Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
soft feather
bog winds whisper on heather
where the soaring eagles fly
high
stones upright
stand frozen long to incite
from high cliffs leaning on sea
free
lakes misty
blue morning shrouds reeds twisty
slow swans turn into cloud tuft
fluffed
breeze saline
blows on Moher cliffs marine
grey waves pound on basalt stone
lone
bay twilight
white gulls traverse with delight
dark night folded by wan tide
dyed
Cruise ships appear over the horizon
As white
As the crest of tidal waves
Surging to harbor
No I said
To hell with cruise ships
To ride inside a machine
My wife and I
Prefer
To sit beside
The purr of ocean with opened books
Sun on our shoulders all day
A mom in a string bikini
Wrestling her morning pre-teen by his neck
With applied sunscreen
At low tide
I walk half a mile out to sea
On my knees
My wife watches me
A Royal Tern with a black tuft atop his head
Pesters a female until she is exhausted
Or that annoyed
She looks him in the eye
Then lifts her legs
And flies
As fast as her wings will carry her
Straight out to sea
And as far as I can see
She never turns around or looks back
But he pursues
Blind to her wake
He will follow
Over metal ships and the flesh of the horizon
Over the humpbacks of the spouting waves
He will follow her to where the sun and moon
Are born each day
He will follow
To that round shore of the tired spent and nests
Until she rests
And turns to him
Come my love come with me
Let us be one with the sea.
Mustela Erminea
with a black tuft of tail
long and muscular body
- easily made angry
inquisitive but shy
a master of mouse hunting
after “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” (also sometimes called “Daffodils”) by William Wordsworth
I wandered weightless as a feather,
a muted plume from mourning dove.
A tuft afloat in breezy weather
connected now to skies above;
as long as winds will carry me
from over fields and out to sea.
My glad esprit more free than birds,
detached from mortal needs I fly,
where spirits long to share their words
among the songs in clouds, I sigh...
for Earth was never this composed,
this high I travel unopposed.
Oh cumulus, a meadow white,
I feel at home atop your waves
illuminant, in purest light.
Mid savored heights my mem’ry saves
inertia of the clover green
and shiver of the water’s sheen.
Such riches now I do enjoy
in solitude away from fray.
I'm free from living once so coy;
in spirits’ realm I long to stay,
for then, myself I will fulfill
with gild as gold as daffodil.
Veiled by clever branches, limbs
silken strands, protecting me
from the eyes who’re like pseudonyms
beckoning with iris’ clever and wild
secreted beneath gossamers, flowing
in whispers of hope for the morn
risking each breathless moment, unknowing
what to expect with the journey’s quest
shrouded by the strands, elusive
like the moment when I knew true pain
beyond the shadows, so abusive
feeling the fears who reach my soul
concealed from a world who hurries
never allowing my heart to heal
these wisps of melancholic flurries
remember locks who write the songs
unseen by those who might discourage me
each curl, each tress, each quiet tuft
silences the fears who seem to guarantee
expressing myself means letting go
hidden by the mane who drifts, curving
sinuous and graceful, a layer of shelter
always protecting and preserving
so I have refuge, a haven, a secure home
unseen, my eyes hide beneath the maze
a mane of defense, shielding me from foes
those who might not understand my gaze
only see the pain and never what I gain
My hair used to be all black
Later, mostly black tuft with white wisp
Now, a bunch of white
The house of my life
Is rotted and cracked.
The floorboards are warped,
And all of my broken windows
Welcome wind.
But from the rubble,
I’ll piece out a coat,
Made from my very best pieces and shards.
Patches of carpets that came from Tibet,
And the spiderweb strands of a once regal drape.
Cupped like an egg in a frothy current of days,
You, my bird, my bud, my tuft of fuzz and light,
Inherit this coat of broken things,
Something more meager than a manger,
But sewn from all the love wrung
From a wasted life.
Ok God hear it is
I spent eons perfecting an animal that cares about nothing I call it a……Cat
Gabriel beams as he places it gently in Gods lap
Could you please remove it
It is making a weird noise
and is constantly nipping me with its claws
Sorry your Lordness
Gabriel lifted the cat from his maker
Before we begin the test
I hope this is better than your last attempts
What was it again….God stroked his head
Yes the Dodo
The duck filled platypus
Oh and let’s not forget the humans
So …., shifting back on her throne…..test 1
Obey your maker
Come here……his finger pointing just beside her feet
The cat drew its eyes and darted off in chase of some flickering light
Okay good start…but let’s not celebrate too soon
Gabriel
Her me Cat sit
she sat transfixed by the cat
as it curled itself into a donut and fell asleep he glanced at Gabriel………very impressive
The cat leapt from its prone position
It jerks in juxtaposition with its grunts
Finally ending its exorcism in a matted tuft of regurgitated fur
It has stood abandoned for years,
the toxic soil too costly
for developers to clean up.
It's vast, dark, gutted interior
echoes an absence.
And yet a tuft of grass
has pushed up through the oil
soaked concrete floor beneath
a shaft of sunlight falling
from a hole in the ceiling.
It grows on this narrow stage,
a thin beam of light enough
to sustain it and drip a little
moisture down for it to sip.
It clings onto life
as a poem does, pushing
through a crack in the soul,
seeking out enough light
for it to live for awhile
in a hostile world.
Tabby in winter, with a tuft of snow on your head
You got slammed when they came down on that sled
If you get buried, it may be quite a little while
Before we can save you, St Bernard said with a smile
Then he noticed that there were Bernards on her scarf
How bad could she be? He told his friends with an arf.
Tabby in the snow glared at all of those happy dogs.
They ate up her chocolate kibble like untrained old hogs.
just then,
a dove descended
to a branch, of mountain ash
growing in my yard.
as it fluttered to gain its footing,
its wings brushed the leaves.
a small tuft of feather
was torn from its breast
and drifted downward.
I thought of you then;
drifting away from me
and from the time
when we were whole.
I wonderd where the tuft of feathers
would end up
and if it would ever be
part of a whole once more.
then I smiled
because my heart knew the answer
wherever you went
you would always be surrounded
by those who love you
for…
how could they not?
Dust bunnies are angry today.
They don’t want to be swept away.
When spring appears, it is dangerous.
It’s when the dust bunnies hiss.
When the outdoor bunnies come about.
The dust bunnies want to go out.
Outside, the bunnies eat the plants.
Inside, the dust bunnies live with the ants.
When the broom comes out-
The dust bunnies don’t just sit and pout.
They fight hard, the fight is rough.
But in the end, we get every tuft!
We watch the real bunnies play outside.
We try to forget that the dust bunnies cried.
Timeless lyrical,
compassionate dance,
a shifting effect
of light and color,
the glowing full moon
conducts in folk tune.
Indispensable
distant humble stars
spring a russet, sign.
White unfolded wings
flitter wayward round
a rhythmic beating
in shadow, chill, air.
The spike tuft ears owl
melodies hooting,
influence passion.
A lovers' heartbeat
keeping steady rhythm.
A starlight guides the
way by windswept night.
Tabby in winter, with a tuft of snow on your head
You got slammed when they came down on that sled
If you get buried, it may be quite a little while
Before we can save you, St Bernard said with a smile
Then he noticed that there were Bernards on her scarf
How bad could she be? He told his friends with an arf.
Tabby in the snow glared at all of those happy dogs.
They ate up her chocolate kibble like untrained old hogs.
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