Dreamlike, dreamlike white mountains!
Wrapped in shawls of pure white snow,
Hearing your name again and again, it’s etched in our minds,
Speaking of you repeatedly, you've been preserved in our hearts.
On snowy beds at night, I've poured out secrets to you,
Only to you I've confessed, only to you I've boasted.
Since then, a sweet dream has unsettled me,
That sweet dream led me, restless, straight to you!
Dreamlike, dreamlike white mountains!
Have my desires now been fulfilled?
Like a carpet spread wide, I fell at your feet,
Thinking I saw you, I cried in disbelief,
Sobbing deeply to myself, unable to come to you.
On your chest, true streams rumble in might,
And within my chest, poetic streams flow in delight,
Unable to bear the roaring streams, my ears fell quiet!
Dreamlike, dreamlike white mountains!
Stretching hands toward the sky,
Don’t think they’re just unyielding stones,
Carving valleys, even stones have shed tears,
From the tears of mountains, many springs have begun,
Even lofty clouds have trembled before towering peaks,
Flocking like sheep, unable to surpass your summits,
I dream to be like you—this is my greatest wish!
toasty variegated yarn from Oskaloosa
the hues of colors
red blue yellow green
knitting needles are clicking along
warm mittens and slippers
afghans and shawls
a dress for a toddler
clickety clack clickety clack
The dead dance in our midnight dreams
then kiss our soul at rising light of sun beams
The soft heart of yesterday still firmly beats
as we recollect their images on memory streets
Now we are the breathing book of the dead
since our choices are their chapters to be read
How do we acquire letters from ghostly streams
when their spiritual desk is but of secret steam?
They become invisible shawls upon on us as we
struggle with our sanity and witn utter lonely keys
Their flashing faces drift as haunting incense
we breathe in their afterlife essence of intense
The dead are flaming candles that flicker towns
though we cannot touch we see the glowing crowns
Is the Grim Reaper the black rainbow of promise
where the platinum pot reunites our true love solace?
May 3rd 2002
In a land torn by evils cruel hands
where innocence once thrived in golden sand
echoes now haunt barren torched lands
of children lost, tears fall in graves of pain
Fourteen thousand souls, too young to know
caught in the crossfire, victims oppressed
their laughter silenced as dreams cut short
in a horror of genocide where all limbs bleed
Babies cradled in arms, so tender and small
now lie cold and lifeless, victims silent in white shawls
their tiny hearts, once filled with hope's embrace
now silenced forever in a merciless disgrace
The army's march such ruthless crimes
leaving devastation in its tide
families torn apart by Israels cruel wand
as they mourn the loss of those they held fond
Oh, may their memory be a solemn vow
strive for peace and harmony, lets end sorrow forever now
for in the wake of such unfathomable hate
lies a plea for humanity to erase this state
We dwelt together,
one hand on a door handle.
Keeping rooms --- a semi-settled living,
parents still squatting in our heads,
rent due spaces,
red buses passing below or above,
according to what level we rose to.
Domestic wreckage evacuated,
a small venerable van stuffed to the gills,
and we with our books
bundled up in raffia rafts,
cats tucked under shawls or coats,
escaping loudly on red bumpy buses.
It is the little things that haunt:
a florescent green plastic handbag,
maroon stockings
draped over a lava lamp,
fluffy toy animals
scented with relationships.
Shades of lipstick on a cracked mirror
unwashed rugby shirts,
the soft tang of old spice aftershave,
vinyl albums revolving in our heads.
I recall it all ---- but no,
not wanting to dwell again with the young,
but to follow the routes of London buses
to past, departures and destinations,
to enter again
those rooms for penniless delinquents,
just to tidy up a little, and perhaps
close drawers and doors left open.
Blooming since temperate days of Fall
fragrant red roses were frozen
wearing sugar shawls of snow
gelid crimson petals
beneath a blanket
of winter white
slumbering
draped in
frost
Laced
flowers
shrouded in
crystalline ice
swaddled the roses
to preserve the beauty
until frost melted to dew
warm in the renaissance season
when nature gently awakens Spring
Buttered pancakes, hot cocoa, cinnamon sticks,
Knitted neck shawls, all buttoned up jackets, "Phew,"
Some are ice skating, or skiing, and sledding,
~~"Ohh Little...," is sung,
Fabric weaves hills of ivory silk frosting,
Spilling streams of cream, pouring milk all astir,
Grizzlies, snoring, un-grizzled hibernal eve,
~~day's sun soon freezes,
Night has fallen ... sleep for some while others aren't,
Stars found a place for dangling nighttime twinkles,
Classic moon balm tryst desires, tarries sunrise,
~~hourglass sands sun soon.
Mom With Prayer Shawl
*
In this time of sorrow
We are reminded, that none of us get out alive
Yet, I treasure the belief
With remembering we all survive.
*
On my last visit to Mom
She wore a shawl
Draped over her thin shoulders.
“The shawl is so beautiful, Mom.”
“Yes, Son, I love the soft blue.”
*
“The other day a young woman
Came to my room, opened a box,
And there was the shawl.
She said members of the church,
Crochet prayer shawls.
The young woman asked
If I would accept this Shawl of Hope
With their love and prayers.
Now, Son, I didn't
Mean to make you cry.”
“I know, Mom, but you always said
I was a sensitive guy.
I wrote it in my diary.”
“You and that diary...
One can't get away with anything.”
“Nope, I got it all on paper
And treasure it.”
Mom looked at me with tears
And asked me to come closer.
She whispered,
“I am being warmed
By loving hands
Responsible for each
Entwined strand of wool.
The shawl is blessed with hope
And its warmth
Keeps fear out in the cold.”
“I will sit by you, Mom,
And feel its warmth.”
*
Bold
red, gold
and orange-
weave flamboyant
November landscapes;
spun leafy shawls
hug tight to
warm our
heart.
“Satisfied and alone … Serene and reflective”
I, satisfied and alone, proceed
to walk this trail- as I do each new Fall;
not sought by many, but for me, indeed
a spot, well hidden and loved best of all.
Serene and reflective, near the trees,
a brook glides over random, weathered stones.
With soothing murmurs, it flows on with ease
while nearby birds sing out in mellow tones.
And on the trees, a brush drips liquid gold
repainting leaves of summer's placid green;
in brilliant hues, now more intense and bold,
they sport their shawls of red and tangerine.
Reflective, serene, alone and satisfied-
on this old trail- my joys are amplified.
Halcyon – 10-6-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Halcyon
Across the still and placid lake
Halcyon drifts
In misty cloaks of tranquility
Stitched with twilight patches of contentment,
Bits of unbound moonlight
Bow
In courtly minuets
On adagio waves
Then lightly skim the face of the shore
With twilight fragments
Of fading mauve
As velvet vespers of soft chimes
Calm the ghostly wraiths of torrid afternoons
With dusky balms,
To slowly stumble into mantles of lavender’s eiderdown
Wrapped in shawls of gently rocking barcaroles
As doves and nightingales
Sing remnants of dawn and dusk
Into lyric seams of rounded swells
Capturing serenity in the cloth of fading light
Shedding calm shadows on untroubled waters.
Outside my windowpane
Daylight dwindles
Sunshines sparsely
Further from the new dome skies
Ninety-three million miles away
Imbued in ripened colors
Nature’s mahogany, oak, and cherrywood trees
and Jogger’s grassy paths once lime greens,
Chanting to changing tones of richer reds
Clustered blue-jays adorn
Like shimmering rhinestones
Gayly sing above our heads
Shadows stretch out deep
Swaying weeping willows sweep
Smoke smells flow through the crisp air
Musky scent from stonefire oven pits
Spiced up dishes mouthwatering lit
Lavish and lustrous ambers crackle
Flaming orange leaves swirl around and prance
Seducing all to voyeur their performance
Golden crinkled copper leaves splayed
Reaching, rustling to the ground
Making shuffling sounds
Minty blues peak through scarlet rays
Fall cashmere shawls display!
Autumn gardens
Nights that linger lasting moments
Granting lover’s time
For making romance
Guaranteed to make us smile-
our new Spring comes every year;
its magic brings a warmer, brighter Sun-
as snow begins to melt and seedlings sprout
their fresh green leaves with blossoms to unfold.
Later, Summer takes Spring's reign-
her brush paints scenes verdant green,
and blossoms open wide in colors splashed
against lush lawns, while all the sprawling trees-
their branches filled with leaves, embrace blue skies.
Summer soon starts long goodbyes
while the Fall's brisk days come through
to chill the plants as leaves will fade and dry
from deep, dark green- to orange, red, and gold.
Weeks pass, and thoughts are turned to harvest time.
To crown year-end, Winter comes-
brusque, strong winds sweep Fall's debris
to blur the bleak, bare trees and ashen grass.
But, snow repaints these scenes with pure delight;
grand shawls of white safeguard our sleeping Spring.
Seasons cascade, one by one;
merge, adjust- complete one year!
Her lightning fast moves mesmerized me
she’s the fastest flamenco dancer in Seville someone whispered
well practiced whirls of pinks and oranges captivated her audience
without fans, shawls or castanets
Moonflower with white trumpet-shaped bloom
Dewy emerald leaves surround in nights gloom.
Cased in rich soil beneath a quarter moon.
Planted vines loosely knit—by my bedroom they sit.
Sweet fragrance they emit— to incense I submit.
Stunning tropic morning glories amaze
Sunlight and moonlight upon them gaze.
Phantasmic nightlamps in jade landscape haze.
Night’s primrose, moonglow calls—unveiling enthralls.
Dangling shadowy shawls— glistening waterfalls
Flowery white faint lavender tones loom.
Oh sleepy Moon by day lucidly lit,
Behold twilight’s glimmer on garden’s walls:
Gibbous Moon’s gleam suspending in a daze.
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