Far too many are the ones
with whom I'll walk no more
will they again see setting suns
having reached that other shore?

I wonder if they e're look back
to this side of the sea
or if they even have the knack
of giving thought to you or me

It's getting pretty crowded there
as I advance slowly with age
and loved ones here become more rare
on this side of the page

Sitting on a flowerpot.
Playing his guitar.
Saluda River Blues on the breeze.
Feeling like a garden gnome.

He keeps losing that E
Buggar!

Harmonics ring out.
Micro-elephant sings - albeit a little off key.
But what is pitch, anyway?
Just an aesthetical interpretation of the fallible.

Just one parting thought - lest I
sound too philosophical: Alpaca!

(see below for motivation and focus)

So you rode the magic carpet
And you sailed above the skies
You were taken by the beauty
You were blinded by the lies
As you soared up through the heavens
You could sense the angel’s sighs
They had seen into your future
And they witnessed loves demise
Now you head towards disaster
With no one to hear your cries
As you cling on to your memories
And the cold wind burns your eyes

The ordinary day
grey sky incumbent
peels off its mask,
it is raining
on the sepia-covered earth,
one lonely pansy
standing against
all this end-of-December harshness
yellow-as-the-sun with life,
fearless in my window box
against all my hopelessness.

Without you, loneliness.
Without you, unplowed fields of sorrow.
With you, a discovery
that life is better,
so much better
than without you.

"I'm jittery"
a sigh
and sharp cold
sunlight falling
from the gentle
swell of cheek
like a golden
tear

collapse in
a seizure
an ivory ragdoll
dance
of death defying
detrium

the television
recites its pitch
throwing the phantom
glow and its rich
voice across us
huddled like crash
survivors on faded
carpeted landscape

"ffffffttttt!" you murmur
stirring limbs

Had fights on silly matters,
Taught to handle situations better,
Cared always be it any season,
Without any selfish reason,
Equals father, mother,
A special gift given by god known as brother.

Transcendent
The wind carries me
across the face
of the ample full moon,
so pregnant with light,
it looks likely to burst.
wind, robust and hearty,
chasing the clouds rapidly,
obliquely, and temporarily
obscuring Luna's face,
then clearing it once again.
I ride the currents
with heart in throat,
trying to sing my pleasure,
but it comes out
a resonant hum,
reverberating throughout
my entire being.
I sense the light waves
as they caress and saturate my soul.

If we could sit down for one Christmas dinner,
together,
after all the years
had converged and split our hearts
into yesterday,
if we could gather around the table,
sit down before we lose our balance,
drunk with the wine of forgiveness
after all the tears have been wept
and still be blown away by the constant wind,
the angry sea calming, the moon smiling
jagged cuts on our faces,
the bleeding
from the inside out stopped with the
sweet fullness of time,