The Moon Is Not A Terrorist

The moon is not a terrorist; in fact,
She often visits both the poor and sick.
Although she has a schedule that is packed,
And often deals with clouds that can be thick,
She’s regular. And knowing that’s the trick:
The moon is true, not subject to caprice,
And that should bring no fear, but only peace.

The moon is not a soldier or a spy;
She does not aim to kill, or try to steal.
The moon’s a corporeal lullaby,
A friend, though far away, who’s very real,
Who gives your very goodnight a words her seal.
As children know, once sung their fav’rite tune,
It’s time to sleep when they hear “Goodnight, Moon”

Frozen Rows

I stand amid the frozen rows,
And think of long-lost friends;
Where stones line up just like these trees
And sorrow never ends

I stand amid the winter gloom,
A hush is on the clearing,
I guess that I could join them all,
But I’m not volunteering

Love the Moment, Feel the Wind

Love the moment, feel the wind,
Make believe you never sinned,
Saying words you can’t rescind —
Love the moment, feel the wind.

Wear your glamor like a prize,
Wrap it all in silk and lies,
Interlaced with alibis —
Wear your glamor like a prize.

Once, you were a fair man’s daughter,
Now you lead the weak to slaughter,
Laughing, leaping, like an otter,
Preening for the watching eyes —

Love the moment, feel the wind,
None of this on you gets pinned,
You the ranks firsthand have thinned —
Love the moment, feel
The wind

forgotten sands of almost-time

forgotten sands of almost-time
ran out, and there we were:
you had your sundry choices
as to what you might prefer --

so many possibilities,
with you the lone discussant:
but none were really good enough.
at least i know
i wasn't