Love and Crayolas

Don't get me wrong
I might could write your song
but it would be me glancing at you

Don't think me wise
I might see your daylight skies
without fathoming the blues of nights

We color and redraw
across pages of Mardi Gras
without noting the rains coming down

Horizons

Yes, I laughed at yesterday's tomorrow
and chuckled and joked at looking forward.

I always expected drier, lighter snow
and always saw the one-eyed poker card:

It was just support for pennies on the table
and the cloistered closing lines of our fable.

In Your (Our) Face

In your face.
I will remain in the race.
There is no disrespect
but just what you expect.
Sometimes we stumble
and sometimes we mumble
but we can twirl a star
at as distant and far
as we can imagine that far;
hold down the tent
it will rain and rumble
and many of us will disappear
into the clouds of despair
almost as quickly as frogs
from distant ditches and bogs.
The world translates us
differently and without fuss.
I still try to corner love
and fit into my working glove
but moments are moments
as burials are monuments.
Circles are sometimes smaller
than we need or call for;
we live in circumscribed
bottleneck dreams,
or so it often seems
though few of us feel bribed;
We know our tribe.

I am at Peace

if you need voices to assure you
that is cool as brown sugar & okay
but I will dance my twirls myself
and you can do what you do
I always have bunches more to say
but I'll set that on some high shelf
out of reach until we, she, or he needs it
meantime I will listen to doves coo
and the whistle of the morning pot
let me know what I forgot . . .

Crows and Ken

There are many ancient rhymes of words
known now only to crows and minion birds
that spend their time mocking the world.

Post your ear when they gather in your yard.
and hear noise lacking any semblance to the bard!
Their mocking memes grow in noisy swirls.

Yes, You Were Once my Only Love

You will not forget me
do not believe that you will
I don't mean just the good times
old bar ditches filled with wild celery
before you said good-bye
lost months and years stacked in memory
that find you wading in shallow water
sometimes thru mud and sticky sand
lots of drying tears without laughter
circling your todays and afterwards

I was never moving on, but winging it
from your smiles and silly good-byes
an albatross in wind alone, singing it
through the emptiest of cloudy skies
looking back over shoulder and soul
always earlier, waiting for you was a goal

I live in calming, living waters most days
pleased to live my life post-chaise
love does not occur to me at all
my love has always dripped from the page
of a life that I would never re-live
without all the angst and honesty

Maybe I am no albatross, just a proud dove
I am settled in with my true love . . .

Lao Tzu, Where are You?

I do not wish to needlessly awake you!
Boyang, how goes it with you and truth?
How are our friends in Chu Jen, Chu?

I have missed your reported visits
but watch nightly for falling stars . . .

Boo . . . Happy Halloween!

I wrestle with the machinations of life
my salary does not support other wrestles
I have countless grand and great-grandchildren
(only countless because I'm not a mathematician)
but I can add and subtract just
to know that they are dynamic bits of stuff
aiming to wrestle (stars?) beyond my snuff
but I never wrestle with my heart (my life).
I am on easy street
and know how to sweep
once the broom returns
after a bout with Halloween . . .
Enjoy pumpkin day
don't knock, I am away . . .

Sometimes I Cirlcle

Sometimes I circle in the wind, a dove seeking safe ground;
sometimes I circle above the breeze, a barn owl on the prowl.
My world is not always the world I sought, woke to, planned,
but a circus of expectations, full of lonely monkey sounds:
guttural screeches, tree-top screams, always wary of elfin growls:
an end to practiced sprints, ups, downs and joys of this world:
it is an adventure of mornings preparing for some final stand.

Views and Such

I don't often attempt a view
beyond a tomorrow or two - oh maybe tickets
to some must-see viola recital,
but these can be easy to bypass.

Too far into the future, say a month or so
and a life of ease can be ruined.

It takes calendars, budgets, and imaginations
beyond my current conception . . .
to prepare for that many imaginary tomorrows . . .
but what the hell, let's plan ahead for Spring . . .