World Clock

Always looking towards the clock,

so much time, and even more thought,

to fill the chasm, limitless void,

the eye, the ear, the mind have toiled,

the spirit reaches when the feet must rest,

and the mind remembers which of all were best,

the feeling of a place drawn across time,

the power in hand when motivations align,

the inspired song when the muses take flight,

the remorse when the light grows dim in the night,

the delight when the stars fall and fade,

and the fiery sun sweeps the brisk morning away.

in one direction every thing must fall,

the rhythm is surely without, withal

and whoever set the motions made man

a wandering ‘low sun soon as he began.

 

 

 

Lost Souls

How is the ship to catch good sail,

with no wind and current strong,

how is a soul to find its way,

cut like cloud wisps, then gone?

At least there is a sphere of light,

in the way things all connect,

And the lattice of the universe

is spun like a spider’s web.

Such a sea to be cast out,

how will the way be known?

By way of light, eternal hope,

may they find the right path home.

 

 

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

 

 

Either Way

Like a flash of lightening,  fallen star

the breath before the song,

as it contemplates the space ahead,

a swivel, turn, then gone:

It is a mind that falls to make

the planets all turn right,

and even forceful powers of fate

are reduced by the mind and finite.

With such ease it could have been,

a familiar Northern flight.

Not a moments time to bend

with so many ends in sight.

 

 

 

 

The Back Road

Back road, back road, drifting aimlessly

Back road back road, many sights to see,

Glittery skies and tall mountain pines,

They grow and fall with the fires of time

Whether the burning blazing kind,

Or the dollar signs in peoples’ eyes

How now spirit, what hold have you here?

The enchantment of the spring rain,

Inner peace in the world’s chaos game

The growth of your soul while it all stays the same?

No one, nowhere, nothing to hold

Will be that ocean’s last standing wave,

if the fall is to the side of life,

and you’re not in the center to make the play.

Back road, Back road, drifting aimlessly,

Back road, back road, many sights to see.

Fairy Lights

Humming birds and fireflies,

gentle fairies flying light

No rain nor wind shall pull thee down

the air is yours is all around.

So as it goes, the world is neither

only within and not without

and all those lights a floating past

the same as yours, lit  by en eye

determined to fade like day into night

such as with like love, a fire most bright

and source and destination aside,

the power that moves bestows peace in the flight.

 

 

Roses

I think of you in the dark of night,

and in the fresh light of morn,

somewhere in the mist, our souls

parted ways, and we were born.

 

Rose petals climb the trusses

a soft texture on the walls,

no free will sends those roses high,

primordial growth, from the first light of time.

 

Alas, if love is like a rose,

it surely knows which way to grow,

yet trees and clouds obscure the way,

and adjacent brambles snare and sway.

 

One a morning fair, I passed the rose

and sang a sweet old tune,

and the sun is bright and the sky as blue

than when our love was in full bloom.