The Violet and the Pine

Late April sunshine
lays heavy on my face and shoulders
a reminder of the deadline to decide
what will define the depths of my soul

Le jardin d'amour
is damp with ethereal beauty
crafted painstakingly,
a monument to the
richness of life.

I am caught between
the regal, seductive violet
and the fresh, handsome pine
unable to choose,
unable to let go

The horizon, littered with the two
offers no aid to
the impossible choice
that lies ahead

I stand on a cliff at the edge of the universe,
just barely kissing the sky,
breathe them both deeply into my heart
and jump.

Finer Stuff

The soul is made of finer stuff

Than frankincense and myrrh

It’s made of all the dreams and thoughts

That hum and tick and whirr

About the cold and barren nights

And blow along the breeze

The soul is made of starlight

That paints the night with ease

A symphony of winter tea

That whirls about the mind

It crests and falls and overall

The soul is tough to find

A silken sheet, a crimson peace

To lay upon at night

The soul is made of finer stuff

The soul is made of light.

Wednesday Morning

expression, concussion
guitar, science, church
cold soldier, war monster
new york taxi, munich road trip
orange trees, fuschia flagpoles
swim, love, create!

Taylor, Chuck

Worn skin

thick with lines of trepidation

of action without reprieve

the ridiculous notion

that one mustn’t ever stop

damp to the core

they sit, withered and bleeding

battle scars on display

time has torn away at the seams

leaving behind a sprawling mess

with faded eyes they wait

for peace, for rest, for silence.

Sketch Page

The sun, symbolic father

to the great hawk

whose mother is the wind

Pour yourself a cup of courage

you are a poet

write your heart on the page

for the world to see

There is beauty in the darkness of night

God paints Orion in invisible ink

only seen by the light of the moon

Art makes the weak strong

imagination replaces reason

power

The city skyline, moments before dawn

you can breathe in immortal beauty

untainted by the human element

Little Janet

Dust rose to the stars

amazing, beautiful

darkness of the night

the highway and a conversation

in a rattly truck

prettiest girl in the world

long fingers like Cleopatra

aware of him

talking books and little things

nobody ever notices such things

across the cornfield

trouble was brewing

too many pebbles

scattered toys and sad talk

and high-school kids didn’t care.

Kandinksy

Red angles seeping into

a sea of blue

stark black lines

divide emotion and reason

a worn canvas

bearing the loss of a love, or confusion

temperate shading balances intense dogmata

stretching German souls onto white

the cold walls

comforted by geometric poetry

bringing solace to those

whose inspiration has washed away

in October rain.