Lamp Light

Evening's lights of Main St.
compliment the lady.
their fingers run through her hair.
Heel strikes
in time
the great clock raining neon upon her.
Tonight she has decided
she is beautiful.
Quieting breeze
her movements
slow
down
time.
We love her
beauty.
Glimpse the divine.
Moments pass
shifted light residuum
Left us
with unlaced
melodies.

Mail and Magic

To receive something in the mail is a magical thing.  Here we have a box atop a post, in the wall or in our door which like a rabbit from a hat on occasion magically presents its user, for we cannot really own such a device (consider if it is moved inside how its magic evaporates), with wonderful things.  

A host of items appear in the box.  Of these items we are less than enamored with a few, which are but a nuisance.  A select few of these mythical beasts are unicorns.  Things of great beauty.  Items we immediately experience joy through their arrival.  At times these morsels are devoured on the spot.  Others still are reserved in their vestal state for a time when they will be sipped and savoured in private.  

A parcel in the mail box is the rainbow of our day.  What it might contain is the pot of gold.  Do we open it right then or wait?  Do we shake the box?  Is it marked from someone we know?  Are we a reveler of surprise and wait to look at the label until provided with a hot cup of tea and soft chair?  What could it be?  

The magic of the mail is not contained in the envelopes and boxes of the post.  It is not the contents. Not even close.  The mail metaphysics cannot be owned, kept or even grasped in your hands for a fleeting moment.  They transcend the physical world we mortals live in.  The magic is in the idea of the mail.  We are a recipients of its gifts of emotional gratification.  We the unmistakable target of this parcel.  The unseen process of its journey and its patient respite in our magical box.  

The book is magic at its finest.  The written word is a time machine and a keepsake of our souls.  In the scrawl of man you will find the heart of the fragile creature.  A child recently shared a poem with me written by a long deceased man.  This man though sharing little actual time with her has a special place in her mind and heart.  He accomplished this by writing her a poem when she was just a newborn.  This one piece of paper with a bit of ink on it evokes a strong emotional response in the child as its story does in those exposed to it.  It is also a thoughtfully wrought poem which expressed the strength of his emotions for her.  

A book in the mail is a unicorn in a rainbow.  Smoke in the wind is the parcels arrival and consumption.  The label read, the box or envelope eviscerated and its contents revealed chase the magic from the room.

Wisteria

fire and shadows
delights bestowed
the steady wind of you
blows so unceasingly
begging the question
'will I stand if it ceases?'
your constant pressure upon me
support I have grown around
a parasitic symbiosis
granting easy life
by invading the mortar of my joints
you are a beautiful creature
time has bestowed you
gifts
your youth's cacoon
chrysalis
silken shroud
scarified and removed
you as I met you
in ninety-six
returned
youth remains in your eyes
motherhood has polished
your soul
abrading the residue of
poisonous thoughts
cleansed mind
washed in time and tear
roots cut at the trunk
'we are not trees'
picked up and shaken
free to dance.

Ants on a Rock

The ants on the rock
they have singular purpose

The ants on the rock
no concept of time

The ants on the rock
do not watch me and ponder

The ants on the rock
they chase after food
no discouraging words shared
or bad moods

The ants on the rock
do not fret during slumber
neither burdened or
encumbered with thinking

The ants on the rock
drill forth at their pace
across the shadows of us
at our hurried haste

The ants on the rock
no hearts they possess
to churn and ache
in their black polished chests

The ants on the rock
have no lessons to teach
No mistakes no emotions
no falling in love
no misteps of grandeur
no head over heels

The ants on a rock
seek only a meal.

Aqua

Butterflies dance
the meadow of morning
wild onion scents the air
pines swerve in the soft breeze
poquitos kratis
as small things rule
blooms, bugs and grains of sand
Big blue dragonfly
ripples like Saturn's rings
reflected on the silt below
Damselfly dreamers
on the blades of grass
floating on
life's summer days

True North

I've lost my compass
hung around my neck
it has guided me
from childhood to today
I've lost my compass
it does not worry me
the years of guidance
made these ridges my friends
My compass gone
it is for me to know
where I go next.

Blood Sucking Dainties

Morning sun
drive back
the vampires of night
they lap up my blood
until you arrive
expectant vampire mothers
as gentle fairies alight
upon my skin
and drink in my life
to preserve their own
morning sun
clear the air of these mothers
who's parting gifts are
welts and irritation.

Brown Trout

Brown trout
wary creature
exotic brought here
for a challenge
hard to find
hard to catch
worthy of obsession
to win your favor
is the heart's own trophy

Brook Trout

Brook trout
so eager
no fear you possess
fly on the water
soon you will take
but no thrill of the chase
nor stalking in shade
too easily caught
too easily played
agreeable to a fault
though your wintry coat
is a marvel to behold

Chimney Lake

Silt to my knees
barefoot
in an alpine lake
two great fish lie at my side
a fly rod sits by them
on the grass
of the meadow banks
of this lake
the sun dries my clothes
a scent of flowers and grass
fills the air
an insect hum ever-present
the granite cliffs behind me
and the forested banks in front
bring to mind
the sierra lakes I've been to in the past
there is an abundance
of life in the grass.

Dancers

whisky slide
sip
rested
opening unfolding
patient lips
demonstration of
wait worthy
a longing dance
all night
but one girl
gentle
held
know
depth sought
held close and far from
sway upon and in
unhidden eyes
yet unexposed
the chests know
locked
thump  thump
quickening
softening
the hot moon melts resolve
lens
fog of night
dissipating
scented glass
emptied
Ursa's cup upended
as bodies seek

Plato's Kiss

Tendril
silent beauty
shifting lith
enter my vein
a break in the armor
laceration unnoticed
while life falls
a trail left to follow
grow across my body
my chest filled with you
branch out
seek my soft tissue
be my undoing
please me
rest in my eyes
it is light
overwhelming
heart overburdened
cheeks sore
drifting into warm currents
its waters wash
over me
they drown me
and yet
suffocated I breath
held in your arms
I am free
to love

Thin

Thin
weeks of thought
concentration of my person
food for thought
my nourishment
ribs, count them
held close
my heart unloads
asleep in arms
my heart finds sleep
rest softened eyes
in the mirrors
of friend eyes
quieted

Carmel

My head spins less today
Sittting here absorbing the pleasant sounds of this place
Carmel Valley awoke from the fog
to find me sleeping
My calm has found me here
Far from home where it hid
somewhere
Among too many familiar things
My cappuccino delights in showing
A relation between light foam, warm milk
and searing espresso
Elements very different
yet special in their union

Morning Jazz

Tenor banjo strum
along piano rolls
This morning
in among the people and their times
Take me back
for I've been here before
the music of a coffee shoppe
the cafes of my childhood
What a treat for
a little girl and me
Music and people in real time
natural
no stage
just players, a little girl and me
Two old men
sit as friends do
a tune between them.

Night Cafe

In this cafe there are none of them
only us.
She, who sits with a wine glass reading
I with my pen
My companion looks on as her gin dances in its glass
Take a closer look and you'll see
there is a difference between us here and them there
I lied to you
Well sort of a lie
this place has made me dishonest
I said I would share no drink with you
in a bar
This is no bar like those..
A special place deserves more than our rules.
As we transcend the base
So must our places dance past a base form.
You, my Adler, my 'the woman,'
So few should sit here
and feel as we feel
This place knows its kind.

Departure

The branch of a tree
leans far away
The trunk is left behind
seeking the sun

Hidden from View

On this summer night
Orion lies hid
There being no moon to guide us
Stars run free and unhidden
Streaks form across the sky as they fall
Twinkles on the horizon
Summer's heat is softened
with night's calm
The heat sleeps
in the rocks
under my back