on the boomer generation's tree
as all save I are getting old
with things which hang unevenly

Our autumn has slipped up on us
as summers fade into the past
quickly becoming old folks' lore
as children turn adult too fast
let's go check out the Scooter Store *

complex tapestries weave
helix in their coils
dissuading the temporal heart
leaping in ballet fronds

her cascade colic laugh

"Perjury" cries this out
saute hazy drama dream
while dirty feet skips
down stairs with weathered
key scored ballastrade
her legs of flashing ivory
jimmeying key chords
down
every
second
step

and my heart soars
in her aria's
like the rush of fractions
she swears when she
scores

PATCHWORK QUILT

colors fading
into grey
edges frayed
and stitches torn
to undone
no use to anyone
pieces old and worn
good to clean up.
metamorphsis into rag
then to ashes
then to dust.

from stilted quick speech confined to city
voices colliding in too close a dance
to the friendly coo-ee of vibrant countryside
deep echo resounding through open expanse

from frozen, detached and phlegmatic concrete
with surreal hum that starves the soul
to animated murals of ever-changing landscapes
as seasons give birth to their respective goals