The summer specter like wild parrots squawked,
in piercing jade abandon did it fly.
Through rampant trees of emerald we stalked
the sun's medallion in a cyan sky,
while ginger cobblestones the path did make
of fallen leaves in late September's scope,
the sheen of amber sparks from which we'd rake
the kiss of maples in our sleeveless hope.
In bronze delicious fire we'd ever cling;
December's frozen heart was but a ruse,
sweet cider fountains would each morning bring
us china cups of burning golden hues.
To marigold horizons did we dream
as unseen alders bled their crimson screams.
The bloodstained leaves of autumn fall like snow
upon the threshold of the dying glow
of summer whose conception shining rose
from breath of tangerines, but now must go
the way of brilliant life in last repose.
See not as dismal early closing day
when falling shadows kneel as if to pray
before the altar of a fading sun
when summer's fragrant whisper turns to gray
and blooming of the roses soon is done.
See not as piteous alders weeping
when October's taunting gusts are leaping
and one by one pluck memories away
of magenta dawns that would come creeping
and sweep us into reveries of May.
Indeed, for lilac dreams there is a cost.
Now we must bear the looming winter frost.
Though raven wings will hover upon drifts
of powder, rest assured not all is lost
for soon enough grow April's chartreuse gifts.
Alders sway in the wind
Like dawn of immortality destiny has grinned
Towards the unknown echoes mind has shinned
By the self connected destiny soul and expanse are twinned
Everything created has seeds of its own destruction within
That is where mistakes come from so do vices and sin
Then what is perfect philosophy and what does it mean
How can the spirit win?
The self connected destiny idea of freedom to soul is entrance
Like spring with sun has romance
The answer to meaning of life has a chance
When we look what are beyond religion with the thought disconnected from expanse
*** (I Wonder)
I wonder what present, what future
to predict to you, me
to you, with hands of leaves,
with thoughts, lost into the torn
canvas of someone else’s
words,
with a gait of a wave…
A silence buries the hours
and the alders remain
candles.
Yes, the homes are
never enough.
And there’s none whom
to pray to among the dry
flowers speechless
but unique.
And may the wind
spin you
through clefts of granite.
With all my tenderness –
into fall of the leaves.
The clock drips time upon my soul
As trees paint Winter’s touch
I watch as alders pay their toll
And ashes creak with aching pain
It doesn’t really matter much
No one comes back again
This one way street of dragging feet
Is often lit with warming sun
And just as often rain
We twist and dance
And with romance
Hand in hand we dare to chance
Love found we take the train
Life bound we will remain
Constant as the clocking stones