The Art of Drifting

We are fiery autumn leaves
Adrift on the river of time
Carried by reckless currents
As our colors burn and shine

Wash the earth kaleidoscope
Brave as merchant ships
Though we cannot change the course
Let us still enjoy the trip

We are only dandelion seed
Swept by summer wind
Sailing to unknown destinations
Guided but by chance and whim

Let us plant a seed of hope
Wherever our lives touch
And leave a trail of flowers
Along the rocky and the rough

When the Music Stops

Beautiful clown of porcelain and silk
Gold fabric and silver filigreed lace
Wind the key in the center of his back
A sad song plays delicately
A single tear lies motionless on his face

His head inclines; arms outstretched
He looks as if he is longing to embrace
Soft is the whir of his machinery;
The music box invisible
As he moves with awe inspiring grace

When the song ends he stands frozen still
Gone the tinkle of his beautiful chime
Silent, the whir of his mechanism
Silence is louder than music
It speaks of the life within the mime

He is one of many in the collection
But his is the favorite song
Trembling with sadness and beauty
Only he can make you close your eyes
And weep silently for his perfection

That I could have been a porcelain doll
With only a single tear I might cry
Your hand would have wound my heart
I would have played the violin
As the painted sadness slipped… from my eye

The jester will quietly cease moving soon
His embrace comes to a coda and stops
His efforts of animation ended
His beautiful music silenced
They will carry and lay me in my box

The Playground

The sun scraped his knee on the playground of heaven
Bleeding freely across a turquoise eggshell of sky
And though he is a big brave boy, a few tears of rain were shed
But he’s sure to return in the morning, warm and bright

The August moon came following, as baby sisters always do
With a glow of admiration on her face
Chasing the tears of the sun across a vault of midnight blue,
Wrapped in a veil of tattered yellow lace

The twinkling stars sang nursery rhymes in silver shades of silk
Their chorus number; grains of sparkling sand
Skimming stones across the sky through puddles made of milk
And winking at the foolishness of man

To the Mountains

Vast and rolling ancient hills of smoke
The drifting steam of cobweb dreams
Weaves a web between your green
And wraps around your shoulders like a cloak

The pink of dawn upon your rosy cheeks
Rests there like a maiden’s blush
Painted by exquisite celestial brush
Through your veins wind tiny streams and creeks

Rise like mother’s bosom; breath and heartbeat
Teats where I was suckled as a child
Nourishment that made me free and wild
Your wandering paths were velvet on my feet

Perfumed musk of early woodland dawn
Drifts through branches; intoxicating
Drawing the traveler deeper; waiting
Smell of wood and moss and leaf and loam

Lichens, mushrooms, ginseng growing
Laurels thick as honey round the lake
Birds sing to the music that you make
Your arms are full of history and knowing

Oldest, grandest mountains of the earth
Not so high that you are cold and bare
Pioneer settlers raised their children there
Mothers offered offspring from their birth

To play in the woods with Cherokee friends
They were here three thousand years
Until the infamous trail of tears
And whites replaced the noble Indian

Daniel Boone fished and hunted these trails
Before the signing of the Declaration
Before the war that helped to build a nation
Legends and heroes walked among your hills

Though much is recorded in history
Collected in eddies like swirling foam
Bubbles resting green and white as home
Fade into abstraction and mystery

Snows of more than a million winters past
Have melted into your flesh and bone
The bones of men who died lost and alone
Are cradled in your loving arms at last

More beautiful than gentle in your fashion
Glorious are your vistas in the dew
Mountain mornings make all things new
How I love you my dear Appalachians

Heartsong

Color all my soul with song
Paint my passion blue and green
So earth and sky might sing along
With every note of being

Charcoal sketch my lonely hours
Soft as sable robes of night
Heal my heart with summer flowers
Mark my days with golden light

Fill my mind through eyes of beauty
Make my spirit smile and sigh
Give these precious moments to me
Not the words of sad goodbye

Hold my hand; a tiny bird
Whose heart might flutter like a wing
Terrified by life uncertain
I’m a frail and tender thing

Taste my tears just like the sea
Salty full of life and old
Blended by eternity
Hear the stories in me told

Make my epitaph a poem
Offer me no eulogy
Of mourning words when I am gone
Not for simple, foolish me

Youth is wasted on the young
Wisdom is not taught at college
Age would have its memory sung
In understanding more than knowledge

Feel the fire that is my blood
Burning in my secret part
When my song is understood
You will know the poet’s heart

Alchemy

I do not have a heart of gold
I grow weary as I grow old
The young will never understand
The loneliness I speak of
When I was young I dreamed
Some alchemist would come
Along and turn this lead
Inside my chest
Into something precious
But the art of alchemy is dead
The sorcerers are fresh out
Of new apprentices
The last wizard died in Oz
I can not pull the sword
From the stone that is my heart
And I am still alone
Arthur had Merlin
But what good did it do him
When Guinevere loved Lancelot
Magic healed not
His broken heart
Heavy is the burden beneath my ribs
They are a cage of iron bars;
A prison for a thing of worthlessness
How the pulsing throbbing ache
Keeps my spirit wide awake
So I can no longer dream
Though lead melts low
The blood runs cold
From ancient bergs and winter snow
And I am trudging without snowshoes
Mountainous terrain;
The mounting pain of abuse
Perhaps if I only had a staff
To lean upon
Then I could laugh
In the grim face of adversity
When the reaper brought
The hearse for me
I know in my mind my time is short
Do not trouble me with sympathy
Or words of pretended empathy
Can you know my sorrow
And hope yet for tomorrow?
Will you become a martyr to my cause?
Yellow riches run in veins
Throughout the caves
Within the mountains
But I am no miner with pick and shovel;
More gypsy wanderer than lover
I walk alone the drifting snow
Like pilgrims on Kilimanjaro
I wonder at the many dead
From bursting hearts
And aching heads
And I wonder what you would do
To reach the summit of Uhuru
I can no longer make the trek
I rest rather than break my neck
Though illustrious are stories told;
I do not have a heart of gold
This leaden thing inside my chest
Need die before it can find rest
As of yet it knows regret
It cannot find one alchemist
To turn its worthlessness to gold
And I grow weary as I grow old

Songlines

Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org













When the world began in dreamtime
And the earth was formed by songlines
Each place on earth, water and sky
Was marked for the dreamer’s inward eye

There each man is connected by spirit
And the song if he can only hear it
The words are in the language of men
The music comes from without and within

We are closer than we dare to believe
And less real than true reality
Where the passion comes from to create
Is in that dreaming, creative state

The power that formed the evening stars
Is in our minds, our souls and hearts
But we have forgotten those ancient times
And we have lost the sacred songlines

We wake puzzled when we are visited
At night and our minds grow inquisitive
We cannot believe and yet we feel
Like the place from which we came was real

It never occurs to us that the land
The sea and the sky are connected to man
But drawn by ancestors on primitive stone
Are pictures of when we were not so alone

We say that heaven is filled with sweet music
But we never sing or remember to use it
To connect the mortal to the divine
And draw upon the source of the songline

Tonight when you close your eyes to sleep
And the dreaming world comes soft and deep
Remember the music which you have heard
And speak to your brothers the sacred words

We may be connected while there is still time
Through the sweet music and beautiful rhyme
If we only will search we might find
Our way cross the earth to heaven’s songline

The Moon in June

She peeked between the fingers of clouds
and scattered gold dust through the shadows;
whispered words to the warm wind and
wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
Morning glories climbing the garden fence
trailed love letters in heart shaped leaves.
They never speak to her or sing their song
but trumpet their colors to the dawn believing
she’s still there but her light has gone.
The veiled brides of June are soon to wed;
trellised arches of flowers for their vows;
pillows of lover’s lace upon their beds
and wreaths of expectation on their brows.
They shed their innocence like moonlight;
soft as whispered promises of love.
When the morning comes, will they be wise?
The moon will not be shining from above.

Flowers

Among the stones on windswept rim
A fragile flower grew
Painted like dainty butterfly wing
Drinking the morning dew

Gossamer tendrils stretch from birth
Beneath the arid ground
Seeking sustenance from the earth
Moving without a sound

Through the gray-green filaments
Blood of ages pass
Dazzling colors and nutrients
That spill in bloom at last

We are become much like the plant
Among the sand and stone
Who by survival must supplant
Infertile flesh and bone

And let the spirit’s winding roots
Sink deep into the soil
Producing green and vibrant shoots
That stretch through time and toil

Then our soul’s true colors seen
Among the brittle clay
Might be a fit bright offering
In heaven’s rich bouquet

Footsteps

In a deserted empty house
The middle of the night
Footsteps in an adjacent room
As I turn on the light
No one there, I lay awake
All night listening
For creaking floorboards
Bumping furniture
The footsteps come no more

Walking home on darkened streets
A foggy mist of rain
Footsteps soft on forest leaves
Breaking twigs inside my brain
I spin around in misty halos
Bats flit by the streetlamp
Nothing there, I walk again
Listening in the damp

Again, again, the hairs on end
All along my spine
And down both arms, a shiver runs
Footsteps keeping time
Across the roof under the moon
The dog whines on his chain
The click of patent leather shoes
Impossible to explain

What sort of creature silently
Walks rooftops late at night
But disappears in mockery
When I turn on the lights
Outside my bedroom window
Just before the dawn
I wake to sounds of breathing
I know I’m not alone

Footsteps pause behind the curtain
A dragging, shuffling fright
Madness messengers, I am certain
Footsteps come for me tonight

Del Rio 1915

I miss the creak of leather under me
I miss the saguaro on the Sonoran
I miss that goddamned half-breed quarter horse
Son of a bitch was more mustang than anything
Now my Winchester just sits in the corner gathering dust

I miss old Talking Crow
First by God blue-eyed Apache I ever seen
Claimed he was full blooded Chiricahua
But I always thought there was some white blood
He was mean on his whiskey so I never pressed the matter

I miss pulling off my boot and thinking
That the rest of my leg was going to come with it
My hind end never did bother me much
But by God my thighs ached enough to make up for it
I miss drinking coffee that still had grounds in it

I miss sleeping out in the open under the stars
I miss damn near freezing when it got nippish out
I miss having a saddle for a pillow
And borrowing Choctaw’s blanket to go over mine
He didn’t need it without his saddle no way

I miss eating beans and beefsteak for breakfast
And the fried tortillas Jose’ used to make
I miss spending the spring out on the great divide
Getting the herd all fattened up for market
And I miss the feel of my Colt strapped to my hip

I miss spending a month’s pay getting drunk and laid
Half the time ending up in a fight or a poker game
I look at the scars in the mirror and I have to smile
Damn them sure was some fine times
But it’s all gone now, like me pretty soon I reckon

They got a newfangled thing called a “horseless carriage”
Damn stinking, noisy, rattling, bone shaking contraption
One drove through a puddle and splashed mud on my boots
If I’d have had my pistol I’d have shot it
Hell, so much is gone that ain’t ever coming back

Granddaddy used to talk about the buffalo like that
He remembered they was all day crossing the prairie
A man could sit in one spot and never see the same bull twice
The government starved out, killed or civilized all the Indians
I reckon they ain’t that much worth living for anymore

Me and Charlie Mendez going into town tonight
And get us a bottle of tequila and get drunk
They make us hitch our horses off of Main Street
Proper modern folks don’t want to step in horse shit
Some kid said, “Hey, mister, where’s your horse?

I said, he got old and died but I’ve got a mount
It ain’t Mister Ford’s model T but it’ll do
“Say”, he says, “Are you a REAL cowboy?”
No sir, no sir I ain’t but my daddy was
And I gave him a dollar to water Charlie’s ponies

My Prayer

Give me the comfort of Saturday sleep
After the toil of work soaked week;
Of winter quilts in a world of snow;
The still of white when tempest blows

When hazy, lazy afternoons
Drift with honeysuckle in June
Give me friends and family there
On the front porch in rocking chairs

Stretched in a hammock between two trees
While apple blossoms buzz with bees
And bright butterflies flutter the breeze
Give my soul colored sails like these

Give me the music of an old guitar
Or the voice of love beneath the stars
When the smiling moon hangs trembling
Like a golden chime on a silver string

Give me the tender words to speak
Like the kiss of a child on grizzled cheek
When I have grown both old and gray
“I love you grandpa”, they might say

Oh, let me bounce them on my knees
God, give me precious gifts like these
And I’ll want not for milk and honey;
Neither for silver nor gold of money

Give me love and a gentle heart
A soul that understands the part
Of life when we must say goodbye
Make me unashamed to cry

But make my every teardrop blessed
With memories of happiness
And all the good times with my tears
Let me not face cruel death in fear

Give me a strong and willing hand
To grow my garden and till the land
As I plant seeds in hearts for love
God, bless my endeavors from above

And in my every sweet pursuit
Let my trees bring forth good fruit
Take from me the spirit of pride
That I might feel your love inside

And with my brothers and sisters share
My comforts for their worried care
Let me do everything I can
To bless and help my fellow man

Make me bold and let me dare
To better my world through peace and prayer
Give me the faith I need to believe
Let not my heart or words deceive

Let me offer thanks and praise
Every minute of all my days
And leave a memory when I’m gone
More precious than mere words in stone

To the Clouds

Gentle stirring mist 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 into heaven’s hue

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

Great anvils in the heavens hang
Bruised purple anger flashing fangs
In bolts electric and exciting
Rumbling thunder with your lightning

Children lying in green meadows
Imagine shifting animals
Fantastic creatures 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 your lovely curtains shroud
Blanket me with covering clouds

Colors

Green; fresh grass against bare skin
Tomatoes and apples ripening
A Luna Moth’s dusty and delicate wing
Green is the color of spring

Yellow is daisies and dandelion
The sun in full glory and gold refined
The color of riches beyond all compare
Yellow is mellow and fair

Blue; the open freedom of sky
Endless heaven beyond the mind’s eye
Turquoise stone, sapphire and sea
Blue is the color of purity

Pink is roses and dogwood blooms
Baby girl dresses and nursery rooms
Delicious mixture; strawberries and milk
Pink is a lady’s bedroom silk

White; the innocent bride in her gown
New fallen snow and duckling’s down
Old country church and hairs of old age
The hunger for words on an empty page

Orange is flickering fingers of flame
A fruit that bears that beloved name
Autumn leaves and misty sunrise
Orange is warmth in children’s eyes

Red; sumac and holly berries
Christmas lights and candied cherries
Embers from a long spent fire
Red is the flame of desire

Purple is mountains and amethyst dreams
Eggplant and thunderheads burst at the seams
Bruises of long suffered loyalty
Purple is the robe of royalty

Brown; stained wood and sun baked earth
Winter coffee and chocolate syrup
Suntanned skin, the smell of leather
Brown is a thrush and his feathers

Black is the velvet robe of night
Deep and endless absence of light
Clothing of mourning and Sunday best
Black is the color of rest.

Little Things

A grain of sand
A flake of snow
A drop of rain
A soft hello

Summer beaches
Winter skiers
Growing gardens
Friends for years

A needle’s eye
A piece of thread
A button lost
A robin’s egg

Mended pocket
The poet’s purse
Holds together
The universe

Love Rules the Universe

Is love but a beautiful dream dreamt by beautiful souls;
Seeming to fade like dreams from grasp as ever they grow old?
The kernel of love is growing; leaving only a husk behind.
Eternal souls reach; knowing, though love has been called blind

More than ideal or beautiful dream is this thing which fools entice.
Love is not tempted by foolish schemes and beggars in paradise.
Though mountains crumble and seas boil; love remains steadfast
Pain and worry; lust and toil with life fade but love will last

Death and time hold court convicting mortal flesh and bone;
Accusing wiry fingers lifting; love still sits upon its throne
Those who come to value earthly pleasures find death terse
Wait on heavenly treasures knowing that love rules the universe

If one has no hope or faith and declares no one can know it
Love smiles and sheds amazing grace on prophets and on poets
The prophets prophesy in part and every poet writes his verse
The muse that stirs the caldron heart knows love rules the universe

Desire

I’m the dying of the day; the restless, churning night
I’m the dark in shades of grey; mingling with the light
I’m a thing of mystery; well hidden from your sight
I blind men so they might see; their vision was too bright

I’m the color of morose; the funeral Sunday suit
I lift my glass and give a toast from Eve’s forbidden fruit
The knowledge of good and evil; within my cup bereft
I make the bravest soldier tremble. I’m the horse of death.

I’m not the black of equity who balances out the truth
I’m not blind justice weighing in the sins of wayward youth
I’m the pale and sickly steed that tortures you in dreams
In my orchard; trees of need I water with your screams

I’m the painter of deception; author of confusion
I’m your mental predilection; all your life’s illusion
I’m temptation on the vine; I depose from thrones
Noble kings like Solomon; I guard my post alone

I laugh at fallen angels where beneath my hooves are trod
Even hopes of demons with their burning prayers to God
Hell is not my stable; though I have pulled its hearse
My form is fairly able to transmute the universe

I count starvation in my ribs while wars I’m giving birth
I smother nations in their cribs and poison all the earth
Your horrors, goblins, witches, warlocks; none compare to me
In pride they call me “ally” but I am more their destiny

Satan seeks my council; by my hand the goat was made
When he would have repented; I schooled him in his trade
I shake the world above me from its fiery burnt foundation
I reward all who love me with death and consternation

I split the heavens asunder and rain both fire and hail
I stoke the furnace of the sun and light the stars as well
Riches of gold and silver; diamonds, emeralds, pearls
I pull from my pockets; shiny trinkets for the world

I need not reveal my name but many have called me Hunger
Greed, Lust and Treachery among my names are numbered
I am the unmaking which makes the shadow cosmos turn
I am Desire that feeds the fires of heaven so they burn

Kernel

Tiny wrinkled thing
A yellow ladybug

Dry and dead as stone
It rested in my palm

I buried it beneath
The black leaf loam

From the grave it rose;
Green phoenix stretching

Lifting striated wings
Worshipping the sun

In months, taller than I
It rustled against the sky

Golden hair flowing
Over full robust arms

Beneath rough sleeves
Cobs bulged with life

Children nestled close
Growing in the night

Standing tall like Kali
Glorying in her might

Rebirth from destruction
Born again from death

Multiplied like stars
Reformed and alive

Such is spirit reborn
Like a kernel of corn

Mantis

Along my dusty summer porch
A mysterious visitor climbed
And turned her head to look at me
With unblinking onyx eyes

Slender and graceful; this lady fair
Perfectly mimics the motion of prayer;
Recognizing her intent
She might belong in a convent

Her jaw is wide and perfect
In seemingly endless smile
She waits her breakfast of insects
With just a trace of guile

Transparent wings stretch along
The contours of her form
Death lay waiting just inside
The embrace of her arms

Little more than three inches long
She is the goddess of fate
Her hunger knows few boundaries
She probably consumed her mate

A cricket which was skipping past
Hopped onto the wall
And died within her lightning grasp
She ate him, chirp and all

Nature’s insect femme fatale
Wiped brutal mouth and hands
And disappeared into the air
Across the arid land

The Meaning in the Moon

Restless wandering specter stalking slow about the room
The ghost of Dylan Thomas round the old White Horse Saloon
Searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom
to sweep up broken bits of April scattered round in June

How the smoky blues fulfill the places where we yearn
The empty, sad and fractured spaces longing to return
Can we place a sweet embrace like ash into an urn?
Or trust youth’s fiery passion once the memory is burned?

Sweat on asphalt steaming, people screaming for more room
For souls to grow and fools to know the meaning in the moon
And not the words of two young lovers singing different tunes
When laughter born just yesterday fades away too soon

Are the craters simply Braille for angels who are blind
Wandering round the galaxy not knowing what they’ll find?
Or maybe they are roadmaps to a place we’re coming soon
while searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom

Pour the empty, dusty glass all full with shades of blue
Kick the broken, lonely pieces of April round the room
Sweep the floors and lock the doors and light a cigarette
Liquor, darkness and sad music mix well with regret

All the simple answers to hard questions I have learned
Are simply foolish notions foolish people have discerned
The truth is settled to the complex corners of this room
Searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom