APRIL (DREAM LOVER)

O my unrivaled lover,
You refuse to accept the tender love I give.
But deep in Cassiopeia’s dream lies my hope
A hope filled with desolation and thorns

A faintly hope Tex-ares had for Cassiopeia
Come to me now we are young
Show me the care of your love,
That cupid may smile on us.

The eons fleet's and flies
And we are getting no younger
Lost moments can never be regained
And we can never get younger than we are.

Oh wonders of Novembers view
Trees stripped bare I thought of you
As forked trees caught my eyes
A bare bum reflected should I pry

Its trunk seemed to be a figure true
Two branches reaching for the blue
I had to smile here’s the reason why
An artist his skill had to apply.

Someone in their brightest hour
Painted a pair of knickers there
Now I cannot look at a tree
Bared in its winter coat for me

The air breathed homey smells
down the corridor
The kitchen blew hot spices
sweet and sour went to war

There were voices in excitement
I heard them rise and fall
Low rumbles of adults
children laughing in the hall

There were Indians and Pilgrims
a costume here and there
There was a great, long table
that was flanked with many chairs

I peeked into the kitchen
I saw pots of food galore
Covered dishes sat a waiting
in the oven, several more

Every day in crowded towns
I see people rushed and worried
with downcast eyes and wrinkled frowns.
Perhaps their lives are far too hurried.

Watch their glance dash here and there
among the noise of modern living,
"hello"s rewarded with blank stare.
It's like we all are unforgiving.

And all day harsh sounds assail us:
television, traffic, radio,
people yelling as they fuss.
Noise and tensions grow and grow.

She was like the caterpillar
a silent warrior
fighting her way through her cocoon
a battle she must win
as she alone must walk on this path of self love
she alone must fight for the change that will define her very existence
she alone must become the butterfly that she was meant to be

A piercing cry, a horrified scream
Travels down the deserted street
The fog rolls in from the bubbling stream
As the children trick or treat

In the dark, in the wicked dark
Black evil lurks in the night
A predator roams the lonely park
Staying out of sight

A young and foolish woman; brave
Unafraid of ghosts
Said; “I'm not scared of any grave”
Her beer, she raised in toast

Slices of memory kept fresh out of time
each photograph is a buried treasure
My eyes feast on the heat of emotion
held in thrall to the frozen instant

Who can tell the twists of fate
or speak of certain fortune?
Celebrate life in the now
and paint each and every joy

Keep them close to your heart
Capture the scene, and remember
A picture is worth a thousand words
and you are the custodian of each moment

“I like your new dress”

{Shit, now she'll wear that thing all the time}

“It's not so bad, once the color fades out a little”

{What the hell possessed a fifty-year old woman to dye her hair purple?}

“Naahhh...You aren't bothering me”

{Now, I'll miss my favorite show}

“I'll be happy to watch little Joey!”

{My dog needs something to chase around the yard}

“Sure, I'd love to give you a ride”

{If there is gas left from the last dollar you gave me}

“No, I love kids, bring them over any time”

Like broken glass, sea of shale,
in Nature's canyon swale,
walls of layered ochre, sienna hues,
surround crashing waterfall blues,
still moist air, captured in this prison,
this mist filled chasm,
years shown in the towering walls,
each layer had it's genesis call,
being God's continuing creation,
wonderment, fascination,
gentle streamlets, rock erosion,
channeling peaceful emotion,
humbly into thankful solitude,
crevassed silent gratitude.

They teach them to think in corners
Away from you and I
The rabble in the middle ground
Their secret hope: we slowly die

While light drips earned, accumulate
Around their growing spot
For greatness is their predicate
Our liveliness is not

They teach, they learn, and yet we burned
Our books, a long long time has passed
And while we dream of greater things
Their secret wish: that we were gassed