Birds in Spring

morning doves and whippoorwills fill the springtime air,

a song so sweetly enduring, as if in some despair,

through the night and first at dawn, no pause in the sweet tune

and children cry and lovers sigh in the limn of the low moon

 

the buds of May burst bright, the colors fade to thought,

urged away by more ancient tunes, like the summer sun grows hot,

the mountain shadows chill the wind, and the pinyon bird sings louder still

if there be no rhythm to time, there would be no weight to the will

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Poet’s Dream

Describe the dream in words,

that’s what poets do,

and the dream is like a piece of art

both sprung from the mind, these two.

A world of beauty in one glance

twisted fate and perfect circumstance

a current of deep waters, a dance,`

shining, colorful, dark…

The forms within are many

yet of materials so minute;

it is a wonder there is a dance at all,

yet the tree has taken root!

It is surrounded by a pond, emerald green,

and the blue white high above,

of life is the tree, it surely appeared when

a strong will became great love.

 

Silent Scream

Stuck in my head,

like that concussed feeling,

a sting behind the eyes,

an inhalation of breath

in a freezing night

an orchestra symphony

of minor chord disharmony,

the gut’s turn before the snake strike,

the coldest hour before sunrise,

before the light breaks through the ice.

 

Nowhere and everywhere left to turn,

to God and to the knowledge of the world,

a circular current from spirit to mind,

distant points and so many lines,

like the light at the edge of the sky,

the divine structure in the ice

and liquid water, bringing forth life,

that ancient familiar spark in the eye,

a motivation forward, this forlorn sigh,

and fortuitous when these elements combine:

Life tends to thrive after fires of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heart of Gold

A heart of gold

is a heart as hard as ice,

and solid gold melts quite quick

and the surface easily scythed.

the luster fades like the sun,

as is the way with time,

it’ll circle round and reassure,

that it is an infinite light

the glimmer is only a reflection

a manifestation of how rays align

neither a fetter nor weight to bear,

as true as the blood veins flow,

in new angles the light rays shine

radiating from heart from the soul

from the hand and from the eye

and the depths that can’t be known