workshop
Only the bravest, strongest birds
dare go aloft on such a day
a breeze which whispered now shouts its words
making trees bow deep and sway
The wind which once sighed through tall pines
now strips last leaves from old oak trees
breaking large limbs, snapping small vines
while bending cypress to their knees
It blows the woods' duff into drifts
while lifting harvest's chaff to skies
where all the clouds are rife with rifts
and dust peppers my squinting eyes
The kaleidoscope of events
was the life that passed
well planned strategies of life
that were expected to occur,
have fallen short of dreams
that were held while still
a bright eyed youth
To have thought that achievements
would come by simply working hard
then to realize
dreams are but made of vapors
which seem to pass like clouds
all that's left behind is the reality
of standing in the light
`
Invisible but not voiceless,
This fire within me burning;
Fueled by things long since done;
Uncertain it would continue
And most certainly would one day end.
Resounding vermillion trains,
Travelling across frontier lands;
That began by fits and starts.
But this is just the beginning,
And most certainly is not the end.
Smearing the silence with my thoughts:
Scarlet ink on blue paper;
Conversing along the lines;
Uncertain it would continue,
And most certainly would one day end.
craps shoot at thought café
in backroom
at the thought café
game of craps
was ongoing for as long
as I recall.
most of the regulars
were there with
their money folded
long ways between
middle and ring fingers.
action was a little
slow, and regulars
were looking for new
meat.
they looked my way,
and I shook my head, no
and said, “I don’t gamble.”
“why are you smoking that
damn pipe and drinking
cabernet?” they asked.
Through my eyes
You say you don’t feel beautiful
And you’re not the girl you were
You look into the mirror
It seem that things have changed
But baby,
you need to see what I see
And know you’re still the beauty
You’ve always been
Through my eyes
Don’t trust your eyes
For they only lie
I see how others look at you
And they want you as I do
So baby,
you need to see what I see
And know you’re still the beauty
You’ve always been
Through my eyes
I suddenly came to be
me
an individual
some say unique among myriad
white brethren
Having no religion or direction
I drift in a seeming random route
only connecting with others
by short -lived accident
from which I rebound
The short duration of
my brief lifetime
spirals slowly
inevitably
down
Until at last my beauty crashes
as I join my fellows who fell before me
and mingle with others once unique
in an ephemeral blanket
of a southern snow fall
which melts
Thy Voice May!
If these be
Thy kind words
Of earnest poetic ecstasy
Rise along with the Phoenix
And abide with me
Of that I’m certain
God shall return thy voice to thee.
You shall in time walk
Along with me
But by then
I would be standing isolated
At the threshold of eternity
From where no man
Can ever return
Know this ye.
For I continue to be
A naïve passer by
Retain your love for some one else
I am only a finger
To help erase strife
eyes
eyes hold you there
applause subsides
auditorium empties
another night
another show
whispers heard backstage
stage door creaks on
rusted hinges --
opening, allows players' exit
alleyway awake with footsteps
summer moths flutter naked light-bulbs
on aging brick walls -- casting eerie shadows
shuffle a dozen shoes
to street beyond
on the way for a coffee or drink
aura of performance just played fades --
just ahead of lightning and thunder
actors reach the street
"Muse I"
He comes gently
I hear him in my dreams
gives me inspiration
tells me I can fly.
Softly fleeting whispers
I try to catch the quiet
hold it tightly in my hands
till morning
when on paper
I can write,
making inaudible
whispers come to life.
"Muse II"
Seemingly coming from nowhere
these words that I find
dark, forgotten somewhere
beneath clutter in my mind.
A little thing from old site's blog........................
The canary just dropped dead
while swinging in its cage
just one chirp of fear and dread
a definite pollution gauge
The dog whines scratching at the door
attempting to gain fresh air
escape is what he's begging for
an exit from his usual lair
That fly that's been buzzing all day
is twitching on the oval rug
I guess he's down and out to stay
one less fly, I sit and shrug
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