Fight

As I love you, love me

Deep Walls

Today i feel like flying
through air, an endless falling
What whispers of the Wind are calling
A certain depth of melancholy

Blue sky does fade into a greyer shade
My Mocking bird is sighing
Shadows of the earth turn cold
A heavy rest to blanket all

Corrugated Plane

Everyday the sound of rain on corrugated rooftops,
and yet, I still love the rain.
What calm it brings to the busy streets outside my window,
Drowning out unpleasant static sounds with a natural rhythmic roll.
What coolness it brings on the air to a humid islands
washing away clutter of the day.

Everyday the sound of rain on corrugated rooftops,
and yet, much hate for the rain.
What endless pounding, thick, heavy rain
How dreaded are the stranded masses pleading to find their way
what tragedy it brings to the lowlands
Flooding away the city of the day

A sickness to break in comfortability
drive away the pain
Desperate to find the beauty
before my time is made

Still, Hope from what destruction
unity for pain
Rising in creation
Living in spell with the rain

September 2008

A World of Glass Coming to Colour

When i unveil my bias mind and open
The beauty runs free for me to see.
Fighting inside to hold on to a burning rope,
But everyday you inspire me more
Everyday you free me more
Everyday you show me more.
Old visions bluster in the wind
Wrap around my neck and loosen the braid.

Skipping Track

I do
I will
I'm Trying
I'm Sorry..

I am
I will
I'm trying
I'm sorry..

I
Didnt
Try
I'm Sorry..

Time

I do
I will
I'm Trying
I'm here

Too Late

Let go

Morning Shy

Butterfly kisses and Eskimo noes
look into the Desert, feel a glow

A Lost Lake in the mountains of time
rush of wind and warm summer shine

Blizzard of bliss, November high
Snowflake dance, cooler climb

Silk and honey for a sweet embrace
loyalty and trust in a wise grimace

Gentle does the whisper ring
always for the Earth will sing

Feel the soul continuous motion
Ground me in the seasons rotation

Already Gone

this little girl is going away. going away.
this small town girl is flying away. far away.
to an island in the sun.
blame her. tame her.
shes going away.
she'll be gone
away.

Rhapsody

I have miles to go, and tears to weep
Before this child within me sleeps

Like Heidi up the mountain climb
To rearrange mind space, mind time

Jupiter and Saturn chime

The old woman who lives up high
Cold Mountain, Heidi climb!

Austen and Vonnegut
Fire up, but nothing of it

Refuse to marry, Titan plan
Heidi run, as fast you can

Train to space where tears erase
Falling stars and human race

Little girl with sun burnt face
Precious dress lined with lace

Hurry now and quicken pace

Sun is shading we are fading
Heaven holds and Hell is waiting

Closer now to the peak
So close but beyond reach

Old man smoking, fast as your poking
Books are burning, people earning

Pope and free men
Wonder where they’ve been

Innocent children

Can’t survive without the other
Father sister mother brother

Split asunder

Farther now you must cast
Past the sky and cosmos vast

Heidi if you do not reach your goal
All is lost, heart and soul

Koi

My mind is racing
With fear
With doubt
Yet I am going to take the challenge
To fall
And rise again.
“There is a certain elegance in those who fall with grace” she said to me
I don’t know if I believe her
I fall often –and I am awkward.
That to rise
Is everything but graceful
It’s a struggle, battle, war, tempest-
That’s why we love it
And think it beautiful
We can’t be happy without the fall.
We can’t be sad without the high.
Still my mind races
Impatience is blinding-
“Wait..” is the whisper of time
felt, unheard.
Energy escapes around me
Raping at their doors.
“Wait..” is her whisper
Clearer than before.
-Under water now
A fluid flow of passion
Prolonged memoir
Oblivion and infinity
At last the screen to hold me down
Slow into motion.
The shadow disappears
The water clears.
“Let go” –again
The lion leaps
The light is green
But my hands are clenching
So tight around the red
Drenched and bleeding
Beading heart
Refusing to be fed
“Let go” – she speaks
-I fall
Trip on the stairs

Guardian Angel

[If I ever saw one] he would be exactly what I would expect an angel to look like.
His eyes, his hair,
His skin, his face.
He was always there for me at the right times
I could hardly keep a beaming grin hidden
His energy was so warm and thoughtful
Patient and kind. Gentle and subtle.
He seemed perfect to me, in every imperfect way
I miss how he used to look at me. How he used to teach me
But it is long past.
I fell from his grace
And not without consequence or wrath

Sometimes I feel him
In broken streams of energy
Still giving his love and guidance.
I think of him, and wonder
Whose life he touches now,
Or what he does when he’s alone.

We will meet again, I know.
There are days I catch quick glimpses of him,
In the grocery store or familiar places.
It gives me strength and brings to me that genuine smile

But it’s never the same. Not like it use to be.
He filled my heart
-I faltered

At least God gives me glimpses.

A Favourite

Forest Hymn

THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences,
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd, and under roofs,
That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn--thrice happy, if it find
Acceptance in His ear.

Father, thy hand
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun,
Budded, and shook their green leaves in the breeze,
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow,
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults,
These winding aisles, of human pomp and pride
Report not. No fantastic carvings show,
The boast of our vain race to change the form
Of thy fair works. But thou art here--thou fill'st
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds,
That run along the summit of these trees
In music;--thou art in the cooler breath,
That from the inmost darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt;--the barky trunks, the ground,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee.
Here is continual worship;--nature, here,
In the tranquility that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,
From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in these shades,
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak--
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem
Almost annihilated--not a prince,
In all that proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower,
With scented breath, and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould
An emanation of the indwelling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love,
That are the soul of this wide universe.

My heart is awed within me, when I think
Of the great miracle that still goes on,
In silence, round me--the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die--but see, again,
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses--ever gay and beautiful youth
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch enemy Death--yea, seats himself
Upon the tyrant's throne--the sepulchre,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men who hid themselves
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived
The generation born with them, nor seemed
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks
Around them;--and there have been holy men
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus
But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and in thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink
And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou
Dost scare the world with tempests, set ob fire
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities--who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of the works,
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

~William Cullen Bryant


From the collection: An Anthology of the
New England Poets
Edited by Louis Untermeyer

Home

I asked God, the Universe, and the Sky,
to bring me Home.
to the place, deep Inside,
where my roots dig deep
and my soul is true.

Home is the place,
born, bred, and raised.
Home is the place,
no one can be, but me.

Ready to come Home,
from this journey so long,
of a searching so relentless.

It is God, the Universe, and the Sky
in Me.
My Home.

Untold Treasures

The Eye represents to me
All the things you cannot see,
That lie beneath, deep within
Of places only I have been,
So this is my mask of simple pleasure
That represents my untold treasures.

Ears of Doubt

Truly! i am not so droll.
i am reckless, spontaneous, and
interesting
there is a deep light inside that shines
through, it brings a smile.
i love, and i am loyal.

fear, it seems, shuts me down.
you cannot tell
you must show.
how do i show...without telling a story?
i do not wish to write a novel of bitter consequence.
i wish to get quickly to the point.
others are not as patient with myself.

upon our meeting
there would be butterflies, and
endless smiles

peer in to my eyes, my light.
steel the twinkle.

i dare you to love me.
she speaks,
then turns for an unconscious
chase.

sometimes you win.
sometimes lose.

but it's the game worth playing. and playing
the journey to a higher path

the road not taken.

love is but an endless dream
economy is for the practical.

i am Pisces. Alas,
a dreamer.

the ocean is nothing but a world of fancy.

a sappy love story.
a kiss on the hand.
the shift of minds
endless glory.

pores of water lilies
body of water
eyes of man
breath of trees
blood of earth
tears of sun

the atom
the universe

one world

disconnected. people.
lost.

simplicity is easier than it seems.
death is easier than it seems.
peace is easier than it seems.
love is more difficult than it seems.
democracy is more difficult than it seems.
words are more difficult than it seems.
to me.

questions,
answers,
questions, answers.

just live.
and don't worry about the time.
patience is good to its harbors.
though action is good for doubt.

nothing is resolved.
only acceptance.

so open.
and let go.

Gold

lovers for lily

they're everywhere
she's Gold.
beautiful and worthy,
brilliant, and kind.
Her vigor it resonates,
an energetic muse
She lives for you,
and plays to your desires.

can you Imagine?
a world of such abuse
eternally torn by ravenous souls
whore for inspiration
used, and thrown away - for what they want.
so precious is she, but tainted, misrepresented
prized no more than for her convenient abilities
legendary is her promise,
but for trivial thought – not true merit or pride.
ceaselessly remolding to what her ruler demands.
no steady love. no refuge. no peace. only Greed.
and sorrow.
wishing to wither.
but enslaved from the neck
A consequence of such a gluttonous people.

Sandy

A dream about sandy.
her beach, her home
her skin, her hair.
A dream about sandy
a glimpse, and Stair.

Curious, now reaching
longing for the Climb.

Here

I love nothing better then a misty beach in the still hours of an autumn dawn

Credence

It’s Simple really.
Don’t you think?

The possibilities of Choice and Motivation are consequently the only sponsors of every action we take. We lose this element of Consciousness occasionally.
Don’t you think?

Stand with this in mind at the present era, and you should in all probability find yourself in quiet, unusually jovial. Though, in truth there is nothing unusual about the sort of thing at all.

Say, let’s take in mind a certain aspiration of long anticipation. The possibilities of Choice and Motivation are consequently the edifice of the conclusion.
Don’t you think?