There is a place
No, rather, a sanctuary
Where I go to find solace
Its surfaces welcome me
Handles, jars, spoons and boxes
All lovingly placed, by me
I know you better than all of them
Only I know exactly where everything is
And where everything goes
I know your secrets
And you know mine
Yes, you know quite a few of mine, don't you?
A temple of endless comfort
Bad dreams and bad days bring me to you
To indulge when I should not
And to nourish when I need
I adore the sweet sounds
Of your bubbling metal pots
The enticing things we create, together
Scents that warm the other jealous rooms
But when I'm here, with you, in your little chair
Staring at the little plant in the window
The soft light of the lamp on the counter at 3 AM
The sound of water running into my glass
In this moment, I want for no other room to have me
And will have none but you
Oh how I wish
I could set free
the native American Indian
with pride and dignity
taking them back
across the great open plains
to their sacred home
in the lush green vallies
where buffalo are plentiful
so the Indians can live in peace
one with nature once more
where the eagles soar
setting them free as the wind
wild untameable as a magnificent stallion
running toward the setting sun.
The"tail" I have to tell, starts off really sad.
My sweet doggie Murphy died and my heart, it hurt so bad.
Until one day in early spring, I got a call that made my heart sing!
There were some puppies born in Waco, the daddy -Jasper, and mommy- Juneau.
Four little boys, three little girls. But the picture of one boy, made my heart twirl!
So I waited for a week or two, to meet my little puppy-oh so new!
I named him Humphrey, such a handsome boy! He has brought laughter back and oh what a joy! He's super cute, and very smart. Many would say, he's a work of art!
He's learning new tricks, and how to potty outside. So many rules to learn and abide!
Humphrey is growing so quickly, the puppy breath will soon disappear. He will be an adult in less than a year! Every stage of his life is a blessing from above. I guess that's the true meaning of what we call "puppy love".
Oh Georgia, my orchard heart
The king is waiting on his throne
Of red clay, of glass jars and strings
Cicadas shriek into the wind
A doe, she turns to me
then turns back again
Oh Georgia, my gentle sky
The perfume of your trees
Three a.m., do I still know where they lead?
Tie the ribbons, to the branches
I watch the day's afterglow
So much to pick up,
All these twigs and stones
interstate seventy five
Like the pulse of my southern land,
I'm still alive, I'm still alive
As I picked up the glass
I felt its weight
I felt its coolness
Its perfect smoothness
So where does gravity find a grip?
As I sipped the wine
I tasted aromas deep
I tasted the sun on rounded grapes
Grown in distant, romantic landscapes
So how did the taste get to travel?
As I saw the light reflected red
I saw the rings of colour
I saw the glow, I saw the faded pallor
In the edges of the light
So why did the light leave no mark?
And as I turned to weightlessness
And became a deathly stench
I turned into eternal light
My hand being firmly clenched
So why are You taking me home?
Once a man of steel,
cuckolded by foreigners,
made to bear a rusty belt
And belch hapless smoke in shame.
Once a spiderweb of commerce-
now a conglomerate of strangers,
united by dementia-ridden streets
frayed and cracked by Erie’s buffets-
but the breakwall soldiers still hold the line.
As do the masses, when they can stand
the agony of Sundays as crying sots,
drenching the gutters in saltwater
beers, burying the despair behind
frozen, grim, angry brows.
On they fight, under the evergaze
of endlessly winking red guardians
who still believe, as the men below,
that Cleveland still rocks, on and on.
Ye, the goddess of flame, fire and eternal love
From Tahiti you found home in Hawaii Kilauea
I accessed your gateway with deep feelings of love
With your archetypes *Kali Ma, Sekhmet and Durga
You falsify that women are weak and incapable
That to be feminine to be fragile and helpless
You’re a beauty with dignity & divine power all
Ability to shape shift woman or crone effortless.
Known as Pele energy or energy Pele-kino-aha-nei
Your four sisters using same will Pele-kino-aha-nei.
As a young woman you fell in love with Lohiau
As you left volcano, pining for you & dying nearly
You sent Hiiaka for him, she fell in love with Lohiau
You found Kamapua, but allowed them to marry.
All in Hawaii know your defined potential of fire
And stories about your many loves & infidelities
Your father sent you away because of your hot temper
As you seduced your sister’s husband with abilities.
Finally in Hawaii with blatant infidelities and passions
Manifested in the Big island’s volcanic activities.
Because Hawaii sits on the mountaintops of Lemuria
Lemurian Goddess energy is a still a strong vibration
Coming to Hawaii, feels good like coming home area
Within their cellular consciousness with love’s vibration.
Ye, Goddess Pele is surprisingly playful and light
With three dynamics, well being, play and flow
You, as healer, love to heal and love to be brought
If not treated with respect , you have the power to blow.
All visitors you listen to the Pele archives as I do
Believe that miracles can come from teachings due.
* Names of Indian Goddesses
The wind is still.
The trees are sad.
The night is dark and solemn.
Our son has come home
in cold whispers and tale.
We saw him leave home to fight.
We sang a song for his homecoming.
We sat around burning logs
to tell his gruesome spear write
the history of our land.
But tonight is different!
It is the ominous voice of the Owl that we hear.
Our men whisper in small circles.
Our women hide behind thatched doors.
Our son is come home a hero
borne on the shoulders,
our his surviving mates.
There is nothing like one’s home –
A haven which flows with milk and honey,
A home built by hands from holy heaven
Which we bought not with money
But with obedience which was no burden.
We have become strangers in a foreign land
Because of our sin and perversion.
Give us a second chance in that lovely land
To create, O Creator, the first impression.
Just a glimpse of home would make us less forlorn.
O Albatross, lead us to the East
From where we were hauled to this lawn
Where even red wine and bread made with yeast
Make our hearts sad, yes, forlorn.
Visiting with memories
Childhood days, thoughts remembered,
Things of me that used to be.
House that's aged, weathered and grayed -
I feel its splintering pain;
Watching me as we all played.
Elements she held at bay;
Her walls hold cherished secrets;
Creaky floors gave me away.
Love has gone, home lost it's shine.
Here I sit, this last recall,
Earth to earth, dust to dust, pine.
Once I left she lost her spring.
Her heartbeat beat its last breath
No more a home but a thing.
Memories stand strong as she
Reigned her years; everyone's gone
Moving on as it should be.
Thanks to you my ode homestead,
I grew up secure and loved
And trips to the wood shed.
My heartfelt tears have a smile;
Emotions, both joy and sad;
New owners, life's worthwhile.
The clouds rolled in quickly
As the cars rolled out
No one had a clue
What Katrina was all about
They packed things lightly
“We will be home in a day or two,
So feed and water the pets,
We’ll be home when the storm is through”
Side by side they slept
On cots and sleeping bags
While the Dome began to crumble
Changing their riches into rags
Not so still waters
Began to rise so deep
Only debris and disabled cars
Are what’s left on their streets
Power lines amongst the ruin
The dog walks slowly along
Looking for the home
To which he once belonged
Tent cities on the highways
Where they were safe from the disease
The view from where they stood
Brought them to their knees
No lights to come on
Only sirens, screams and cries
Searching for the living
While the dead float on by
Old warrior, in the bar...
Sips on his small, warm beer...
It's still 1943 to him...
And inside he still holds fear...
The world hanging on the edge,
What the future held,
No one could see....
Served his country,
Of that he's proud....
Seems no one any longer cares...
And his fellow warriors are now,
Above the cloud...
Soon he'll climb those stairs...
Vanishing like dinosaurs,
This American-Spartan hero...
Has little left to do...
Ask him about World War II,
He'd be glad he met you...
To show interest
In his sacrifices...
His wounded memories...
His changed life...
His long dead buddies,
His long dead wife...
His mate long gone,
He stares blindly at the TV,
Dressed in the poverty he lives
No one can get inside his head,
Save those so long dead...
He has nothing else to do
Be home alone, with old address books,
Of all his long dead friends,
Except to him,
Time has cheated him,
By leaving him here
In the lonely bar, so dim...
Struggling to make ends,
Six dollars on the bar,
The past in the air,
At home he never cooks,
He just no longer seems to care....
Cigarette smoke in the air,
A forbidden pleasure now,
No one seems dare...
Used to be normal,
Things have changed so,
But not our old warrior,
He'll be the last of his kind
If today is his last,
That's just fine with him....
His future days will be the same...
The final die is cast.