Summer Passion – I

We dreamed the summer into life, And breathed the same life into love; The tropics were our latitude, A latitude we took all of – We sampled of the dreamer’s herb, And saw the dark with widened eyes: A living summer, made of light, And psychedelic Butterflies
The whispered earth is blood and bone Beneath the ever-churning skies That mourn our impassivity These calls-to-action made of lies For which we must give soon account To shield the weak and grief atone Yes us who crawl this cracking skin Beneath which lays earth’s blood And bone

{ the shadows of our choices }

the shadows sing, and interlace within, around this grateful place; compassion sits in angled dark, in whispers soft and palate stark instinctively, reflexively, in actions spun by sophistry, in tunic, or chemise, or sark - the cloth we choose: our sign, our mark -- and still, despite our reticence, those shadows - guilt and innocence … Continue reading "{ the shadows of our choices }"

when daylight sings

when daylight sings the song of many treasures, then mem’ry breaks into a hundred measures of melody and harmony in one – of laughter, breathless; buoyancy and fun – and when we reach the end, we hit repeat: the sand, the sea, the sunshine, and the sweet


hectic, frantic, turbulent; fervid and chaotic – motions of the restless crowd, rituals robotic no one here but all of us, senses override — hassled and tumultuous, swallowed by the tide

out by the pines

the children asked where she had gone: the day was cool and messaging – she is out by the pines, i think, for autumn has been presaging a time, two times, and time again; and woods and paths, they know a friend the gathered friends seemed so concerned: they drank their coffees, spasming – she’s … Continue reading "out by the pines"

Unremitting, Askance

She looked at me askance and said That I was unremitting In trying to bring back the dead Which, to her, seemed quite fitting In that my singularity Was my macabre mind: A case for prolotherapy A corpse beneath the rind

Autumn’s Still

November wanders off the same, The same way it came in – Horizons misty tapering The bison brown and capering The green-gold hills to win — And Autumn’s still to blame December never pays a debt It doesn’t feels it owes – The Winter soon comes rollicking To give us a good bollocking And keep … Continue reading "Autumn’s Still"