In lands of lofty mountain peaks
God deftly weaves the Aspen trees
through evergreens, with spires high
in crisp, thin air over clear blue skies.
Upon His loom yellow leaves are spun
like fine gold threads until they’re done
a golden weave of shimmering shock
sunlight flashes through dark forest stock.
We who believe are like golden trees
where the light of Truth can be received
by those who wander in forests blind
unable to see the Truth defined.
From the Vine the Spirit spreads
through intricate roots, connecting threads
of hope and peace, from darkness to light
from sin to redemption and glory bright.
Watch dazzling sunrise emerge from its surreal cocoon,
Engage with cordial citizens who ooze spry radiant charm,
Applaud droll comic town brazen banter on zigzag pavement,
Vivid vermillion hydrant spewing mint cool water on,
Effervescent footslogger’s fiery life thirst seldom slaked
Yesterdays fine roots
lifted onto the loom
only when today lays beside them
the fine roots of tomorrow
does wisdom loosened
begin to weave its shape
Silent apologies linger
hardening around today
like ice at the waist
We owe our words
to a yesterday already gone
Baseless waves of blame
cast back into yesterday
rise again in a today
leaning toward tomorrow
today unresolved
returns as today
again and again
My good friend who is a Jehovah Witness
Says of Christmas trees, she doesn’t get this
Why do they hang all those tacky things
Junk up a perfectly fine tree of green
I feel the question is honest yet blind
For tree docorations are celebrations of kind
I notice she wears false eyelashes and weave
To me that is tackier than a Christmas tree
I suppose natural beauty isn’t the issue here
It’s doing what you know and feel is real
A natural tree with lights, decorations is ok
Her fake lashes ,wigs don’t mean she has no faith
As my Christmas tree is an expression of choice
Her lack of need for a tree is her own voice
In USA we both embrace our lavender lives
God gave us all a choice and we use it to thrive
In the silence of the night, when shadows weave their tapestry of lost dreams,
Abyssal mirrors gaze at us from the depths with silent eyes,
Souls dance on spider threads woven from time,
Bearing the heavy burden of the world, in webs of paradoxes, unstretched.
Beneath our steps, the ground trembles, a sea of hidden darkness,
An infernal abyss silently lurks beneath the fragile veil of existence,
We lose ourselves in the labyrinth of thoughts, where light and shadow embrace,
In a waltz of fate, where silence sings unheard melodies.
Each breath becomes an echo of eternity trapped in moments,
We gaze at the horizon and see how the sky breaks into thousands of paradoxes,
In the depths of the soul, we bear the burden of an endless universe,
Where magic and melancholy dance their eternal, uninterrupted waltz.
Through the mist of dreams, we find ourselves in the abyss that engulfs us with longing,
And understand that we are but fleeting shadows on the stage of infinity,
Through the cosmic silence, we feel how time melts into eternity,
And we, travelers through the night, lose and find ourselves in forgotten light.
Don't like the look of what's going on
seems to you something's wrong
the smell of corruption in the air
look around it's everywhere
can't place the feel of what's happening here
could it be something to fear
the sound of conniving on the wind
a warning call for all thin-skinned
so round and round and round we go
where it stops no one knows
it takes two to tango or so they say
but that was then not today
ask a question and they hand you
the same old automated two-step quango
one foot forward two steps back
while standing in quicksand
pose a query they'll sidestep the issue
and the matter at hand
giving you the light fandango
they'll look you in the eye and deny
it's all a web within a web
behind a web of total lies
Through the veil of mist, stars weave stories in whispers of silver,
Illuminating the path of shadows dancing on the edge of the dream.
Rivers of time flow through valleys of memories forgotten by the world,
Where each moment weeps its tale in echoes of longing.
Trees stretch their arms toward the sky full of enigmas,
In their foliage, the wind sings ballads of lost hearts.
The moon, queen of the night, spreads her veil over our dreams,
While silence dresses the earth in its cloak of mystery.
Beneath the sleeping earth, roots seek sources of truth,
While the flowers of dreams open in the light of the cold moon.
Each star is a hidden wish, an unspoken secret,
In the dark universe where light dances with shadow.
Dawn brings with it a new beginning, but also the end of a dream,
For each morning, the magic of the night is reborn from the ashes.
In our hearts, love weaves its eternal stories,
While time whispers answers from forgotten corners.
Don't like the look of what's going on
seems to you something's wrong
the smell of corruption in the air
look around it's everywhere
can't place the feel of what's happening here
could it be something to fear
the sound of conniving on the wind
a warning call for all thin-skinned
so round and round and round we go
where it stops no one knows
it takes two to tango or so they say
but that was then not today
ask a question and they hand you
the same old automated two-step quango
one foot forward two steps back
while standing in quicksand
pose a query they'll sidestep the issue
and the matter at hand
giving you the light fandango
they'll look you in the eye and deny
it's all a web within a web
behind a web of total lies
Passionate about poetry
I don't choose the muse
the muse chooses me
but when I need her most
then whereabouts is she
abandoned and self-mocked
not word one could I pen
with writer's block
my fate cast to the wind
but if the wraith had knocked
as does opportunity
I couldn't tell
on the other hand
her silence rings a bell
so left to my own devices
of weft warp and weave
forged in fire ashes to ashes
dust from the stars
I perceived is what we are
and word-weary all I could conceive
A winsome weave, simple and real,
Warp and weft; a tight twill,
A weaverbird’s nest, strong and snug,
With soft crossways and tumphy tug.
Subtle cozy patterns, seldom revealed,
Cynical twists like waves unsealed,
The mirror of peafowl’s courtship field.
Matchless display by the peacock,
Dance elevated by love, rattle of feathers in rhythmic clock,
Enticing and dazing the hens, with a silent poise,
All while rivals raise their voice.
Waking incredible train rattle, a sharper dance,
Initial plumage grandeur, a healthier glance,
Peahens’ basics caught in a stance.
Beautifully woven, a rhythmic tapestry,
Wales ranged in a rolling plain spree,
Richly captivating...lines of love,
Crowned with bliss by the brave thereof.
Under the night sky, stars weave a mantle with shimmering silver threads,
Thoughts carry me into the enchanted forest, where trees whisper stories,
Shadows dance to the rhythm of the wind, singing a melody forgotten by time,
A symphony of silence, each note a dream shattered by the light of dawn.
Rain falls like a silk veil over the city asleep in reverie,
The drops, tears of a sad goddess, wash away the dust of days gone by,
Leaving a scent of longing and melancholy, souls under colorful umbrellas,
Butterflies under fragile wings, seeking shelter from the relentless storm.
On the empty streets, the lantern lights reflect in shining puddles,
I wander through the labyrinth of silence, feeling how time becomes an ephemeral illusion,
A grain of sand in a forgotten hourglass, stories gather like lost echoes,
Lives lived intensely, forgotten too quickly by the world, remain as whispered memories.
In the world of dreams, reality and fantasy intertwine like a magical tapestry,
Words become a gateway to unknown realms, a traveler among verses,
I seek my path on long and equal steps leading to the sky of tranquility,
There I find the answers I've longed for my entire life.
In the garden of silence, where shadows weave stories on the canvas of time,
The flower detaches from the branch of life, a silent tear of destiny,
Without tears and without resistance, lost in the ocean of misunderstood love,
A silent witness of a feeling that remains a hidden mystery in the soul.
Wrapped in the mantle of words of love, uprooted from its roots,
It embarks on a journey from one foreign hand to another, a wandering star,
Without finding a place to rest its dark dreams,
A soil of its own in which to anchor the desires that stir its heart.
In the desire to melt into the immortal fragrance of your love,
It leaves the warm embrace of the soil that gave it life and hope,
Dreaming of an eternity in your arms, calm, without fears,
But the treacherous winds steal its breath, thieves of dreams hidden in shadows.
When the night lays its dark velvet mantle over the world,
The flower remains just a withered tale, a whisper lost in time,
An echo of promised love but never fulfilled, a shattered dream,
At the edge of dawn that brings a new day, without the memory of its fragrance.
In the cosmic vastness, stars weave dreams of eternal light,
The universe reveals its spontaneous perfection in silence,
Each moment is a window to infinities of desires,
Where the useful and the useless dance in circles of light.
Life is a mosaic of experiences laid upon time,
Expanding the horizon of the soul with each step taken,
In the desire to give, we discover true value,
For only contrast reveals the hidden essence within us.
The universe, a canvas of desires and dreams, shows its beauty,
Each atom vibrates in the eternal dance of energies,
To live is to tread the edge of the unknown abyss,
Feeling the wind of time caress the face with promises.
In the desire to understand, we lose ourselves, but in uselessness,
We find the value of being, mirrored in the pure desire to give,
In the silence between thoughts, perfection becomes a journey,
We dive into depths, seeking answers in silent stars.
We wish to give meaning to each moment, but truth comes,
When we cease searching and let life carry us,
In uselessness, we find the freedom to be, unconditionally,
And in the desire to give, we discover the open soul.
In the delicate weave of dreams lies an unseen universe, full of light,
Hold tightly to these golden threads, for when dreams fade,
Life becomes a bird with broken wings, lying under the sky that once called it,
A song that can no longer be sung, a story without an end or a beginning.
Dreams are the rainbows that connect our hearts with infinity,
Without them, we lose ourselves in the labyrinth of days, shadows without form,
We cling to memories like dried leaves carried by the wind,
In a world that refuses to see the colors that once enlivened it.
When we let dreams die, we become sculptures of stone,
Looking toward horizons that no longer resonate with hope and desire,
The need to fly remains just a whisper, a lost echo,
And our soul longs for skies it will never reach.
Keep the spark of dreams alive, the flame that lights the way,
For in their fragile wings lies the power to lift us from the ashes,
And to transform the present moment into a sublime dance with eternity,
Where every heartbeat is a wing that lifts us toward the light.
Words, like a gentle breeze, can whisper untold tales,
Carrying secrets through meadows and rustling in sails.
They can build winding sentences with clauses that flow,
Connecting ideas where knowledge can grow.
But words can also storm with righteous might,
Unleashing emotions that set wrongs to the right.
They can twist and turn with a poet's keen art,
Creating unseen worlds that capture the heart.
So choose your words wisely, with purpose and care,
For they have the power to build or tear.
Like the wind and the storm, they can soothe or sting,
But in a poet's hand, a beautiful song they can sing.
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