The stream (all workshops)
old monk
spouts ancient wisdom
a burst of laughter
...
sunny afternoons
tall and thin
lovely shadow
...
falling to pieces
stone to gravel
pet rock bites the dust
...
dandelion puffs
gracefully riding the wind
knowing not of weeds
...
august moon sparkles
sleepy mind in half-dream
butterflies sip tea
...
snowflakes in sunshine
swift comes the end
the shape of water
...
sure and soft the mists of Atlantic
weave bolts of light
in these rains that fall
beyond the lanterns cast
the radiation grows
and grows
the silken fingers
strong and sure
we grow sick and weak
our time demure
the cities dark and blackened
broke
the fires from the bombers spoke
we sing songs around the
lights we keep
and watch for wolves
that hunger feast
and dreams
before the end time
deep
On my way to work today
wild flowers white and butter yellow
adorned both sides of the highway
on long stems set by wind to sway
all shades watercolor mellow.
Spring grass just coming to its head
still lush and almost emerald green
giving sharp contrast to blossoms' bed
where bees and butterflies were seen
in this season of the in between.
THE STICK
I saw a stick strong and bold
fall to this world
from a midnight sky.
it pierced the earth
with a sigh
and cast shadows twisted and worn
in the light of a pale moon.
I touched it to see
If this were the miracle
to set me free.
Suddenly
t became a livng thing
wrapped itself around
me like a string.
Now I cast shadows
twisted and worn
in the light of sun
and dark of moon
We all live in the midst of uncertainty
and all we can ever and always say is
that change is the heartbeat of each moment,
what will be another moment’s gift
none know it
the good moment turns into a bad volley
absurd at times
become incidents incredible
and
good sours fear of the unknown
on ones countenance does show
as if it was some uncertain hour,
as life flows like a river of no return…
good and bad both can upturn
into passages of time unknown…
Everyone look,
A good man is passing,
Please stand,
And believe me when I say,
A good man is passing,
He didn’t ask for much,
But we did,
So please watch as he passes,
And Listen to what he has to say,
It may be the last time he speaks his mind,
I see the killer at the end of the road,
We may not have much time,
To say our goodbyes,
I wish I knew him better,
Stand,
A good man is passing.
Charade
Is there death after life,
will we be free from strife
or open some unknown door?
Will rest come to me,
can death set me free
to rest upon a new shore?
Is there death after life,
or some wicked device
designed to cause us more pain?
Is the cycle complete
with sleep our retreat,
will sorrow or happiness reign?
Is there death after life,
cessation of light,
will we walk upon streets of gold?
Must we lie in our grave
unless we are saved
and never the wonders behold?
Hello, Holy Father
I have been trying to get in touch
Your secretary said you are booked
For the next millennium
It must be a drag being Immortal
A leader of religion and all
Do you have a hotline
For emergency prayers
You should charge for the dumb ones,
Just some business advice you might consider
I must sound so blasphemous
Not believing in prayers
Even though I truly would like to chat
crepuscule
here comes the light
slipping from your fingers
like a bolt of rotten satin
your soul lingering
like silverware on chains
your ways are crawling
night is falling
and she will come to you
her thrust within the chest
like a cry in the hidden room
tear stain lush
hush hush
your heart shall rust
Soft
cool touch of lust
Inviting
shivers of recognition
Beyond
mortal comprehension
Your smell
energy that charges my soul
Sweet
taste of neck to lips
Liquid
embrace of whole
Never
leave me
Your ghost
leaves me pleading
Rush
bids me play
Stay...
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