Your delicate drops
That drip about my window
Waking my slumber
Shaking my cobwebs
Keep rhythm for me
My heart finds
Its speed again
While curious crawls
Across steaming
Bits of wooden jungle
Sun beckons
Warming exposed skin
Like uncurling leaves
Surviving off stray beams
Feathered fellows
Sing one another
Delightful passages
Freshly reciting
For days full of life
And you say to me
Goodmorning
Peace has struck me down with thunderbolts
Rooted me into this earth I am present upon
Gradually melting my senses into one
Uplifting my soul, allowing it to speak
Earth and I become the same breath of life
Spread outward in sweeping omnipresent waves
Like sunshine feeding springtime
This is not motionless life
Bustling about in rhythmic substance
Carrying the tune of time about our backs
Lodged mysteriously between peace and perseverance
Crawling up walls to yell out at heights
I WILL NOT BE SILENCED
Like sunshine feeding springtime
This is not motionless life
Float my soul into the Garden of Eden
Mingling with leaves and bountiful trees
Mocking birds perched upon low hanging branches
Romancing me, graceful as I go
Hovering about the top leaves, I
Choicest of fruits sit proud as I browse
Shifting my wind to float down to sin
Dangling my toes in the faces of maidens
Fair skinned maidens with light saris
Giggling at gurgling water flowing by
Lapping amongst their dangling limbs
They acknowledged me with eyes of fair maidens
Playful touching that aroused my desire
I put forth my thoughts to spellbound their minds
Crazy they gathered with worship and laughter
Sacrificed a lamb for love to come faster
Drums led the way into evenings warm prayer
I curled up my soul into a land finely woven
Light summer breeze blew hanging silk fabrics
Sweet Nag Champa floating through our essence
Turning us on our backs to gaze up in wonder
Moans and groans and giggling and laughter
Pillows upon pillows; pillows galore
Candles were lit as lips were nipped
Fruits from the garden, picked and dipped
Light finely wovens covering our perspiring bodies
Naked as the night stars shining upon us
In Garden of Eden and it’s ten thousand sins
There’s a lady I walk by-the-by
She drags her feet like
With hair out wide
She’s got an old black lab
That huffs and puffs
Up ol’ Ginter’s Hill
She ain’t much of a hill
But the ruins at the top
Make a nice place to stop
For a break and a view
Let my mind sit and stew
Upon the brick walls that remain
In front of ol’ Ginter’s ruins
Lays a meadow and a copse
Brooding in green
With a gurgling stream
Which I roam up and down
Day in and day out
Some days I go up
Above ol’ Ginter’s ruins
There’s a well up there
At the end of the trail
Along the gurgling stream
Where I listen to the wild
There are two paths
From ol’ Ginter’s hill
To the house where I stay
One weaves through the woods
The other: a wide rocky path
I always go through the woods
Without gratification
What is effort
Want not what’s inside thou?
That reaches up and loves
Out from wings
Across flexed shoulders
High fleeting arches
And swooping
In graceful gestures
A ballet in space
Through my mind
About this land
Carrying delight
Future’s happy ending
And if laughter
Hits upon our open ears
Crawling out
From behind buttercups
Hiding away beyond
Sharp morning frost
We shall also reach
Extension of vertex
Temples of power
Strength in mind
Then so it shall be
Shared, you and me
An old oak tree
Wings about thee
A picnic
Of thoughts
Of exceptions
Of projections
Of imaginations
A peaceful song pulls at my thoughts
Sweeping my soul through a meadow
Filled with low hanging weeping willows
And a gurgling brook
With tufts of grass flanking that stream
Fuzzy colours all around
Like a post-impressionist dream
Filtered through the eyes of societies insanity
The only thing trampling the mood
Is the outside world blaring from a tube
Shucking the calm that flows within
Into a frustration so pitted it groans
A casual breath turns towards forced
Focusing on zen, the art of happiness
Resisting the urge to call out and reform
With one simple application of a minor force
Sounds die out, echoing in the walls
Crafting witty remarks amongst the plants
That reflect the incandescent glow
A warm glow of a settling mood
Relaxing within the peaceful song
Sweeping my pressured edges towards their sheaths
And collapsing my insanity into a calm exhale
Have you ever been where the wild buttercup grows?
Up past the fence where the cattle don’t go
There’s an oak tree there sheltering a patch
Of clovers so thick, of ground so cool
I don’t go back there often since I’ve moved away
The house has changed now, green house is blue
But when I do go up to where the buttercups grow
An overgrown path where the big old oak stays
I remember in ’24 Mary-Lou and I walked
Up to the meadow where the buttercups grow
We sat on the sunny side of the old oak tree
Upon the checkered blanket we brought with the wine
But lovers they come and some of them go
And the buttercups always continue to grow
Up in the meadow where the wild oak grows
Past the old fence where the cows don’t go
Silent wishes drift upon my heart
Lifting the spirits of unnamed maidens
Cooling the late evenings breeze
To just about long pant weather
My mind washes over the condensatingly
Fresh glass of beer
While the sun drifts lazily behind the horizon
Like the wandering bumblebee
Long shadows form, reaching out in desperation
Away from the dying sun
Projecting from the adjoint plane
Between the erect tree and well watered grass
And I drift lazily off into dreams of the future
Following love forever after
Today’s a new day
Birds on my way
Around in the park
Amidst old fallen bark
I walk for my health
Native American stealth
Dipping and dashing
Jumping and splashing
Warm weather’s blowing
Gone is the snowing
Green shoots are showing
Life begins glowing
Where naked the trees
In cool winter’s breeze
Soon shall be covered
Green nature’s sheltered
Yellow shifts away
Natural aging and decay
Spring change has begun
Anticipate summer fun!
Standing here marked in my sentinel pose
The pigeons have come home, bringing what blows
Shifting time here from then, now, and future
And watching seasons twist before my eyes
Carrying new colours with birth, love, and death
But my purpose has been lost in the changing of regime
What once was a tyrant has now become kindly
Taxes increased, but civil liberties have too
Blinking slowly I become a shifting flower of dust
A shocking array of memories unwritten
While passersby brood and confuse points on maps
And come more and go, pigeons of flight
Remain here in harbour, remain here at rest