At the Garden Edge

Watching a young black snake slow gliding across leaf and rock.
She stands out against the brown and yellows of coming fall.
Silent and quick, and as long as a kitchen broom. Coiling up and then straightening out she threads her way along.
I often loose sight of her amongst the fennel an goldenrod. It’s only after a mad dash and leap of a surprised frog that I find her again.
The soft shimmer of black scale gliding along betwixt and between the plants helps idle the last of summer away…

A Soapbox Jury

Long before I was born
Man decided what was wrong and what was right
And yet they left in question their reasoning why
So came lesser men writing words they called law
Still they could not explain
The simply stated punishment for those things their words did not like
Things like love and freedom their words could not comprehend
But still they tried to cage them in
And still greater men try to fix what they began
Adding lines to words with no end
Calling it ethics or calling them morals
As long as they themselves did not need to heed the very words we were forced to read
So to you I have added this chore
I have in good concourse added more
Will you understand or will this too become banned

Freedom of Speech
Protect it!

In the Garden

Thinking about spring
I find it all described with words an old man would use
The cool crisp air mixing softly with the early morning mist
Each petal of the paperwhite daffodil
Contrasts solid and hard with it’s yellow cousin
Here and there a bumble bee prowls
Tiny droplets of pollen and dew cling to her sides
Even as busy buzzing wings brush back the careless hand
Distracted by the beauty of the rising sun

Temporary


I am …
The rustling of the autumn leaves
which hang tight for now amongst the maple and oak
The borderland at the far edge
A small stack of stone piled up along the imaginary lines of a map
Even the rill filled trickling down between root and rock
Sparking gentle reflection beneath half shadows of this wilderness before seeping down
Disappearing into the land
No one cosmopolitan will understand this simple satisfaction of a season
And the acceptance of the passage of life
Before we go our way

Weighing The Day


To what value do I set the scale
With incremental movement a clock measures out moment by moment
But that has no existence
The vapor and steam of things unseen
Passively touch then dissolve
And yet you and I watch it’s coming pass us by
Left in the wake that follows
We reach out as if to hold invisible threads of thought
Something unattained in the passage of life
And burdened by our own purpose
Feel fulfilled or utterly emptied by the experience

Sadly, I Lament

In the shadows lay a daemon
Lurking quiet beneath the trees
Stalking silent amongst the leaves
Until opportunity came to be
Then the devil stole from me
Stole in a whisper a love so dear
Left of her no trace to see
None would ever hold again
The soft shape and elegant line
Of her beauty so devine
Lost to the living
For all time
Except in memory
Shared in rhyme

Echoing Lament

She said she hears the night birds call
But when I listened I could not hear them
It was during the last breath of summer
Blowing the first leaves of fall
Tired eyes were looking to the west
Into the setting of the sun
Where withered limbs bare of fruit
Sway in a dry September wind
Forgetful of the spring
Naked she sings in the moonlight
She dances beneath the stars
Even as my heart yearns
Desperate to hear her song
The echo of the night birds
Calling from afar
The sun is setting
Life flows on

A Passing Thought

I sat and watched a red faint wisp darting amongst the garden rose
I had never seen here before such a gallant dragonfly dressed so well in scarlet robes
I wonder what ill omen does he bring
Complacent in my thoughts to leave the decision to chance and eternal spring
For neither death or sickness care
From whence such beauty may have flown
I shall in my innocence not despair
And wait to see what more I may find Here along this gardens path

Quill to Paper with Ink Adhere

Separated hearts by time and distance haunt
A radiant solitaire set in gold
Yet in precious metal imprisoned still be held
By as pure a word so bold
Love binds such taut a cord between the two
My thoughts become simple in the disparity
A measure betwixt paradise and the basest hell
Errant in life’s long trials
Even as spring the winter follows
Passion warms the coming summer
Then in turn sours with the fall
Yet the spirit of the season playful calls
For every ear in turn to hear

Falling Backwards

I remember days that lasted weeks. Left alone to many nights at port, to many times on dusty roads.
Mirages appear and disappear like the voices in my brain. Slowly becoming landmarks burned deep into my soul.
Out there somewhere I’m looking for something lost or maybe it’s just something I’ve never seen.
You never know what’s waiting there just beyond what you know.
Crazy ad it is, that’s exactly where I want to go…