The First Step

The first step is often the most difficult
Falling can add injury to insult

It takes a leap of faith to fly;
From a trembling limb to say goodbye

Love can sometimes stretch our wings
And prepare hearts for dangerous things

Stepping out on faith; into the blue
Be careful of the step but be brave too

Fields at Dawn

Leaning against the corral gate
My collar turned against the wind
I await the exit of the clouds
The anemic sun’s strengthening

Winter fields shiver in February cold
Bleak grey skies rise to blue
Last spring’s promise; lost and old
Dreams of summers past fade too

Frosted grass surveyed by cows
Which only stand and stare
Into the chilly morning breeze
As if the sun were there

Chestnut horses snort their steam
Galloping from highway’s edge
Frightened by a semi rumbling
Across the steel and concrete brid

Bloodless morning; no rosy cheeks
In heaven as red as my own
Glistening snow on distant peaks
Shines silent over fields at dawn


Crows caw across withered stalks;
Sheaves of corn husks tied for fodder
The queen of frost beckoning, lost
In the wind for her crystal daughter

Ice princess answers; biting my lip
And earlobes with her playful sting
Without my notice she quietly slips
Between the layers of my clothing

I walk down to read the Fahrenheit
On the barn it reads twenty degrees
I wrap my jacket around me tight
And hear the sighing of the breeze


Cold air filled with the threat of snow
Embers glow on the hearth at home
Crackling sleet bites at my window
Crossing winter fields at dawn

Life is a Long December

Life is a long December
When the nights are cold
And arms are empty
Years just go by passing

Without a woman’s touch
A man can turn to stone
Within, an epitaph; carved,
Lived and died, alone

It is a futile thing…
To try to share one’s soul
It is most unappreciated
And never understood at all

The butterfly cares not
Whether we find it beautiful
Nor does the rose
But man is vain as a peacock

He must have the universe
His way or no way at all
There is much darkness
On the way to touch a star

When the night comes
I’ll walk beneath the street lamps
Along the sidewalk
And count the lights

Left on in bedroom windows
Yellow lights of love
In family houses
And lover’s apartments

But away from the lights
I see heaven more clearly
A hundred billion lights
Twinkling in the dark

Something familiar there
Alone among the stars
Calling out my name
And my spirit reaches


Is it cold in outer space?
Are you warmed by yellow sun?
How will I find your galaxy?
Can I hold you in my arms?

It’s cold here on planet earth
Love is barely remembered
We reach for a burning star
But life is a long December

December Fire

A blanket of burning lava spilled across the hills.
It flowed into the sky and set fire to the clouds.
The boiling heavens drifted east to morning;
pink cotton candy bubbling in an ocean of blue.

The eleventh of December was bitterly cold.
The embers in the sky were deceptively bold.
The sweetness vanished before the rising sun
as burning beauty turned golden on the lawn.

Now distant purple mountains smolder.
Halos of fog surround them…celestial crowns.
The world wakes; stumbling to the highways;
pilgrims oblivious to the red fires of dawn.

Clouds

Gentle mist stirring above
Tranquil floating kiss of love
Upon the frozen cheek of sky
Winter mornings passing by

Forecast rain or sleet and snow
Tell me where your spirits go
Appearing silent from the blue
Vanishing in heaven’s hue

Summer doldrums breeze might stir
Hoary tufts of rabbit’s fur
Magic tendrils disappear
Into vaults of nervous air

Anvils in the heavens hang
Purple bruises flashing fangs
In bolts electric and exciting
Rumbling thunder, jagged lightning

Children lying in green meadows
Imagine shifting animals
Fantastic dragons and unicorns
Are there by fantasy reborn

Not a place to have one’s head
Like angels for their blissful bed
Bellows of the wind might billow
Sails of rest; celestial pillows

Ethereal white; your wedding veils
Listening for the golden bells
From the sun to shine and sing
In morning like the bright dove’s wing

The black and gray of rainy days
Has sung your darker harmonies
But sweet the pink of soft reflections
Cotton candy spun confections

In my mental predilections
Make you nearer to perfection
Heaven’s curtains; cotton shroud
Blanket me with drifting clouds

Between the Lines

The most important things have no words;
the brilliance of a sunrise; the song of birds.

They aren’t often appreciated as any other;
the hard work of father; the patience of mother.

We expect them to be there and they never fail;
so we neglect them; taking for granted all is well.

Oxygen is invisible and without a sound or taste.
We discount every breath we take that cannot be replaced.

We do not count the seconds, the minutes or the hours
until we arrive at the grave in a hearse full of flowers.

Time creeps up on each of us; stealthily quiet;
it only announces itself as the hair turns white.

The body grows weak and wrinkled and frail
but passage of time is hidden beneath a veil.

Perhaps vowel and consonant sounds are not employed;
in an infants cry; in tears… a new bride sheds in joy.

These important things would seem absurd
if each had to be promptly written down in words

Eliot said he’d measured out his life in coffee spoons
I have measured mine by stars and phases of the moon

My silly lines of poetry mostly go unheard;
though sung by every sunrise and every mockingbird

Winter Hunt

Ears like mobile radar against the setting sun
Across the snow he travels; listening
Deep in winter burrows other creatures slumber
While above; the silent white lay glistening

Pointed nose, pointed teeth; mouth like a smile
His whiskers gather crystals in the cold
Thick fur protects him across the frozen miles
As sun reflects on ice; its yellow hint of gold

He stops with radar erect; alert and excited at once
Head tilts checking the exact location twice
Head first into the snow he makes a lightning pounce
He all but disappears in a cloud of snow and ice

Scarlet droplets on the white testify success
A field rat has met an untimely demise
Clumps of loose snow still frozen to his chest
Bones crunch as Mr. Fox enjoys his prize

The Courage of a Whisper

Let me know the courage of a whisper
before it becomes a shout.
Grant me the freedom that causes no harm.

Awake in me the honesty of one without fear
who has not known prejudice or greed.
Blind my eyes to colors of skin and money.

Give to me the faith of a trusting child.
Let me know my blessings are too many to number.
Let me know I can always count on you.

Stir the glowing embers of passion in my soul.
Let me be a creator and not one that destroys.
Let me rebuild things others have carelessly broken.

Fill my mind with beauty and knowledge.
Fill my heart with love and compassion.
Let spill my overflowing spirit to everyone I meet.

Let me feed the hungry and comfort the sick.
I would be the companion of everyone who walks alone.
Give me the quiet when the world drowns out your voice.

Let me not shun the duties which have taught me patience.
Let me bear in silence with a harnessed tongue
the wrath of the violent and the ignorance of fools.

Teach my soul forgiveness and mercy.
Let me understand that justice is more equity than law.
Give me the wisdom to discern the difference.

Let me remember the tenderness of mother
Give me the liberty to be meek and unashamed.
Teach me that peace is greater than conflict.

Make my spirit strong, tempered in fires of responsibility.
Let my word be as my hand; my bond and my pledge.
Let me respect all and value every opinion but none too much.

Fill me with the meaning of life that I fear not death.
Give to me enough of heaven that I fear not hell.
Let me know the courage of a whisper.

The Weight of Mountains

The wind played the needles like piano keys
Sighing the whisper of the pine bough breeze
When scattered between bold arms was blue
And heaven seemed flickering music too

Here I sat on St. Valentine's Day
Watching the valley tremble and sway
My mother;the mountain, will never depart
The mountain is buried deep in my heart

Only love is able to bear the weight of mountains
Only love can turn the desert to a sea of fountains
Only heaven can paint scenes of breathtaking art
Only God can move the wind to play Mozart

Straw Man

Sledge hammer suavity; chiseled charm
Handles her eggshell ego with care
Never intending to cause any harm
Too many friendships broken out there

Dreams shatter where hearts are centered
The axe falls to the grain of the wood
Even reality gets splintered
And sharpened slivers draw the blood

The balancing act hard to perfect
Like Humpty Dumpty on the fence
Between the politically incorrect
And naïve honesty of innocence

Discretion can save life and purse
But only when it is practiced
Like lines of love so well rehearsed
They even fool the actress

White knights on chargers are so few
And far between this modern day
No heart tin men may have to do
Or cowardly lions that pass her way

While we’re on the road to Oz
I’ll sing the scarecrow’s bright refrain
I know that I’d be dangerous
If I only had a brain

Dark Prince

South American Jungle:
High up in the trees
Drip…Drip
Blood falls through
The canopy of leaves
Legs of a carcass hang
Draped across a limb
Half-eaten, drawing flies
A few brave scavengers
Move in

Silent death roams the underbrush
Padded paws with razor claws
And all the jungle world
Is HUSHED…
While the killer comes round
And near
One hundred and eighty pounds of cat
This is his fourth year

The calf belonged to
An Argentine farmer
They invaded his territory
Now he becomes
The hunted
He fished this morning
But it left his belly empty
The rivers are overrun
With two-legged enemy

Solid black beauty
Sleek, efficient, calculated
He haunts the riverbank
And hunts the alligator
He also hunts
Orinoco deer
This was his domain
Till farmers settled here

He is one of but a splendid few
Destined to die
At the hand of mankind
The great jaguar prince
Has met his match
At the clearing fence
And the roofing thatch
Meanwhile his jungle
Burns away
And as the rain forest dies
He knows behind those
Silent golden eyes
Someday soon
He too must go that way

In This Alone

Hold your firstborn baby to your breast
Hold the hand of forever at the alter
In the eyes of mother, in the lap of grandpa
Here is love
Tears of joy; of pride and pain
A daughter goes off to college
A son goes off to war
Births, weddings, funerals
Times of blessing; times of loss
See the future in the faces of youth;
A senator with his crayons and coloring book
A judge in her mommy’s Sunday hat
Their clear, bright minds like virgin waters;
Full of life and free of pollution
Here is love;
In a child’s heart of innocence;
In wrinkled lines of wisdom
In visions of Eternity;
In prayers and dreams of tomorrow
Here is truth; the knowledge of God as Love
Is personal
But is this alone,
We may find perfection in ourselves.

Wooden Fences

Building fences where others can’t enter
Careful of slivers and wooden splinters
Hands wearing protection; leather gloves
No gate; just a section of fenced in love

One fellow said, “You must build it from stone
If you ever expect to be left alone”
Another suggested it be made from wire
With barbs to deter any trespasser there

But, No, I said, the wood will suffice
I don’t want bloodletting sacrifice
Or anything cold when left in the sun
The wood will be fine when the finish is done

There might come a time on hallowed ground
That I decide to tear the whole thing down
Wire would be treacherous; stone would be cold
It’s not like I’m guarding a heart of pure gold

But a bruised and battered thing rests within;
A life that was shattered by changing winds
Through knotholes I see the ongoing world;
The passing cars and the pretty girls

It’s not here to protect some sacred purity
It’s simply a bit of added security
Some curious person without much sense
Is one day certain to jump that fence

And there we will be; shut off from the crowd
With no lights so bright or noises so loud
She will ask why I’d ever want to build such;
This dear sanctuary where spirits might touch

The Yesterday Thief

The days wear on like the tattered coat of a homeless man
The passing of time does little to insulate one from the cold
Torn pockets which kept saved memories produce empty hands
Or only bits of lint clinging to the walls of a worn out soul

We reach; digging deeper in the consternation of our grief
Searching for some stored equity in the balance of truth
We come to the realization that time is a pick-pocket thief
And gone forever are the secret, sacred treasures of our youth

The brown skinned boy that ran playing in fields with his friendly dog;
The fair-haired girl whose blue eyes sparkled with mischievous twinkle
Far away and surreal now; a land hidden by distant fog
Frost has gathered to the hair and the sun is stored in wrinkles

Do you remember his name? I can’t, for the life of me, recall.
She had a pretty party dress; a dolly with go to sleep eyes.
Perhaps I only dreamt it and it wasn’t real after all
Yesterday; suddenly gone, without the chance to say goodbye

Wings

I have seen the evening sun
Sink into the ocean
And rise the next day
Never quenched at all
I have known some true love
And other foolish notions
And all in all
I’ve had myself a ball

I have heard the sound
Of my daughter’s laughter
And listened to the silence
Of a snowy winter’s morn
Guess I’ve been around
The happy ever after
Left behind my innocence
The day that I was born

I should have wrote it down in song
Or stopped to take a picture
It didn’t seem to last too long
And I would likely venture
That life has wings that are unseen
And time just flies away
You wake up one tomorrow
In a dream of yesterday

I have watched the shooting stars
And wondered who was winning
In the velvet summer night
When they lit up the sky
Seen lightning flash, heard thunder roar
I’ve looked for new beginnings
So many things are out of sight
There, right before our eyes

Have you seen the coming of
The glory of the future
Like the rapture, it would not quite
Fit into your plans
But we can’t go damning love
While looking for the truth here
Better yet if we were just to
Love our fellow man



I should have wrote it down in song
Or stopped to take a picture
It didn’t seem to last too long
And I would likely venture
That life has wings that are unseen
And time just flies away
You wake up one tomorrow
In a dream of yesterday

Indigo and Azure

Indigo and azure
Ocean and sky
Sea waves crashing
Gulls squawk by
Violet sunset
Bleeding through
Shards of crimson
Pierce the blue
The moon amused
To see such passion
Bowed his head
In theatrical fashion
Then lit his face
With candle glow
And hung; a spotlight
For the show


Based in the west country of England

Richard Palmer-Romero painted this seascape from the coast of Spain.

His landscapes, seascapes and animal portraits are quite beautiful.

This image is used with written permission from the artist.

Paradise Beach

Within the heart and mind of man
Are endless shores of shifting sand
Where frothing waves by tempest tossed
Find words unspoken; Eden lost

There at evening’s lowest tide
Wash shells of miracles not yet tried
Whose coverings were for seeds of yore
That cleansed the spirit’s ocean floor

That trials and burdens often bore
Now, one, within the silent roar
Here on shores still wet with brine
Lie dreams and hopes of other times

Where no beachcombers wander near
To save, collect or harvest dear
Memories of an inward quest
To stow within some treasure chest

But here not far from mortal’s reach
Lie pearls and riches on the beach
Pirate’s booty; silver, gold
Wealth that dwells within the soul

Bounty that would kings entice;
The sun and stars of paradise
Heaven’s glory here is told
In every story that unfolds

And here I’ve walked; a mortal man
Yet left no footprints on the sand
And seeing thus, have found it odd
To walk so close to self and God

Mockingbird

He sat and sang while I listened in awe
Amazed by the vastness of his repertoire
In his gray pinstriped tuxedo singing
He set the bells of morning ringing

The sun not limiting his imitative skill;
From darkness; nightingale and whippoorwill
So many songs and he knew them all;
The wren, the finch and the cardinal

Some of the tunes were bright and gay
Echoing the brilliant light of day
While others were mournful, sad and dark
From swallow’s trill to lilting lark

The shrill piercing cry of red tailed hawk
Was followed by a seagull’s squawk
And to tell each man should spread his song
He threw in a doorbell and a telephone

I was so excited that I laughed with glee
At the myriad of songs he sang for me
A kinship I found in each note that I heard
For the poet is nothing if not mockingbird

In Motion

Day by day, soaking dark warmth from life
Musky mushroom flavor of fresh earth lingers
In the middle of night by the light I write
Clawing reality with typing fingers

Where do the children grow? I’d like to know;
So many dried cocoons but not enough butterflies
Colors dance when they are alive; all else is imitation
The artist with his sable brushes knows this wisdom

Flowers sway, children play, the sea swells brine
The stars shine, the moon glows, the poet knows
The wisdom too in words of rhyme or prose
Color the beauty but it must move to be alive

Coffee stained fingers rinsed in shaving water
Brush the stubble of sleep on an early chin
Pausing to meditate on future events of motion
Wondering at the history of life contained in them

Wiping the steam from the dream and the mirror
In the swipe of a motion philosophy fades
Day and dancing ways of life seem clearer
At least in the reflections that were saved

Garden Friend (The Hedgehog)

Spiny little garden friend
On insects makes his meal;
Not above the occasional
Earthworm, frog or snail;
Delicious shoots of tender roots;
He’ll even eat a snake!
When you’re a growing hedgehog,
You must do what it takes!

A favorite pet of families
Who feed him nuts and raisins;
He’d just as soon
Have canned pet food;
He likes the chicken flavors!
The household cat to say hello
Stretched out an eager paw
But much amazed by hedgehog ways
Who rolled into a ball

Through tiny holes like tissue rolls
His head is always pushing
This curious little creature;
This animal pin cushion
He visits British gardens
Seeking out his diet
Though you may never see him
He’s mostly out at night

But should you come across one
Upon some rainy day
Be care not to harm him
And let him go his way
He really is quite harmless
So we should come to terms
With the friendly visitor
Who’s only after worms