ONE SNOWFLAKE

And here we freeze
one snowflake now descending
like spring blossom disguised as water
floating
on currents of air

down light
the white of winter's cast off gown
make pale the distant hills and town
in shrouds of thin soft greys

the wash of water colours
on the page of days
that should be filled with rays of sun
the flowers begun to burst in celebration
shut now every one

A thursday silent as a sunday
ascension day
they say
with wistful fitful quiet

With each heart beat
I see visions…
Faces…
Of kinsmen from next door
Burning in domestic flames
Screaming out in mortal pain!

With each drum beat
I see…
The Bloodshot eyes of young people like me
Balancing guns
In their premature hands

I watch in horror
As they spray bullets into the thoraxes of others

Familiar tunes play in my head
Of songs continually sang
By my mothers…

I hear them whisper to themselves;
“Was it better for our babies to be born alive?
…Or…”

We have heard the rattle and rhythmic clings
Of metals, and woods and plastics
Breath out music, melodic inspirations
We have even heard the dulcet humours
Tunes of our hearts beat rhythmically
And our troubles rest their tides

But the rhythmic clings of terror
Sound rattles of the riffles
And the millipede march of tanks
In and around our neighbourhoods
We only hear music of cries, stench
Of fear and awful aroma of death

Who sends me gifts of lilacs,
their mute scent clamoring
with my city, its carbon monoxide
mouthing words I can not hear?

The forest is unremembered here,
a sad dullness spikes the spring air.
Vacant fields of yellow emerge.

Come, pour the wine. Inhale the
elegant chandelier of air. Loosen
your lionheart before we forget
why we smile sometimes.

There is no reason for beauty.

SAY, “CHEESE”

“I’ll see you when I see you”
I said.
By that time
I will probably be dead.

How nonchalant and cool
of me.

I wish you well”
“Go to hell”
Is what I meant
But A thorough thoroughbred
am I.
And so I hung up the phone
faked a voiced indifference
And began to die
again

Say, “cheese and smile”

A careful grid of purest white
laid out upon a field of green
white rows trailing out of sight
all the lines are crisp and clean

Above, the clouds pass as they do
meadow larks sing out their song
before they flush toward skies of blue
a mild commotion that seems wrong

For on this consecrated ground
brave men who have earned their rest
lie undisturbed by any sound
men who died doing their best

INDIAN WAY
Ann 4th April 2012.

Trees diagonally lit, a ladder up
The Indian Way, leading to the stone,
an altar for the squirrel's meal
spread out with pine cone bracts,
the wind whispers vespers in the breeze

a leaf from autumns dress floats down,
delivers silent prayer, the roots play music
with their sinewy fingers clasping
velvet cushions, moss,
offering their ever changing shades

Many summers past, we were standing,
for each other’s dates anxiously waiting.
it was then our eyes did glance,
and their arrival we forgot, perchance.

it was then your eyes transfixed mine,
yes it was within our domain, we felt fine,
we stared and glanced and blushed,
at each other’s arms, naturally we rushed.

t was at the spur of moment god granted,
it was our union for ever which was supplanted.
That moment we still remember even now,
it’s good our meeting was fortunate somehow.

Love has carved a place for you,
Deep into my heart,
And it shines, and it glows,
Like a valley full of stars,
Time has claimed a space for you,
Burning in my chest,
And it warms me like an ember,
I find comfort and rest,
My eyes are heavily laden,
With dreams yet to be,
Sleep wakes me from my wanting,
A gentle rocking like the sea,
Filling the chambers of my being,
With emotions so strong and true,
Fueling the fire of the space,
In the place,
Love carved out for you.

The Garden of Love

He fortook a ounce of belly flutter
Warm glances caught him by surprise
His cold can of frozen beer melted
As sunshine in her eyes made contact wih his.