At just eighteen, her shoulders start to droop:
The drudgery of sub shop artistry’s
Been rubbing off some of her natural shine,
But hasn’t punctured all her buoyancy.

I look, and wonder, at her haunted eyes,
The father in me, I guess, coming out
In wanting to be kind to her, some way:
Some type of gentle affirmation. Sure
As night turns into day, time into time,
We gain connections we might make, or not,
And feelings, deep as any we might find,
O’er people barely known, and who don’t know
We’ve ever given them ten seconds thought.
Or even who may not connect with us,
And to whom we may be as furniture:
Mere objects they pass by, no more, no less.

Elizabeth’s her name (she wears a tag)
I cannot dawdle, for the line is long,
And sometimes all that we can really do
For anyone is not to make it worse.

I take my sandwich, pay my bill and go,
I may see her again, or maybe not.

But if good feelings could build paradise,
She would be on the beach, and not back here.
And I would not be with her, but I’d be
The owner of more kindness agency.

Photo credit : ID 35550926 © Brett Critchley | Dreamstime.com  under an editorial license

from night to morning

from night to morning might you a be
 a unicorn, a chalkydri?
 are you in fact, the same as when
 you weren't yet what you might-have been? 

from night to morning, is it true
 you turn to yatagarasu,
 and hop dimensions without pain
 untouched by death or wind or rain? 

so in your sleep tonight, recall:
 the kalavinka in us all,
 who turns back into you by day,
 for all that we might know (or say)

The Tangled Land of Purple Kings

In the tangled land of purple kings
I came upon a monarch on his throne;
Past purple fountain’s majesty ensconced
Amid the tangled world he called his own

He told me of his many-colored lies,
Of stories spun without a bit of truth;
That asked if I’d submit, as others had,
Although his usual preference was youth —

I turned and fled into the purple night,
And found a tunnel leading Lord-knows-where —
It twisted; doubled-back, went up and down:
I knew I wasn’t going anywhere

But soon, another palace came in view.
I went there to escape the tunnel’s doom:
And there, the king was friendly and benign
And gave me food and comfort and a room

There in the tangled land of purple kings
I do not recommend that any go:
But if you must – the third king on the left –
Is where you should be staying
Tangled Purple 2

A Gypsy Dream

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.

Full With Dreams

I see the dreams you dream are full of life,
And that the life you live is full with dreams;
In bright green country, always to arrive
Just as the newborn sun begifts its beams

For there, amid the village down below,
You slowly make your way amid the hills;
The foliage is lush, the light winds blow,
The overarching silence your heart stills

So full with dreams, you live your reverie
In country fairer than that you have known;
And for “reality”, see fantasy –
A world of splendor, only for you shown

But since you long to live in this ideal
Does not that make your dreams that much more real?

= = = = =

Picture / Photo credit: © Lenny712 | Dreamstime.com – Watercolor Painting Landscape Photo

The Silver Pool of Acquilàr

You feel a shiver on your neck
A breeze from long ago, and far
That comes from out of magic woods
The Silver Pool of Acquilàr

To follow back that icy draught
Across the ages, hale and whole;
To look within its silver depths
And see your very waking soul

The Silver Pool of Acquilàr
Will show you what you need to know;
It’s worth the risk, the miles, the years
To tear yourself away, and go

Where music sounds from standing trees
That hum their endless repertoire:
Go see your soul, go hear your truth:
The Silver Pool
Of Acquilàr