I awoke from a dream --
well, let me start again:
My thought was that I had
awakened. Yet, I rose quite
mistily -- with ghastly figures
hanging in the air, moving
to and fro, in possessed manner.
Swat at them, I could not. My
arms would not lift, my hands
seeming porcelain objects. Residue
stillness, long after the model
had expired, and the artist had eaten
his last moistened bread meal.
The volume of Poe, lie open
on the bedstead, where it had been
wearily placed, just before my
dozing. Strange, the last page read had
been altered...and the name highlighted
for death, was now my own. Could
this deranged volume and I have
mysteriously, mystically changed
realities? My name began
to burn, uplift from the page, the savage
apparitions swarming to tear hungrily at the
fleeing image. My soul drowning in drool.
Feeling a bit scaly
and my usual fleet-footed
I followed a lizard
into an evaporating wash --
somehow, all living critters
eventually enter the wash -- the
lizard looking for insects, and the
coyote looking for lizards
and to drink from a puddle
of water -- more like
a thimble full, the sun reclaims
quickly when 120 -- dwellers learn
to conserve, survive on less
in the desert; did not see
one environmentalist though;
probably in a comfy college
dorm, or staff lounge, sipping ice-tea,
writing his or her next hit piece, main
focus on how he or she suffers along with
a greatly abused planet. Gulp, gulp!
Honestly, I prefer the company of lizards,
coyotes, and an occasional rattler -- always
having found the desert far more hospitable
than Arid intellect.
Summer has almost passed
in the Southwest -- slight
edge taken off, optimistic
with the shorter days --
shorter, darker days
has nothing to do with
spiritual content, in the
desert -- God blesses those
who survive as well as the
blistered dead. Fall, we
start leaving our dens,
our human bear connection.
Dare we venture back into
the sunny days? Looking
forward to garments, and
cold water from the cold water
tap -- colored leaves and crispy,
crunching while walking is
evident to the mountain dwellers --
but in the valley deserts, Fall is
recognized more by the thawing,
so to speak -- our season of cooler
drippy celebration! A chance for
splashing in puddles, and doing
happy Rain-dances! Monsoon
for Desert Rat Bloom! Maybe
I will even shave before taking
my first Winter Airing.
Rain falls wet upon my body,
I lay half-dormant in the gutter of my mind.
Unable to move, it worsens
Striking cold and hard.
Then brightness sifts through parting clouds,
And the sky begins to glow.
I rise, stretch and go my way
As your warmth dries my weary soul.
I catch time’s hand in stunner’s grasp,
And leave him sleeping in my mind,
For wandering through eternal now,
His ticking slowed to hibernation breath.
The cuckoo’s music stops — a potent pause,
As full as noted bars.
Then through the quiet sounds unearthly rise,
Up from volcanic bowels growl an ire,
A transcendental fury from my own,
Thoughts that were never mine but from the deep,
Unknowable but in that silent pause,
Encounter I the timeless mind.
And, so, with the dawn
of a new night, we met
for song and dancing.
Stars are made for wishing...
while suns are dear sources
of life.
There's a beach where the sand
Won't get in your shoes
Or stick to your skin
When you're covered with sweat.
The shore's always clean
No trash or dead fish
And the water's still
Clear enough to drink.
In your mind, I hope and pray,
There's room for me
To kick that sand around
And be with you on your shore.
Ancient poems resurrected and recited
From the murky depths of history,
You hold, against your breast,
The fresh warmth you now perceive.
I tell you tales of my youth
Of day and night, dawn and twilight.
Alive still in my beating, aching heart,
And now held in my hands to reveal.
You ask me to start from within myself
As I recite these vivid scenes.
I feel still, loneliness when you don’t notice
I’ve shared my sacred dreams.
As I get older
And as I amble and imbibe
The wafting of the aroma of roses
And as I get older
I still rock (just not in a chair)
And I roll with the lingo
Of the younger generation
I think things are sick
I try not to throw shade
I think somethings are fire
I am stupidly blessed
(and I say in my Hampton Orphanage drawl)
One hundred percent
As I get older
I find (as Ben Franklin confessed)
That the God of Heaven
Governs the affairs of mankind
The good, the bad and the ugly
And as I get older
(I said older not old)
I am a work in progress
According to the Lord
And as I head to
The autumn of my life
(The words of my Army buddy
And amateur sage Jack
Echo in my mind)
"People say
I am in my own little world,
That's ok,
at least everyone knows me there."
WHEN I LOOKED BACK
WHEN I LOOKED BACK AT IT ALL
ALL I CAN DO WHEN I LOOKED BACK
IS LAUHGED AND LAUGHED
WOW IT FEELS SO GOOD TO LAUGH ABOUT IT ALL
WHEN I LOOKED BACK AT IT ALL
ALL I CAN DO IS LAUGHED AND LAUGHED
DAMN I WAS NAIVE
WHY THE CLOCK WAS TICKING
THINKING YOU COULD CHANGE
THNINKING I COULD CHANGE
THINKING I COULD CHANGE YOU
THINKING YOU COULD CHANGE ME
ALL I CAN DO WHEN I LOOKED BACK
IS LAUHGED AND LAUGHED
ALL I NEEDED TO DO WAS TO SWITCH DIRECTION
TURN THE PAGE AND CREATE THE CHAPTERS
WHY THE CLOCK WAS TICKING
ALL I CAN DO WHEN I LOOKED BACK
IS LAUHG AND LAUGH
I SHIFT MY LIFE
I CREATED MY FUTURE
I LOVE MY LIFE
I FREE MYSELF
ALL I CAN DO WHEN I LOOKED BACK
IS LAUHG AND LAUGH
WOW IF FEELS SO GOOD
ALL I CAN DO WHEN I LOOKED BACK
IS LAUHG AND LAUGH
she shimmers and shines in a glowing dazzling super woman way
I recognize her immediately, as she feeds freshness to verdant oaks
they look stunningly gorgeous as she lifts herself into the morning
I can feel the vitamin D she exudes; she is all powerful and decorative
the quintessential sun, princess of the morning, queen of the afternoon
...it is impossible for God to lie, we who have taken refuge
would have strong encouragement to hold firmly
to the hope set before us."
Hebrews 6:18
Some parents fortify, supporting kids
to stay on top when testing waters’ depth.
Great expectations, ends, ev’n enemies,
are God's Supply, the wind and weight of wings.
A worthy teacher who embraces life
communicates those skills which stay the storms
for fledgling sailors, novice on their course.
God’s Sacred Scriptures give sound teaching scope.
A mentor stands as aide to steady growth
for doubting deckhands who can misconstrue.
Wise lessons bear resolve for hasty choice
when God's own Spirit is the mainstay - truth.
An anchor is one worthy of belief,
whose balance holds the navigator’s trust-
that hope which guardsmen put in the Pilot’s hand
God's Son, my Anchor, yea my Cornerstone.
What is the water of the Bay?
Is it the water that gives life to others?
Is it more than that?
As I look from atop the mountain I see beauty in the bay.
The water around her feet makes her seem like she is walking across the waterline.
As she sings with no one around I hear beauty in her voice.
If only she knew that she had beauty in voice, heart, and vision.
At least I know the truth of her love as I can see the vision of perfection.
Of course, my vision of perfection is when the person does not see themselves as more than humble.
That is the concept of true beauty when they realize that the quality of being humble is beautiful. It is only one concept, but it is the most important.
It is Destiny as her voice sings it proudly!
The past is fiercely orange,
fluent in the language of the sunset.
The promises are vaguely gray
dumped in the expectations of tomorrow.
Not knowing to hope
or just to reflect
the unknown
sprouting in my soul...
My beauty isn’t what it appears to be.
Look into my eyes and see—
There’s love, mystery, and more.
“What’s mine” and “what’s ours” are different.
I prefer coffee; you prefer tea.
The heart knows what it wants,
It seeks connection, not heart surgery.
Love, trust, surrender, and peace come in that order.
Love can be confusing and can take away.
Look into my eyes, like a stormy sea revealing
Secrets beneath the waves,
Love, will surrender, and peace will follow
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