How gracefully the colored glass Reminds of our yesterdays, And some tomorrows , yet to pass That live nearby, behind the glaze And stories, daily, people tell Of fishermen, and castellans, Of pennies in a wishing well, And love newborn from just a glance — I love the colors, but I’ve learned The secret to … Continue reading "Colored Glass"
In quiet places, Water sings purity’s song, And peace comes again
The sun shines down in beauty, And many take their rest, But you attend your duty, That refuge of the blest — Of habit, make a virtue: To mind the farm, no fleeing, But ask yourself if doing Is your way of not Being
I tried to say what you were like: A tapestry, a chandelier — But all of it seemed rather trite, Just words poured out to disappear Like steam that rises from a lake On summer mornings, just outside A room where you and I might take A weekend. Just a short day’s ride: And dress … Continue reading "Simile"
She said, “You were my world, you know. Those years that we were friends, and all That time, I kept a secret, though I thought my hopes, at best, were small. You never saw, you never guessed. I thought, If you saw me date other guys, then you Would realize that I was what you … Continue reading "One Last Conversation"
some days, like that day, are perfect days — and you know they’re perfect. it felt as if we owned the autumn: and I remember each sight, each scent, and how unspeakably beautiful you were and are to me but you detached from us as effortlessly as leaves do from the trees for to you, … Continue reading "a perfect day"
It’s funny: when the sky is blue, I think The world is beautiful, and life is there For living, in what lucky days we have To see and feel the sun, and be aware Of what discoveries may be there yet For us around each bend, beneath each tree. For like a theater within a … Continue reading "Another Mood"
the intermittent persiflage between us passengers is such, that though we seem engaged, alive, we hardly really notice much like what it is for hopes to die, or why it is we cannot feel how light sarcasms in the air are more than many chasms real
The word used? Divorce, I believe. Ironic — How far we travel Not knowing Where we really are