Lightening always precedes sound
It burns all first,
Then we cry a sound of pain,
Where has the fire gone?
Alas all in vain!

secrets

I am foreign
among your petals
breathing deeply.
softly sighing
brain eruptions
tiny tingling deaths
intubate me
with kisses slow,
being is believing.
sniffling surreptitiously
dandelion fuzz
on fluttering fingers.

(following http://new.neopoet.com/node/encore )

..the phony development
of a pseudo-love
cloaking a true love.

awakened-
by the frantic applause
as I approach the end,
the closure
of yet another act.

I must walk
towards you
lean in
touch your lips
and pretend, for it to be true.
ironically, my efforts lie
in convincing you, that it’s a lie.

Grandpa once said to me
When wind tosses our canoe
I should not come out to peep
What he said entered one ear
And came out of the other

When the wind blew hard
The canoe tossed up and down
This canoe in the sea of life
I came out in defiance to look
O! Grandpa was right

I saw the wind riding the storm
A shifting hurricane so terrible
Whirlwind in destructive spree
Wind has neither friend nor foe
O! Grandpa was right

The first hints of fall
a few golden poplar leaves
scattered through the woods

Fading spots on fawns
born early in the past spring
seen in mid August

Nesting birds grow scarce
as well as the fledglings' chirps
when young take to wing

At last morning air
carries a slight hint of cool
instead of moist heat

Trucks parked on roadsides
abandoned by owners
now scouting deep woods

Green winged teal arrive
first migrants through southern states
but hardly the last

Killing God

I worked at a drive-in theatre
years ago
before they died.
not a bad job
lots of movies.
Some tedious tasks,
I had to check every speaker in the field.
Turn up volume,
listen,
move to next post.
Turn up volume,
listen,
move to next post.
Turn up volume,
listen,
move to next post.
five
hundred
times.

Eight years, one month, eight days

Eight years, one month, eight days
after we met,
she called.

Eight years, four days
after we became lovers
she called on the phone.

Seven years, nine months, seven days
after our first fight
she called to improve her social skills

Seven years, eight months, seven days
after I had to go away for a while
she told me how alone she is

Seven years, seven months, seven days
since I came back,
bearing love and gifts
she told me of her losses

this emotion
races its run
like dull blades
pulling on the soul
I can see the flames
of our hot ghosts
wavering
even the mirrors
are cracking

and the maze is
growing deeper
and the water
is filling up the
silence
glittering like
stars when it
catchs light

Ill be swallowed up
soon by these
inextorable depths

and I welcome it

before me, there were trees

rocks and rain
and stars

with the passing of time
I have learned
to tie my days with the red thread
of sunrise
to dip my fingers in spring-cold water
of wisdom
to watch as warm wind visits
my window

outside my pane
a hundred smiles
are born from the strength
of just one vine

this life is
too brief a journey

There is a space that is filled with longing
To hear the soft tender song in your voice
A void created by distance and the silent’s
Inside my much torched soul.

Accepting, that freedom is not a state of mind
But how you live, and how it brings to you
A wonderful feeling, which is called peace.
Your center which guides your universe.