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

The Trap

By the singing trees near the shining lake
We would set a trap for more and more
We would use raw dreams as candy bait
And tie tinsel things to the secret door

When the morning glory trumpet blew
We’d race like the buzz of honey bees
To pick up diamonds made of dew
And soak the pockets of memories

Through emerald fields we kicked our heels
Like young colts laughing at the sun
In the golden straw we found love’s awe
And wore daisy crowns till day was done

By the shining stars near the singing moon
We would light the candle made of truth
And let the wax wane until it dripped blue
And melted away the joy of youth

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

Drag

Three a.m. blues,

thick as smoke

Creeping slow

as sweet sorghum

Dreamy clouds

of steaming coffee

Delicate wisps

of summer jasmine



Lucinda Williams

moans soft and low

Crickets sing in

black ghost grass

Far down an empty

gravel road

The heavy night

is eerily still



Distant highway

life, on pause

No lights or background

engine growl

The stars seem to

twinkle louder now

Blinking out

a useless S.O.S.



Air so solid

I can feel it

Warmth resisting

movement

Sleep lead weighted

to eyelids

Hot liqueur in

guts of doldrums



Breeze that

refuses to blow

Despite the window’s

open invitation

Lone light bulb

hot enough to sweat

Night almost gone

hangs around to drag





© 2010 Fabian G. Franklin

Mobile

The eyes of the infant alter
With shifting forms of color and light
Listening to the tinkle of the chime

Never does his attention falter
Transfixed by the beauty so bright
On his face; a look of happiness sublime

Simple shapes of twirling plastic
Suspended by a bit of string
Tied fast to a rotating music box

The effect borders on fantastic
Wonderful to this tiny being
In his cotton blanket and knitted socks

Beauteous treasure underrated
For just the few dollars it cost
Hours of amazement entertained

Innocence lies fascinated
In dreams of rapture lost
Perhaps that is poetry explained

On Windy Bay

I dreamed last night of Windy Bay
When we were there one April day
The sunlight bleaching out your curls
A different sun, a different world
The ocean seemed to call your name
On every rock where water came
The breaking brine would crash and hiss
We shared a wet and salty kiss
Our blanket wrapped around us both
Held our bodies warm and close
We sipped coffee by the fire
And watched the morning star retire
Let’s go tomorrow or today
Back to our love on Windy Bay

Leaves and Last Goodbyes

The chill of late autumn mimics the chill of my soul.
Since you left, my heart is broken.
There’s no place left to go.

I walked down to the lake today, sat on the bank and cried.
The dogwood that you planted there
Is withered black and dry.

Only a few sparse leaves are clinging, like memories in my heart.
As I hung my head and sat there
I could feel the teardrops start.

Hopeless and helpless, I held my knees, trying to get a grip.
Talking to God and begging please
As useless prayers spilled from my lips

I told Him I was angry because He didn’t keep you alive.
He didn’t answer why the cancer
Took you at only thirty- five

I have to go home to our children now and tell them mommy is gone
I wish I could stay here somehow
I feel so lost and all alone

A gentle wind blew from the lake and caught a burnt black sail
And a dogwood leaf filled with grief
Trembled silent and fell

I remember you lying in the hospital bed saying I had to carry on
I love our children but I’m bewildered...as to how
Now that my love and life are gone

The hour is getting later and darker; endless tendrils of tomorrow
Like the dogwood’s tiny fingers...lingering
Clawing the hem of heaven in sorrow

Teardrop

Silent pear-shaped world of water;
Ocean of pain trapped in a drop
Sliding slow as frozen glaciers
Down the cheek to trickle stop

Saline bitter; sometimes sweet
Always salty as the sea
Where emotions mix and meet
From the hearts of you and me

Soothing balm to pain and fear
Sadness caught or rapture’s joy
All contained within the sphere
Encapsulated by the envoy

Messenger of pride and pain
From young child to dying old
They are drops of our heart rain
From the windows of our soul

Blood is life so oft is said
It goes unchallenged when we hear it
Clearer than the crimson red
Is the bearer of the spirit

Offering this wisdom now
For every heart and soul to hear
Sacred as the wedding vow
Is the shedding of a tear

The Troubadour

Man With The Blue Guitar...Pablo Picasso

The Troubadour

Across the bronze wound notes of my being
A calloused thumb strums the music of my soul
Perhaps the song is sad today remembering
The happy sounds of youth as I grow old

All the worn down grooves along the frets
And hollow canoes ground into the neck
Where blues were played and life was stretched
Now but silent visions which I might reflect

And the shining pearls I cast before swine
Mark the chords of every absent song
I played for the dance of every painted mime
Knowing that they had no words to sing along

Play me a tune like wine by candlelight;
Like a book beside a crackling fire in winter
But if not romantic; make it gay and bright
I would be the revelry to cheer the happy sinner

I’m an old guitar but I still stay in tune
To the hearts that love me for my song
I would play the stars and the harvest moon
In autumn when the nights grow cold and long

I’ve been aware without reverberation
There is trembling tremolo at my center
Where the pick was placed in adoration
Like the bookmark by that fire in winter

Perhaps it marks where the last song played
And we might pick up the music yet again
My life is but a song, no matter what is said
Pray, do not let the music sadly end

Sun Drenched Love

So long ago I remember when
The smell of sunshine on her skin
Drove me mad; intoxicating
Any plan we had of waiting
Damp and tangled auburn curls
Brushed away the worried world
The rise and fall of eager hips
Sea salt kisses; tender lips
Smooth brown skin drenched in sweat
Forbidden sins with no regret
Such, the reckless ways of youth
Memories enhance the truth
As summer did those many times
Sundresses hid bikini lines
Dinner at her parent’s house
Silent as proverbial mouse
Tried to be cool but wasn’t able
She winked at me across the table
To be excused I had to beg
Her bare foot rubbed against my leg
Sitting there between mom and dad
How bold the love my lover had!
Still I love to remember then
The smell of sunshine on her skin

Long Distance

Those long distances;
whether years or miles;
tears or smiles,
that separate what we feel
from what we think;
that urge us to drown the real
in drink
or find some new nepenthe
in the amnesia of pills; the dark and lengthy
painkilling process that kills the infection;
the affection,
by draining the abscess
or the excess
of our hearts
or parts
of our minds that refuse to let go
is in and of itself; painfully slow.
The only solace to our sorrow is
in remembering
what has not been...and hoping…
looking forward to tomorrow.
The distance can be crossed
and all is not lost
unless we choose to lose it
and would we choose it
thus
if our pain; our joy, our lust
were just as much a part of us
as our clear logic instead of magic?
How tragic!
We can’t hold on to youth
or truth
or beauty
because of responsibility to duty
but shall we be just as cynical;
cold and clinical,
in our amputations
of relations
that once meant something to us?
So it costs
a few more cents
to call;
we should have the good sense
to make the effort after all.
And in those suffering
pauses of silent instances
we can learn to shorten by practice
those long distances.
Perhaps we can’t hold
on to youth
or find any universal truth;
beauty fades
like plans we’ve made;
the best laid schemes
of mice and men have failed
and flailed;
drowning while jumping
from a sinking ship;
struggling to swim to the distant
shores of heaven.
How will we cross the vast
and infamous chasm
from earth below to heaven above?
There is no bridge but one.
Poets and philosophers have agreed
in need
to call it love.

Sailing

Upon the sea; wind fills her sails;
Swollen belly of starving ghost
And from the west she lifts her veil
Pulled by breath of Zephyrus

Ocean cradles her wooden child
Gently rocking; her song unravels
Gulls screech high above the beach
Along the coast she swiftly travels

A sailor’s hand; hard-muscled, lean
Calloused from the yard ropes pulled
Steers the lonely Barkentine
Where the gentle wind has lulled

Let her wander where she will
Across oceans vast and blue
Keep her from the doldrums still
Sweet the breeze that blows so true

Great sailfish will spear the air
As dolphins school about her
And jellyfish without a care
Will dance upon the water

She will brave nor’easter’s blast
Pitch and woo the mighty waves
Until she finds her port at last
With trembling cargo she has saved

The Big Chill

I watched The Big Chill the night of the freeze
The temperature dipped below twelve degrees
Halos on my window; hot coffee in hand
Reflections on snow; ribbons cross the land

Barren trees stretch up like crow’s feet
Clawing the sky for vacant summer heat
A yellow coin of moon slipped the grey
Flipping a nightlight switch; imitating day

Dust devil clouds; dancing ice and snow
Whirl and twirl in dervish fandango
The winds cry bitter; sad mournful notes
Wailing, frozen wasteland ghosts