SLEEPING in homes that tease
Without freedom to play
Lacking in manners that please
Too important to pray
Having an appearance that deceives –
That's the rich's way.
HEAVEN must be a library –
An acquaintance in boredom said –
With many open levels that are airy
And plush carpet on which to tread
With sliding ladders on the aisles –
Coffee on tap and a poofy chaise
On which to read the gilded titles
And infinite time to waste.
I replied I'd love to meet her there
To help explore the nooks and crannies
And she promised me she'd share –
To my surprise, spaces such as these.
That way, every now and then –
She could break from reading
And come find the alcove I'm in
To see how I'm doing.
A MIST of yellow
Gold upon the curtains
Blinding is its glow
The breath of calm winds
Birds silent like they know
Things muted by grayness
A wide, blue shadow
Trees black in the distance –
This is how the sun sets.
SONNET #1
Memories are many, my heart is full
Of gladness for the love I've found in you
Love that we manifested and forged true.
You are quite a man, both strong and gentle.
Our love is envied by watchful lovers
And mysterious to all except us.
We steadfast run the course of love and thus
You are my all in one that life offered
---
But if the veil of death covers me first
And the air of separation grows cold
And redundant things provide no recourse
Go and seek love again, as I've foretold.
It's better that you live well and be free
To love once more than be shackled to me.
HOW they stop us dead
With a look of shame -
Not knowing that what
We have is from God.
Love's mystery,
Who can fully explain?
They would prefer to hate
Without a thought.
MY heart is an empty jardiniere
Receptive to flowers and affection.
By your wayward glances, I could swear -
There is a festering attraction
But speak up bravely; be not passive
And may we start a journey called love.
THY being's grace
Is pleasant to behold -
As beautiful as
The jacaranda
When its blooms
On some April day unfold.
Blessed be the one
Who keeps thy aura.
NOT all education is a degree;
Unfettered within a manual –
The acquisition thereof is free.
With a nice cup of coffee
Conversation is philosophy.
Living to knowledge is proportional
And to live is simply to be.
DON'T tell it to the wind
To be blown away as vapor
Or share it with a gossiper
As fragile as a dandelion.
Don't speak of it on the mountaintop;
Even the clouds have ears.
For fear that the Devil hears –
Don't pray for it aloud to God.
Let the wish build up inside
Then straight-faced, release it subtly –
As your actions make it be –
Until its existence can't be denied.
OUR union is stronger than we -
Measuring twofold -
And moves in the world.
Prithee, therefore -
Take it on with me.
THERE is something quaint
About a rundown edifice
That, although complacent –
Stirs a familiar consciousness
By a squinch of brick and concrete
Flanked by many a bay window
And a tower down the street –
Proudly apparent, yet below
Fades a slogan on its side
Amid cracked vernicular walls
And crabgrass now abides
Where beams crisscross dark halls.
Although dwarfed by progression –
Eye such not with pity;
Rather than tear it down –
I say, let it quaintly be.
I HAVE nothing to offer
Except this small heart of mine.
You come with laughter.
I have a past much maligned.
You come with true stories
And many talkative siblings.
I have few good memories
But a face that's serene.
Interesting things about the world
I remember very well.
If it's not a bother
I will teach instead of tell.
THE wind hears many secrets
As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
He mulls them over and again
But doesn't repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.
The wind also has many lovers –
Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
And cooling warm cheeks
But preferring to roam –
Blows away to a place unknown.
I WAS smote by words
As a soldier with bullets
'Til I harnessed their power
And they slight retreated lest
I would fire back
Then they came for my freedom
But they did not prevail;
No rights were forsaken
Because time outran evil
And faded to black.
MY spirit cannot be bridled
For it is as wild as fire –
As innocent as a child
And in secrecy, has desires.
My body cannot contain it –
No, because of how strong I am –
All that my spirit resonates
Could fill an entire room.
I may die and not be missed;
Lest people forget with one accord
That I left behind good remnants –
I shall come and haunt that void.
SO that you shall be blessed
I pray more than you are aware
For you because you are
A friend of many friends.
May age not break your stride.
Remember all of your days
And on your tongue have praise
For those on whom you relied.
May God look down and see
You at play like a child
And like a parent smile
When their child shrieks in glee.
I pray that the crazy ways
Of this revolving world
Neither make you deterred
Nor dim the light in your eyes.
YOU can no more catch the sun
Than I can command the rain
Yet love is an experience
Worthy of anguish for gain.
RONDEAU #1
At Wounded Knee, we haunt the hill
Where many moons ago we were killed
As herds of buffalo wax and wane
And big sky and silence don't profane
But bless the land where once we fell.
The Men and our beloved Sitting Bull
Women and Young commune one and all;
We love, we laugh and we dance for rain
At Wounded Knee.
Be not fooled by the silence of the hill
For the air above our bones is not still
But stirring among the oaks and grain
Our fleeting spirits wait not in vain
To arise and breathe again and we shall
At Wounded Knee.
RONDEAU #2
No one will know how brightly she smiled
That it charmed her parents and beguiled
Those who loved her near home where she thrived
How she sang and danced, so full of life
How her innocent thoughts touched the world.
From now on, it will remain untold
What deeds they did, what insults they hurled
At her that caused an act of suicide;
No one will know ...
We have lost a beautiful child;
A destiny was rendered unfulfilled.
What she might have accomplished with her life
Who would have made her his precious wife
If she would have prospered and grown old
No one will know ...
CITY lights, city lights –
Look at all the city lights!
Some are red, some are blue –
Some light up a roof –
Such are our summer nights.
A therapeutic wind blows
As I dare to look below
At the freeway steadily
Moving as an artery
By the bright headlight glow.
From such a great height
In the lateness of the night –
A thrill to young hearts
The scene before us imparts.
What wondrous city lights!
BY the scars you can see
A bottle tree for what it is –
The long scars, they run deep –
Deep into its cells.
Growing thin and tall –
From afar it would seem –
Delicate like a model –
To preclude deformity.
Upon closer examination –
Silky leaves of emerald
Are but a bold diversion
From a trunk that's marred.
We too, have marred looks and hearts
If we are perfectly honest
So it's precisely its scars
That make the bottle tree perfect.
I KNOW a place
Where one can lounge
And drink a refreshing dew
Where no worry survives
Where no sounds intrude
Where angels on its pathways
At times may be found
And religion is one truth
Where foundation meets clouds;
A place of peace.
It's under mesquite trees
Over their medusan roots
And below the blazing sun
And its omnipotent proofs.
It's by the pale mescals
Under a tender stalk
Between granite boulders
In shades of ochre and chalk
And among the cactus
Where there is silence.
SHE'S so powerful –
She moves the air;
It doesn't move her.
Matter obeys her will.
She's so powerful:
In Grace and Artistry –
In lines of Symmetry –
Her eyes sparkle.
She is a real hero –
Perfection personified.
Physics is vilified
By her – small in stature.
LOW dust clouds bristled
In the sky but I did not see;
A lone grackle whistled
A warning I did not perceive.
The world would not cease turning
In its cruel mockery.
I sat upon a rock, faltering –
Because of things that wouldn't be.
Only distraction can persuade –
Only sleep can steal
Such sadness that pervades
And hot tears that swell
But hotter yet came a wind
That brushed my fingers
As would one consoling
And dried my tears.
LET us drink in the sunshine
From a cup of globe mallow
As would one of palatine
Privilege beside God's throne.
Here's to another springtime.
Here's to hope for tomorrow.
PINK flowers are a disguise
For her poisonous simplicity.
Solitude is the high price
She pays within Grecian hierarchy.
The hedge of oleander
Is what confines her everywhere
Yet she graces us with candor
Her enemies say is a lair.
Her attributes breach
What glycosides teach.
IF you crush my foot
With your worthy sandal
It would be sweet abuse.
Indeed, the smell of your sweat
Wafting would be
As expensive perfume.
Maybe my nose and foot
Can speak with you
And come to a truce.
ON Havana's white shore –
With each salt-infused whirl
That agitates its border –
Every sand is a potential pearl.
BY a gently flowing creek –
I saw a swallowtail flutter
About my head, as though meek –
And land softer than a feather.
He was large enough, I swear –
To sit in all of my hand.
He did not mind that I was there
Or that I was entranced.
Soon, a second butterfly
Distracted him by swooping down –
His mate, I surmised.
How fiercely they swirled around!
Then breaking up, they moored
To sup water from the red rock
Like two tasters of one accord
Complimenting the good stock.
They were loving my attention –
At least it seemed so.
Raising their wings in the sun
Made a flash of black on yellow.
Then came a convenient wind;
The two undocked at bay
And taking quick advantage –
They sailed playfully away.
GRASS is a taut crew;
They stand at attention
As soldiers do
With orders from the sun –
Never having thoughts
That their purpose is trite
Or any doubts.
Each is a cosmopolite
Of their colonnade.
How exemplary –
I whispered to one blade –
To live as thee.
Without freedom to play
Lacking in manners that please
Too important to pray
Having an appearance that deceives –
That's the rich's way.
HEAVEN must be a library –
An acquaintance in boredom said –
With many open levels that are airy
And plush carpet on which to tread
With sliding ladders on the aisles –
Coffee on tap and a poofy chaise
On which to read the gilded titles
And infinite time to waste.
I replied I'd love to meet her there
To help explore the nooks and crannies
And she promised me she'd share –
To my surprise, spaces such as these.
That way, every now and then –
She could break from reading
And come find the alcove I'm in
To see how I'm doing.
A MIST of yellow
Gold upon the curtains
Blinding is its glow
The breath of calm winds
Birds silent like they know
Things muted by grayness
A wide, blue shadow
Trees black in the distance –
This is how the sun sets.
SONNET #1
Memories are many, my heart is full
Of gladness for the love I've found in you
Love that we manifested and forged true.
You are quite a man, both strong and gentle.
Our love is envied by watchful lovers
And mysterious to all except us.
We steadfast run the course of love and thus
You are my all in one that life offered
---
But if the veil of death covers me first
And the air of separation grows cold
And redundant things provide no recourse
Go and seek love again, as I've foretold.
It's better that you live well and be free
To love once more than be shackled to me.
HOW they stop us dead
With a look of shame -
Not knowing that what
We have is from God.
Love's mystery,
Who can fully explain?
They would prefer to hate
Without a thought.
MY heart is an empty jardiniere
Receptive to flowers and affection.
By your wayward glances, I could swear -
There is a festering attraction
But speak up bravely; be not passive
And may we start a journey called love.
THY being's grace
Is pleasant to behold -
As beautiful as
The jacaranda
When its blooms
On some April day unfold.
Blessed be the one
Who keeps thy aura.
NOT all education is a degree;
Unfettered within a manual –
The acquisition thereof is free.
With a nice cup of coffee
Conversation is philosophy.
Living to knowledge is proportional
And to live is simply to be.
DON'T tell it to the wind
To be blown away as vapor
Or share it with a gossiper
As fragile as a dandelion.
Don't speak of it on the mountaintop;
Even the clouds have ears.
For fear that the Devil hears –
Don't pray for it aloud to God.
Let the wish build up inside
Then straight-faced, release it subtly –
As your actions make it be –
Until its existence can't be denied.
OUR union is stronger than we -
Measuring twofold -
And moves in the world.
Prithee, therefore -
Take it on with me.
THERE is something quaint
About a rundown edifice
That, although complacent –
Stirs a familiar consciousness
By a squinch of brick and concrete
Flanked by many a bay window
And a tower down the street –
Proudly apparent, yet below
Fades a slogan on its side
Amid cracked vernicular walls
And crabgrass now abides
Where beams crisscross dark halls.
Although dwarfed by progression –
Eye such not with pity;
Rather than tear it down –
I say, let it quaintly be.
I HAVE nothing to offer
Except this small heart of mine.
You come with laughter.
I have a past much maligned.
You come with true stories
And many talkative siblings.
I have few good memories
But a face that's serene.
Interesting things about the world
I remember very well.
If it's not a bother
I will teach instead of tell.
THE wind hears many secrets
As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
He mulls them over and again
But doesn't repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.
The wind also has many lovers –
Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
And cooling warm cheeks
But preferring to roam –
Blows away to a place unknown.
I WAS smote by words
As a soldier with bullets
'Til I harnessed their power
And they slight retreated lest
I would fire back
Then they came for my freedom
But they did not prevail;
No rights were forsaken
Because time outran evil
And faded to black.
MY spirit cannot be bridled
For it is as wild as fire –
As innocent as a child
And in secrecy, has desires.
My body cannot contain it –
No, because of how strong I am –
All that my spirit resonates
Could fill an entire room.
I may die and not be missed;
Lest people forget with one accord
That I left behind good remnants –
I shall come and haunt that void.
SO that you shall be blessed
I pray more than you are aware
For you because you are
A friend of many friends.
May age not break your stride.
Remember all of your days
And on your tongue have praise
For those on whom you relied.
May God look down and see
You at play like a child
And like a parent smile
When their child shrieks in glee.
I pray that the crazy ways
Of this revolving world
Neither make you deterred
Nor dim the light in your eyes.
YOU can no more catch the sun
Than I can command the rain
Yet love is an experience
Worthy of anguish for gain.
RONDEAU #1
At Wounded Knee, we haunt the hill
Where many moons ago we were killed
As herds of buffalo wax and wane
And big sky and silence don't profane
But bless the land where once we fell.
The Men and our beloved Sitting Bull
Women and Young commune one and all;
We love, we laugh and we dance for rain
At Wounded Knee.
Be not fooled by the silence of the hill
For the air above our bones is not still
But stirring among the oaks and grain
Our fleeting spirits wait not in vain
To arise and breathe again and we shall
At Wounded Knee.
RONDEAU #2
No one will know how brightly she smiled
That it charmed her parents and beguiled
Those who loved her near home where she thrived
How she sang and danced, so full of life
How her innocent thoughts touched the world.
From now on, it will remain untold
What deeds they did, what insults they hurled
At her that caused an act of suicide;
No one will know ...
We have lost a beautiful child;
A destiny was rendered unfulfilled.
What she might have accomplished with her life
Who would have made her his precious wife
If she would have prospered and grown old
No one will know ...
CITY lights, city lights –
Look at all the city lights!
Some are red, some are blue –
Some light up a roof –
Such are our summer nights.
A therapeutic wind blows
As I dare to look below
At the freeway steadily
Moving as an artery
By the bright headlight glow.
From such a great height
In the lateness of the night –
A thrill to young hearts
The scene before us imparts.
What wondrous city lights!
BY the scars you can see
A bottle tree for what it is –
The long scars, they run deep –
Deep into its cells.
Growing thin and tall –
From afar it would seem –
Delicate like a model –
To preclude deformity.
Upon closer examination –
Silky leaves of emerald
Are but a bold diversion
From a trunk that's marred.
We too, have marred looks and hearts
If we are perfectly honest
So it's precisely its scars
That make the bottle tree perfect.
I KNOW a place
Where one can lounge
And drink a refreshing dew
Where no worry survives
Where no sounds intrude
Where angels on its pathways
At times may be found
And religion is one truth
Where foundation meets clouds;
A place of peace.
It's under mesquite trees
Over their medusan roots
And below the blazing sun
And its omnipotent proofs.
It's by the pale mescals
Under a tender stalk
Between granite boulders
In shades of ochre and chalk
And among the cactus
Where there is silence.
SHE'S so powerful –
She moves the air;
It doesn't move her.
Matter obeys her will.
She's so powerful:
In Grace and Artistry –
In lines of Symmetry –
Her eyes sparkle.
She is a real hero –
Perfection personified.
Physics is vilified
By her – small in stature.
LOW dust clouds bristled
In the sky but I did not see;
A lone grackle whistled
A warning I did not perceive.
The world would not cease turning
In its cruel mockery.
I sat upon a rock, faltering –
Because of things that wouldn't be.
Only distraction can persuade –
Only sleep can steal
Such sadness that pervades
And hot tears that swell
But hotter yet came a wind
That brushed my fingers
As would one consoling
And dried my tears.
LET us drink in the sunshine
From a cup of globe mallow
As would one of palatine
Privilege beside God's throne.
Here's to another springtime.
Here's to hope for tomorrow.
PINK flowers are a disguise
For her poisonous simplicity.
Solitude is the high price
She pays within Grecian hierarchy.
The hedge of oleander
Is what confines her everywhere
Yet she graces us with candor
Her enemies say is a lair.
Her attributes breach
What glycosides teach.
IF you crush my foot
With your worthy sandal
It would be sweet abuse.
Indeed, the smell of your sweat
Wafting would be
As expensive perfume.
Maybe my nose and foot
Can speak with you
And come to a truce.
ON Havana's white shore –
With each salt-infused whirl
That agitates its border –
Every sand is a potential pearl.
BY a gently flowing creek –
I saw a swallowtail flutter
About my head, as though meek –
And land softer than a feather.
He was large enough, I swear –
To sit in all of my hand.
He did not mind that I was there
Or that I was entranced.
Soon, a second butterfly
Distracted him by swooping down –
His mate, I surmised.
How fiercely they swirled around!
Then breaking up, they moored
To sup water from the red rock
Like two tasters of one accord
Complimenting the good stock.
They were loving my attention –
At least it seemed so.
Raising their wings in the sun
Made a flash of black on yellow.
Then came a convenient wind;
The two undocked at bay
And taking quick advantage –
They sailed playfully away.
GRASS is a taut crew;
They stand at attention
As soldiers do
With orders from the sun –
Never having thoughts
That their purpose is trite
Or any doubts.
Each is a cosmopolite
Of their colonnade.
How exemplary –
I whispered to one blade –
To live as thee.