dances

such a sun that warms
this musky earth
forces up my crocuses
with their purple plumes,
flaunting their dark
rich beauty while
smiling at the naked
blue skies that cover
the landscape –
a flannel blanket
stillness in the air
allows the heat to rise
from the empty
and quiet streets.
as if trapped within a prism,
those narrow glowing
streaks of light
highlight the tiny particles
of dust falling to earth
that my children
like to call “sleepy sand.”
walking along with light
steps, you can almost feel
the force of life that
awakens, rejuvenated,
and filled with
devilish spirit and sport
to dance around my still
sleeping dogwood – teasing.
taunting all to come,
you join the game
and skip barefoot on
the cool pale grasses
that too stretch their
dreamy arms upward with a yawn
to embrace the sun
of a young spring day.

– Previously published March 1992

crocus

wishes

something about the way
the fog hugs the valley
like a downy blanket,
softly caressing the curves
of a body, pale and firm
laying so still that
you can barely see
the movement of breath
in the pink and purple
hazy light of a young day
tall grasses entangled
like the hair of a sleeping child
seen in the eyes
of a romantic heart that yearns
to feel that same fog
brush cool and warm simultaneously
across a face
that’s neither young nor old
but ageless in heart and hope
and wishes to remain so.

-Previously Published

BlackTrees_Fog_400X267

somewhere between shadows

strange, how the calm
washes over the weary soul
of the simple foot soldier
lying sore and wounded
from bloody battles
with fellow friends
in their noble pursuit
of power, lust and gold
for the nation’s thirst
strange, how the calm
settles in and descends
like night’s curtain
after the last curtain call
when all is lost
and your life’s blood
flows out warm into your palms
strange, how the calm
removes the lines of worry
and agony from the pale faces
of the traveling spirits
that move from one
life to the next
searching for answers
returning the echoes
locked within their dark hearts
strange, how the calm
is released from a
moist and misty morn
filled with flowers’ captured dew
smelling sweet and cool
regardless of preceding storm
that tousled their limbs
and tested their strength
strange, how the calm,
strange.

il_fullxfull.115503794