The Paiute tribes, before they fell*,
were known to use, masterfully well,
copious pumice and obsidian,
found on the alpine meridian,
where the Long Valley Caldera blew to hell.
* "fell" might not be the right word. A little Internet research tells me that one of the Paiute tribes, the "Bishop Paiute Tribe" has a reservation near Bishop California, near the Mammoth Lakes area, where I collected pumice and obsidian as a child.
Looking into the mirror, I discover another me,
In an ungraspable world of illusions.
When the mirror breaks, you break too,
And so do I.
Upon the lake, I discover my reflection,
Along with the shadow of someone else.
When the waters ripple and sway,
We dance together as one.
lakes are great,
the peaceful sounds.
to drift me away,
off the edge of the ground.
i want the lake,
to sink me down,
off and away,
round and round.
i want the lake.
to take the hurt,
and hide it deep inside the dirt.
THREATS FROM CIRO GARGANO AND HIS PROSTITUTE JAMAICAN JHORE BREAKING INTO HOMES IN CYPRESS LAKES SEARCHING FOR MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES BIRTH CERTIFICATES VETERANS INFORMATION SADLY DD214 EXPOSED TO THIS CRIMINAL GROUP WE HAVE PLACED FRAUD ALERT ON OUR LIVES THIS EXTREME IDENTITY THEFT ATTACKS. BEGAN WITH ATTEMPTS TO MURDER ME JU THREATS DEMANDING I ALLOW A JAMAICAN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS PROSTITUTE FROM CIRO GARGANO STABLE OF FLESH PEDDLERS PERPUTRTATE FRAUD UPON ME AND THE MILTARY ORDER OF THE PURPLE HEART IN ORDER TO EXTORT MY HUSBAND PURPLE HEART VALOR TO FEED TO CRIME BOSSES LIVING IN FLORIDA WITH NO HEALTHCARE NO DEALYOU CANNOT EXTORT MY IDENTITY I HAVE 8 CHILDREN I AM ON ALL THEIR BIRTH CERTIFICATES ******* YOUR JHORE NEEDS TO BACK OFF AND FLEE BACK TO JAMAICA LEAVE MY FAMILY ALONE WE ARE AMERICAN ITS TRULY SAD WATCHING SUCH TERROR UNFORLD UPON OUR MILTARY FAMILY LIVING HERE IN CYPRESS LAKES BELIEVING ITS SAFE AND ITS NOT HOME INVASIONS REKEYING SENIORS HOMES TO TAKE THIER INSURANCE POLICY WILLS MILITARY RECORDS TO FEED TO KILLERS HITMEN RETIRED HITMEN ATTACKING VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES NO DEAL THREATS BLACKMAIL NO DEAL WITH CIRO GARGANO AND HIS JHORES ISIS IDENTITY THIEVES
I drape your darkened night in sheets of white,
Making you shiver under my dense flakes;
To hide your blighted roots from mortal sight,
I pour my drifting crystals in your lakes—
Your whispered warmth in return is all it takes.
The wind I fashion blows with silent chill;
I bury all your tender skin in wool.
Your fun, I shift beside the fireside’s thrill—
Warm drinks I set by your warm hands to pull,
Though I creep cold-footed, still my smile is full.
I hide the tilling of your soil beneath coldness,
And blight in the seeds of your barn I heal,
So that your planting season stands clothed in boldness—
A whispered promise I set beneath your heel,
While from the sky thick drifting flakes I steal.
My mission finished, then I give you way,
For grace in me to meet the gentle sun,
Who dries the sweat concealed in warmer day
And widens paths for open-fielded fun—
But not until my quiet work is done.
America’s beauty, Ted pondered
as he roamed and he wandered
past lakes, past rivers and streams
The more Ted would see
the more he would think
~ Pity I can’t take a drink
We hike the trails where emerald silence grows,
The forest hums beneath the morning light,
The mountain breathes in rhythms nature knows.
The beach wind plays with gulls in seaward flight,
We splash through waves, our footprints wash away,
The forest hums beneath the morning light.
By lakes so still they mirror skies all day,
Canoes drift slow like dreams in midday sun,
We splash through waves, our footprints wash away.
Through wooded paths, the deer and foxes run,
We pitch our tent where starlight softly lands,
Canoes drift slow like dreams in midday sun.
A fire is born from our own weathered hands,
We share our tales until the embers die,
We pitch our tent where starlight softly lands.
We hike the trails where emerald silence grows,
The mountain breathes in rhythms nature knows,
The beach wind plays with gulls in seaward flight,
We share our tales until the embers die.
You taste as if twilight were—
lavender swirling like smoke from the earth
licorice lingering with the full moon’s soft pull
a sweetness both dark and divine.
Your skin sparkles with starlight
electric and soft as moth wings.
We sip the pink sky
lemonade lakes cascade through our fingers
time unspools between our hands
while the past drinks from our open palms.
The air crackles with floating florets
each breath a promise, unspoken but heard.
If love were a color it'd be you—
violet and velvet
honey and slow-mountain dew
the universe holds its breath;
galaxies halt their ancient waltz
as they struggle to name us.
And if forever had a flavor
it would stain my tongue—
sweet, dark, endless—
a love so vast
even creation forgets what came before it.
We are the first poem ever written
and the last song left unsung
our love the verse that never fades—
Just like lavender licorice and lemonade lakes.
The learning curve is much too steep;
I’m stuck at the bottom
Staring at mountaintops,
Swept away by rivers,
Eroding with the skeletons
Whose bones faded so long ago;
Count me with the corpses—
I died before I lived
Kissed by the noose in the water
As I walked off the final step
And forgot how to float.
Bottomfeeder, nonsensebreeder,
The task was learning how to swim—
But the pieces were pushed too far
For me to breathe or do much else;
I merely drowned instead,
Hoping my grave would serve
As a memory—but
Even I forgot my own eulogy.
Pollution and overcrowding
the Earth's limit is near,
if there is to be no solution
just take me far from here.
Take me to the lakes
of that ancient monastic city,
to the Hills of Glendalough
to live in peace, to live in pity.
Take me to the Lakes
hidden beneath majestic fog,
away from crowds cloaked in sickness
away from cities masked in smog.
Take me to the Lakes
where flora and fauna still survive,
where wildly wildflowers grow
where nature still thrives.
Take me to the Lakes
to breathe the clean summer air,
to bathe in glacial pools of blue
and spend my days without a care.
Take me to the Lakes
to sleep under the stars,
on dandelions i'll dream
is there really life on Mars?
Sun on sea's facade
like sprinkles on a donut.
Shimmers, eyes glimmer.
wind off the great lakes
reminds me who is in charge
chills my bones brightly
Rippling water brings calming effects
Two lakes,
Shimmering, like exotic women,
Dream as one, under the mango moon
Reynaldo Casison
The great bird feathered harpoon
Flung from one shore to the other
Soaring over the Caribbean green of Torch Lake
Flies at the bow of my speeding boat
Or should I say more accurately
I race on the morning frill of waves
At the Blue Heron’s pointing wing
20 miles per hour
On the nose
Skipping stones lake to sky to lake
How to explain why flowers trees and birds
And even man with her pyramids
Are driven upward?
The sun’s draw more powerful than the iron grave of gravity
Behold Goethe
The doomed mathematics of the boat beneath me
Opposed to this bird
Born free to fly in one with majesty
How I wish to be all of thee
The rising slopes stop my boat
Heron looks back
Glides atop and over the hills to Central Lake
As if he was but a trick of the wind
And me a sleight of hand.
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