The stream (all workshops)
fluorescent blue skies
blink and shut eyes
to look down,
from smile to frown
once the dirt road
with kicked up pink dust
now concrete lust
a raped paradise
blink then shut eyes
cry crystal tears
For lost are the golden years.
Ho ‘ river of life
I dipped my toe ,
I remember,
Bubbling
churning
urgent
swirling delight,
Bubbles in French champagne,
It tickled
it seduced
it sang me to sleep
Running down my face like a veil of rainbows,
ever lapping waves,
mesmerizing
enchanting
forever without end,
this was life.
I bathed in its pure waters
ever young and gay
The years went by and day by day
Thinking youth is surely here to stay.
a house of snowflakes
under a saharan sun
bespeaks sanity
Come Beloved
as a strong wind
blow
through my life
seperate
the wheat from the chaff
Help me
to love them both
the good
the bad
the everything
for it has brought me
Here
brought me
back
to You
Aid me
in letting go
of all this
stuff
these things
these strings
and attachments
So there might be room
for nothing else
but Love
among these boxes
I tend to think in past and future.
My thoughts travel beyond the realm of this moment.
The superior moment is happening now.
The next moment is still in question, the past one is lost
My energy is wasted on what has happened and what will occur,
in the omnipotent future.
I can seize the now by living, loving and experience it,
without further thoughts of what was or will be.
Hey, Blackbird! Do you finally get the gist?
Are you ready to cut your wrist?
Or do you still think you're in control?
I'm sorry. But, it's too late to say you're missed.
Remember when we finally kissed?
Oh! How we thought we'd made the roll!
Let's face it. You'll forever be on my list.
I did enjoy our little tryst...
...."to continue" is what I wished, and missed.
Looking up at the autumn sky
peeking out behind the trees,
whose amber leaves looked even more brilliant
with the sun shining through them,
and I remembered a day like today.
A day where the air was crisp and cool
and filled our lungs with a freshness
that wasn't always there.
And I walked the trails with that one boy,
our shoulders lightly brushing against one another,
smiling to ourselves
as our friends raced around us.
A crooked smile upon my face,
I hear the water running.
You said the bathtub was dirty,
with Comet in your hand,
you scrubbed and scoured,
you plunged the drain.
Earlier I had asked you if you
wanted to hear my poetry,
but you said you weren't awake
enough yet.
Funny how these things happen
to poets,
to lovers,
and life
that leaves page after page
of discretion.
Once upon a time, I would have
loved the bathtub clean.
You can't have every thing it seems.
Dry droll the roll
the dreams are fallen off
the bed
and its time to wake the moll
slip her into pin stripe slacks
and get her moving
back on track
the shoes need shinning
waiting where they lay
tipped against the trimwork
of the hall
she runs a work of preparation
and we ration the goodwill
down the steps and at
the lights we part
behind the dark glasses
that hide our bleary sanity
God shall protect us
for he looks after all
drunks and fools
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