I stand at the edge of stillness,
a turquoise lake so calm it seems carved
from the breath between my thoughts.
the hills gather close, gentle silhouettes
holding the world in a loose embrace,
and the trees shimmer with
star-shaped leaves
that seem otherworldly
ahead, the moon lifts itself
like a golden clock face,
Roman numerals glowing faintly
as if time has chosen
to reveal its secret architecture.
its reflection drifts across the water,
a glowing ribbon of light
that stretches toward me~
not as a path,
but as a question
my heart already knows
but cannot answer.
in this place,
the hills, the star-leafed trees,
the turquoise stillness,
and the clock-moon
all seem to agree
that time is gentler
than we remember~
a soft turning,
a luminous pause
held in the hands of water.
(Lily in June)
Mid June is the end of Spring where I live
And even before Summer begins
It feels Summer has already peaked
Grass is now growing strong
Flowers are still in bloom
And fruits and berries begin to swell
But it’s the trees now fully leafed that move me
As they dance and sway
That’s right, dance and sway, wave and smile
And as they do
My heart relaxes and opens
And without volition
Waves and smiles back.
(6/12/26)
The Maple tree has gone,
the storm broke it,
then it was chopped to pieces.
For decades it stood
as a gold-leafed palace that graced
our commonplace cull-de-sac,
now it has been carried away
upon overladen truck-beds.
Late in this graying October
a few curling leaves linger
around its bosky stump.
A burnished copper, a tawny russet,
and a powdering of old gold
have leached out
from its deep-set roots.
A slow pyre of Fall colors
has emerged there
where no fire flickers.
yet it forms a last memorial
autumnal wreath.
Gradually, teacups of illumination
seep from a darkening horizon,
a sinking light now rakes only mist,
yet occasionally at sunset,
a maple palace for a moment shimmers,
a gold glittering
to greet our colorless eyes.
Born among stars, for a star, too, am I
A scion of the Earth and the star-filled sky
Helios, my name, called by ancient ones
Stardust clings as I am now among suns
My essence is of sea waves at high tide
or, as they gently kiss shore, then collide
The hills share portions of the mystery
as they often bend down and kiss the sea
The wind whispers as it calls my real name
It scatters ice crystals where snow lays claim
The gardens of flowers, fruits and leafed trees
Mix with scent of honey, carried by bees
I know night and day under lilac skies
Dawn to Sunset I am Time as it flies
All are my essence, born of older time
I am dweller in human heart divine
“Look deep into nature and you’ll understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein
I stood on the sloped path near the waterfall.
Mesmerised by the sound of falling water.
All around grew green-leafed ferns,
While tall poplars and redwoods provided
Ample shade that covered the running stream.
Tall purple pickerel plants, scarlet cardinal plants,
Everything contributed to a sublime, picturesque sight.
A symphony of sounds emanated completely around.
Frogs croaked in great abundance, jumping in and out,
Of the clear stream where fish swam toward the sea.
And all around, busy bees fluttered over exotic flowers,
Where nectar provided them with such sweet nourishment.
Placed 1
The green leafed tree in the harbor.
There the freights are advanced.
Sailors with quality tools, while
diners feast and play chess. The edge
Of the merchants dine hall has a Blindspot
where tugboats honk there horn to
enter the harbor. A large pile of bones
where the chef has stacked them, for
the jewelers to retrieve them to make
Carved ornaments for tourist and others.
We find there Snorkel and Algae two
Fiddlers who play music while diners
Eat at the Surfin Toot restaurant.
"Anchors ah shore maties, Anchors ah-
Shore!"
Captain Morse Pierconn
USS Snorkelcraft
Chauffeur play'd Hymn
But didn't play me
Swift sung to her
But didn't sing to me
People like song
But didn't like me
What we gon do
What we gon do
Indough neigh ah
Ah beautiful ismuss
Brazilian strings
A pretty lady
We sing ah song
But song don't
Sing me
We sing ah song
Of love!
Red leafed Autumn
Cardinal half-hid.
Light painted by light.
Hedgerow snow.
Red leafed Autumn
Cardinal half-hid.
Light painted by light.
Hedgerow snow.
Between the reaching shades of tall trees
copper-leafed hillocks’ catch fire,
ghost flames
burnish the slow stealth of evening.
A translucent straw-light
seen only through the thumb hole
of a painter’s pallet,
or in that late sunlit wash, that blooms
so openly that eyes miss it.
Redolent are the long shadows
dipped as they are in rich earthy scents.
The flaxen hay is layered between
timbered silhouettes,
where gossamer ribbons of vapor
hazes-over honeyed acers.
Softly a lambent buoyancy of evening
blends amber and russet wisps
with hues of sorrel and orange.
A mellowing sky drapes over the fields
a chiffon fan of muted rays.
The tawny straws turn slowly,
all unclear to daylight eyes,
but by this eventide
we will view this ebbing day
through a golden glass.
The tang of the vital body
scents an inner sky
the fleshy funk
as it surfaces to be perceived.
Aromas; the perfumed stench
of the incarnate
so like a flowering orchid
its thick leafed presence
overwhelming, its delicate enticements
an allure chained to an image
that blooms into sex.
The pervading smell of memory
the attar of the rose,
the delicate fragrance of enticement
all a waft toward corruption
where death plants its roots
deep into the blossom.
We could hear the prayers
of the grassy dew at dawn,
we should arise at 6a.m.
already listening
through the ears of a Buddha
being then and there
the serene model of the image
of the world in a drop of dew.
Mostly we will flat-line
any transcendental moment
that burst upon us,
make it dress and clean its teeth
while reflecting upon the face
time and distress painted on
perceptions looking-glass.
We could
be under a green leafed tree
sitting within our self-hood
being greater than any high mountain,
or watching a raindrop of sunlight
as it splashes upon an open mind.
Any day now
we will
address our highest aspirations,
our greater reality;
be free of the bonds of delusion
and not once more sleepily roll over
into the fog of forgetfulness.
Repulsed this heat's passion
Fanned a face, from off.
In diving, less demure
When half one's clothes doff!
Snubbed, scorned this archetype
Of burning kisses
From under leafed bough. Whilst
His, never misses!
All of its nonsense does end here.
World's. Its furthest blown point.
Murky but deathly stilled water's
Of tranquil acceptance.
Even so, which glory, gold leafed
By what hangs and spooks round
Spreads, for ghosts of disillusionment
Cursed sounds. In abundance!
Music of life, she alone, chooses.
Though a host others, think, she loses?
She tourjettes high, above life’s discords,
Leaps to Ravel’s melodious chords.
Loss and pain are her greatest gain.
Gratitude, raises her high above pain.
“Pavane for a Dead Princess”,how it moves her.
Adorned, in purple, in front of her gold, leafed mirror.!
Purple-satin toe shoes, tied around beautiful legs.
Her wish, to dance forever, of God, she begs!
2/2/2023
This day of Autumn shivered
And then did sneeze.
A thousand gold-leafed foiling
Of birch, beech spilt.
Soon, and colder, will it be
Known for its wheeze.
What from off each bough, dance-frozed
Spooks finch's lilt.
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