one second
falls next to
the other
dripping
slowing like water
forming
on the glass
coalescing tears
that rain the day
converging
colors blotted
drop by
drop

sweeping the sands for treasure
what was once cast aside
transformed into a new prize
polished and worn by water
lines the shelf with promise
another day’s adventures

smiles upon your emptiness
provides a sense of home
memories of little hands
brushing a golden crown
the songs that filled the air
each with their own story

in the middle
where nothing
fills the noise
the dark rose
blooms alone

Between blues skies and tangerines
frogs sing in trees
children swim naked in dark waters
the smell of green fills your lungs
with life, rich and hopeful.

Light vibrates through the foliage
dancing on the forest floor
to shimmer across the body
of a lover’s embrace
like a silent movie kiss.

The heat rises in misty wetness
obscuring the farthest recesses
of this jungle’s memory
where sleeping magic waits
your return from hunger.

“Return to me,
come, come…”
is the call.

The air is still chill though
the sun shines bright
no one notices the blooms
that push past winter
as they pass through
the archway into the darkness
of this stone fortress
memories once held finer times.

So much lost with time,
seconds dull the senses
yet the search continues for
a place amongst the stones
only mortar, leather and wool,
curtains and curtsies,
that can never go back
It’s a long way home…

in the face of

trembling color captured

while planning the fall

Impetuous fever

blushes

‘cross satin cheeks

while someone watches

Bitter apples

bite back

blood-stained lips of regret

while sandcastles die

Shedding armor cast

earthward

like warm summer rain

while riding the release

Thunderous music swells up

inside out

creating waves across skin

while the skies part

flavors and tones…

lost their

seasons.

at the end of language
the world bends
a cool stream through
green hills and listen
see the feeling
bird-feathers sway down
they dance in the draft
that circles your room
circles in circles move
touch speak in the twilight
daydreams trap hopeful
your golden slope of neck
with this morning light
caresses curves
untold illusions of God
and the awful rowing
toward his watchfulness
that harsh standard
of home, yet still
isolation now resembles
nightmares the true solitude
those glints off
darkened water so far
gems captured in light
as dewdrops drip
from fanning forest green

jungle stories

little red canoe floats
the river, lost in the
moment, jumping off
the rooftops into the
river below, children
gather around the
storyteller as she
creates another wonder,
old Brazilian sayings
and the time he thought
that he could eat all
those green bananas,
homemade dolls made
old corn husks, bows
and arrows, and fishing
with a stick, the river
gave and it took, what
remains only faded
images, stories told
now to youngest
singing, “Menina, vai,
com jeito vai
Senão um dia a
casa cai.”

waiting, waiting, for
the storm to pass while
gatherings form, disappear
the changing form with
movement from one place
to the next, searching the
silence for answers, only
known within, forms the
lyrics that fill pages with
passion dripping each word
heavy your heart continues
the empty beaches’ stroll
tiny shells and coral pockets
remnants of that time
before the fading began,

old man walking
smiling dog close beside
a young child’s
luscious laughter
daddy in tow
red wagon splashing
while leaves spill
out from glistening
trees lining the walk
little bugs twirl and dance
as women tosses hair
exposes rosy lips
whistling the hours away
time collapses upon
the reflections of
what the deluge
left behind

city lights

caught the butterfly

green shoots come

push past the many

broken glass knows

what reflections invert

back to earth

your mother crying

for this

forest scent

before rain

that pause of leaf

of sky

almost touching

the insatiable reach

across

dew laden ferns

polished stone

and the day

comes

gently

takes you in.

upon a once only time
tumbled Jill after
i took the blade
made her cloth
of bridge twine
troll roared
at trampling goat gruff
be nimble, be quick
down let
your long hair
amid his fragile
monstrosity
lining the fallen
wall
no more
moon jumping
i stare
wondering
‘neath
undulating stars.

• Previously publish under marc says, maysa says
  Renga Rounds
  Marco Ashcroft & Maysa Peterson

the startled doe

acquiesces

dreams the hushing

green

as fog lingers

just to hug

the landscape longer

pinkening sky

you in between

caressed by the thought

the stillness

and captured breath

fingertips the frosted

pane

your face

as first light

his kind eyes

approaching.

back there gates swung in dust

watchtower stood

brooding the dead city

devastation lingers

fierce silhouettes

of passion spent

jagged rock bleeds

thoughts of you

amid the bleached bone

of red hair

lighting the crossroads

hunger rises again

the lost and the lonely

beneath a stone

your image taunts

i follow.

– Photography by Aline Smithson May 30, 2013

• Previously published in marc says, maysa says
  Renga Rounds 1998
  by Marco Ashcroft and Maysa Peterson

through it all

and even still

how you rose

simple grace

though the rain

parted your

face

your eyes

shone through

deep and longing

calling

out the moment

the beauty within

suffering

the golden bridge

captured

my heart

and left it there.

Sirius looks
down 
upon
the chill
hanging
the moment
when first
we met
a keenness
beats
 evening’s
chill calling
electric kisses
blushes 
the
night
 waiting
stars streaking
the long
ride 
glances
across
the dim 
light
searching
fingers
find
ing hands
knitted together
that offer
comfort
woven.

Reaching for the Stars – photo by Jonathan

the rising
and falling
landscape
in calmness
reveals
hidden turmoil
static
in you
like waves
that wash
the shore
scraps away
the broken glass
returned again
polished
and new

there you were

like stone

leaning the doorway

eyes haunting

not escaping

the thickness

night air concealed.

-Previously published 1998 in Poetic Pages

-Photography by Marion Owen Kodiak Island

darkness still possesses color
what remains of yesterday
while sleep illusive tip toes
away, ghosts from other rooms
demand attention, awakening
that same pain reminder of
the coming day’s events, how
what was, will never be again
cuts the landscape’s edges
bring awareness center stage.