The stream (all workshops)
Chiseled by hand, formed to be alluring
You appear to have the clarity of diamonds
yet you’re hard, cold and sharp to touch.
You’re mysterious like a mature oyster
But underneath the impermeable shell
there's no smooth pearl to treasure.
.
You bring promises of spring colors
lush and green like emeralds
except no love grows from within.
Eyes iridescent prisms
an opal rainbow of colors
blurring with every tear you fall onto me.
Felt by someone so distant
Australia to California,
Must be like silken threads
Stretched across the oceans
Like invisible ones
Carrying a deep lamentation
A love of passion in a communion,
Unknown to any
The loss as was so obvious
Perhaps to whom it mattered
There was no indication.
Take glory in the fact
That you can weave such lovely poetry
Ah!
How I wish
I could also
What were they looking for?
When they built at Babel
Wanted that which was illusive
Common aim in many languages
Turned out a confusing exploit
Thus standing in shallow places
They looked up the towers
Today is not different
Like the days of Babel
Corporate men in suits
Some sit on the podium
Boasting to have been chosen
And ordained in bonded faith
Talking of restricted liberty
Lacking the extended height
Of a free-thinking world
I dreamed of words
bound in white kerchiefs,
signs waving in the shadowed valley of death.
Along a road I often follow
just about one month ago
a field was plowed which once was fallow
and seed beds were planted in a row.
Now, I thought it kind of queer
for planting season was far past
to see seed set this time of year
what type crop could grow so fast?
A few weeks passed with scattered rain
then green poked out of every mound
which got me wondering again
what was sprouting from this ground?
SEASONS : WINTER
sunlight colors fade to dull
passing through a prism darkly
on my window sill
then shatter into pale
like ghosts dancing on the wall
faces hidden in black lace veils
the day lingers gray and cold
and the sky strikes electric
on the wings of a Winter storm.
the world stands to a still
in Nature's mourning.
I long for a Summer's light to soothe
my broken body and battered soul
but my heart has grown into a Winter'a day
no Summer sun can warm.
Spring cometh too soon
As maidens and lads
Cast their warm love to each other,
As a flat pebble skims the waters,
When thrown with utmost grace.
I speaketh in kindly light
For those that have shed
Many a ground out teeth
Where even bread
Becomes too hard
To eat
Giveth to me
a drop of warm
Sweetened milk,
That floweth
The land of abundance
And
I’ll sup with you
To traverse with the joy
And
Beautiful love you portray
On this ordained summers eve.
You perch upon your godforsacken summit
and watch as they teeter on theirs
extend solace, draw them to your boundary
They look back from theirs
near enough to speak;
self - sufficiency holds them where they are
Swim to shore and return to normality.
connect to the world
be one with reality.
I have lived long
In the darkness
Of my woods
Without
the light of day
Looking up
at the canopy
While its ebony color
Leaving no room for a star
To shine the way
A life lived
In unawareness
Yet knowing
That somewhere life
Was not held at bay
In the past
There had been
A moment ever so fleeting
Which had awakened
The springs of May
My heart was dead
Not expecting more
Then what I could see
Just ahead
A grave where I would lay
(read top to bottom then bottom to top)
This is their world.
Quiet, peace, nature.
My life is a placid lake,
smooth as glass.
No metal blemishes or concrete pores.
Soon it will be different.
What is green?
Smog is a natural feature in our chemical makeup.
We should be worried if we weren’t in pain.
Covered in synthetic scars and acrylic burns.
This is our world.
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