Finding Words

They land in different places now, the words

those stories, passages, telling souls

to reinvent our lives

create some simple serenade

lets our heart breathe less of a sign,

certainly not gasping for air,

just a steady rhythm because we come to know

life is far too short

to allow ourselves to slow the direction

of our dreams.

 

I walked outside this afternoon

breathing in the fragrance of a coming rain,

they always do remind us of a soft gentle horizon

when love might be our simplest guide

rather than the fight,

we choose the current

to travel together

in separate worlds

yet still

together

there will be song.

 

Filling the bird feeder

I knew if quiet

the visit would occur

and in the morning

the melody would play, always,

an endless serenade …


Inspired by ‘Burn’ – Hamilton Soundtrack

Feeling The Rains

He didn’t have to look outside today

to feel the sunshine quickly step away.

We sense the energy, a rainy day

would bring our sorrows into light of day.

Soft in a cleansing wash would now the fray

of a conscience in pain, solemn display.

Oh to know the special nature such lay

ahead in sensual burdens love weigh.

Walk with me again, feel water release

sweet remedy will provide treatise.

Might we then our hope to abate increase

while certain inhibition will decrease.

Oh to know the sweet scent of summer day

when rains offer the silence a quiet peace.

when the words don’t matter

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Sitting by the shoreline,

the water fairly calm,

a sharp breeze enough to

suggest only the time of year.

 

watching seagulls swift past

the eery history of the mast

wondering just when waters

would ever tell me a secret.

 

I could listen for hours

while the sun began to dance

along soft waves of yesterday

sounds around me airily fast.

 

the birds, their legacy staid

by waning summer’s crying lead

in the autumn of these days,

the ones reminding time away.

 

I listen to Bob Dylan, a surreal croon

speaking of wanting ways

wishing time would forever sway,

‘Blood on the Tracks’ seems to say …

 

Inside this visual macabre

Our surreal horizon rob.

Listening, As Bullfrogs Might

Outside my window,

The sky black in twilight,

No breeze to offer an anxious

Tear into a calm evening.

 

Except the bullfrogs near

Must be a dozen at least

A three sound utterance

Shared by another nearby

 

Three times that’s all,

Perhaps the pitch might change,

Another again will chime in,

They’ll all be together in sound

 

I wonder about the simplistic strife

Surrounded alone in a pond of afterlife

When A Child Dreams

I would dream summers

running through hemlock

brush scratches naked calves

the moment, lost in its mystique

 

When we were kids

we were ushered out of the house

play until you drop

play until you drop

 

We didn’t mind

being ushered out

we were in our element

children of summer

 

When I was a child

I didn’t imagine barriers

there wasn’t a risk of

seeing a friend bloodied

 

We didn’t walk around

waiting for our parents

who were never to be found,

unless of their own volition.

 

When I was a younger boy,

I could run for hours,

feeling the heat of summer

knowing the thrill of joy

 

In my wildest dreams

I was never sought, ushered,

told to stop my scream

for justice beyond my dream.

 

Today, the children of summer

are everywhere and far away

from the beauty of love

the compassion of a tender tear.

 

Today, I do recall freedom in my childhood,

I weep alone for the children of summer.

Whisper My Name

To be heard

By her magic symphony

I am the audience

She the mystery

 

Oh, to know the many

Value of this body of mystique

The waves lapping shoreline

Only to be heard.

 

I wonder the soul

She keeps in quiet harmony,

The many lives, the sea men

Leaving wives and children home

 

Would we the living

Ever really understand

Why such stark reality

Beckons her command.

 

On occasion my passion

Would be the horizon

By which nature’s remedy

Harmonize sweet melody.