A Month of Saturdays

Within a month of Saturdays
Along the walks of glee,
She set her pastel colors off
To find inerrancy.

She chalked one up for whimsy,
And another one for blues,
In gardens she drew on the ground
And on the avenues.

The birds and clouds all envied her
I know, I saw her there —
A month of Saturdays in one
With angels in

Her hair

One Paradox Too Few

Unsettled thoughts upon a fair horizon,
A world made local and made better (far) —
A brave Demeter to some shy Poseidon,
With trembling measured by the millibar —

A shadow world that’s colorful, and brilliant,
A morning filled with frosted air and dew,
Two contradictions interlaced; resilient
But barred by just one paradox too few

Him Politic

When he discusses politics,
He will describe the views
Of others who oppose him;
Though, it seems, he might confuse

Exactly what they mean with what
He wishes they would say;
So he can then dismiss their thoughts
As foolish overplay

For what he says – viewed logically –
Just makes no kind of sense:
But being right’s not what he wants,
Just winning

Arguments

Stephanie

I still remember Stephanie,
The music of her hands —
The lyric autumn reverie,
The eyes apart from coterie,
That far horizons scanned

In Stephanie, the day stood still.
The seasons passed beyond her will,
And life was brief, but sweet —
The short years she was here with us:
One up- and one downbeat

Then Stephanie, my sober friend –
She let go of the fragile cord
That kept her holy essence penned,
And found her Springtime, in the end.
Her loving life restored —
Her aching spirit
Soared