Fated to a dark realm where dwells no peace,
Where weeping and wailing nothing avail,
And the musings of regret never cease,
Where all appeals and prayers falter and fail,
Immersed in the mordant waters of Styx,
Damned to the deepest depths of perdition,
Subject to mortality’s cruel barbed pricks,
I have known the ruin of self-sedition.

But hope I have found; a sunbeam streaming,
Redemption winging as a passing dove,
Silver-white through a radiant-cloud dome.
Heaven has arrived, in my soul beaming,
To warm me until I come back to love,
And lend me heart until I return home.

Here

Here I am, garden, standing at your door!
Here I shall stay a while, in wholesome toil,
With gentle souls of green at my tenure,
The handiwork of summer to adore.
Where earthworms squirm ecstatically in soil,
I shall kneel with them in common amour.
I shall feel the goodness of the season,
And here harvest a full crop of the day,
Free from the shade of purpose and reason,
Until autumn falls in awesome display.
To my eyes arrive all that needs seeing;
Strawberries ripe upon an emerald weave.
To my nose goes whiffs of childlike anise,
Freely sharing delight with all being.
I hear all things that I need to achieve
Blowing through the cornrows on a warm breeze.
Cucumbers, on yellow bellies reclined,
Eye the muskmelons five rows away,
Bittered with envy of those sweeter vined,
Through spite, their own divinity betray.
Horseradish, what foolish horse would venture
To disturb your rudely-piquant censure?
Though chickweed the fingers of order stains,
And witchgrass all attempts at justice scorns,
Raspberries, plump upon their briared canes,
Shall not thwart my determined hand with thorns!
Aphid, beetle, blight, and slug, get thee hence!
Angelica, trouble yourself no more
With what lies beyond the pickets of fence!
Let us make heaven here; upon earth’s floor!

Child of Earth

Child of earth, cultivator of the field,
Kneeling in worship on the garden floor,
Immeasurable by words is your yield -
The nature of the nature you adore.
With an essence of goodness you are sealed,
Your spirit sure as endless evermore.
Golden barley in the wisdom of age
Bows low in humility to the sage
Who knows well that amongst all living things
Creatures wherein noblest virtues show,
Are ever in a reverence of life found.
From a wholesome plot a wholesome crop springs!
The purest flowers and the sweetest herbs grow
In the richest soil, nearest to the ground.

Contentment Is a Lady

Ah, flee from me, thoughts of waking!
Leave me at my leisure repose!
What vain liberties you are taking
Only my sleeping fancy knows!

Ambitions may listlessly arise,
But I push my cares carelessly aside -
The battle never fought is always won!

Contentment is a lady with sleepy eyes,
A golden-haired bride
Gazing blissfully at the morning sun.

In Awe I behold

In awe I behold newly-waking morn;
How she unties her fire-bright hair, unshorn,
In the dour face of infinity’s scorn,
Undaunted by the darkness that affrights
Meeker hearts on forlorn and lonely nights,
Asserting her cheer from heavenly heights,
Boldly drawing back twilight’s dusky veil -
As breeze might sweep a departing ship’s sail,
Then swell full into a radiant gale.

As I bathe in a rapture of sunbeams,
I hail the gay goddess whose face thus gleams,
Gracing this day with her effulgent streams.

A Stride Ahead

Thank you, life, for another day!
With praise I draw this breath!
I account it well enough to stay
A stride ahead of death!

I’m a Butterfly

I’m a butterfly.
I don’t know why.
From flower to flower I flitter and fly.

Each bloom I kiss; each nectar I try.
I drink my fill then float on by.
I’m a butterfly
Till the day I die.

With a Kiss of Jasmine at Dawn

Rose-cheeked nymph, in your cherry-blossom gown,
For one young morning, dance with me!
Fairy princess, in your rosemary crown,
Knight me to uphold joy’s decree!

Touch the luster of this vision, O soul!
Savor this blossom before it is gone!
Moment of inspiration, make me whole,
With a kiss of jasmine at dawn.

Spring, I would flourish like a bloom of May,
If only I could clasp your hand.
For a while; until summer steals the day,
Let us amount to something grand.

Song of April

‘Tis a lively tune that each April plays,
When the crows’ raucous reign over the world
Is overthrown by an advent of days,
Whose tulip banners are boldly unfurled
To a chorus sung on the tongues of larks,
And throated by robins amongst the trees,
And chittered by sparrows in gay discourse,
When spring, in her finest attire, embarks
On proud procession, to bright melodies
Composed by the season’s most regent source.

A Dragonfly Sits upon a Cattail

A dragonfly sits upon a cattail,
With fairy-woven wings unfurled to sail,
Inspecting the world with emerald-orb eyes,
Regarding me a while before it flies.

Dragonfly, for now we share the same view.
Your gaze reflects me, and mine reflects you.
Dragonfly, your eyes see what my eyes see.
I am in you, and you are part of me.

Bunny Yawn

The planter box is in grave disarray,
From what seems to have been an act of war.
The ivy leaves have been eaten away,
And the stem is severed upon the floor.
And the culprit remains, without reason,
Without even the slightest show of fear,
Allowing fate to say what side he’s on.
Accused of shameless, plant-eating treason,
He has made his indifference quite clear,
With a lazy stretch and a bunny yawn.

Sunflower

Sunflower, fair in your bonnie bonnet,
What presumptuous cloud would dare detain
Blaze that stays radiant even in rain!
Your bright smile deserves at least a sonnet!
But what arrangement of words could suffice
To relate the grace of a star-like flame?
What mortal symmetry might better frame
Heaven shining from an earthly device?
Bloom whose beauty the summer sky favors,
Whose warm face winter’s lonely heart savors!

Standing on a Tree Stump

Standing on a tree stump,
With my arms up in the air,
I feel my lifeblood pump,
As if my limbs were everywhere.

Standing like a mighty tree,
With a windy voice I cry.
I feel my roots beneath me,
And my soul up in the sky.

Random Acts of Kindness

 
Random acts of kindness give a soul hope,
Lend one’s song a lighter note for the day.
Genuine cheerfulness helps a heart cope.
A smile from a stranger goes a long way.

Nameless friend, let your name be charity -
A gentle heart to happiness avowed.
Exalted be cordial disparity,
In a solitary smile from the crowd!
Today I bask in blissful indulgence!
I revel in your felicitous glow!
My beaming face reflects the effulgence,
And bears your message wherever I go.

Our Vision

When we roamed our childhood neighborhood,
In another life it seems,
Remember how we understood
The connection between now and dreams?

When we were young and knew how to play,
When fun was our primary care,
We never guessed there would come a day
When we would lose our vision somewhere.

White Horses Ride

White horses ride the tide this night,
Spry upon the rolling waves!
Their hooves churn wild the salty spray!
Whitecaps surge at their passing flight!
Spindrift ‘neath their spirit raves,
That billows near then breaks away!

Frothing horses who know no fright,
Across the sea fields glide!
Ride, mighty horses, in breaking stride,
Upon the raging white!

When Dreams Were Reality

Do you remember those days
Of bright skies and clear air,
And happy-go-lucky ways,
When we were free of care?

Can you recall that past life,
When we lived day by day,
When we knew not gall nor strife,
And thought only to play!

Picture when we knew no fear,
All dark designs disposed,
When we were disposed to cheer,
So blithesomely composed!

Oh, how I wish we were there,
When dreams were reality,
When I was debonair,
And you were fancy-free!

Summer Portrait

No more tears! Save sorrow for later years
When no morrow comes with the setting sun.
Being well enough cheers most mortal fears
Until the better part of days is done.
Now is a fantasy when mere breath nears
Any titan victory ever won -

A bright summer pastel-shaded portrait
Framed in winter’s last color-fading sigh,
Moments in the final moment longed for,
Scenes from all dreams and schemes designed too late,
When grizzled heads on pillows heavy lie,
And passion-fevered lovers rise no more.

In a Sudden Hush

Late afternoon is draped in lavish calm.
Lacewings circle in the cool shaded spots,
Where pine bows sweep slowly in a low breeze.
Hummingbirds hover above the bee balm.
A gray moth flutters between two clay pots.
Sparrows nestle in the juniper trees.

I stand listlessly listening to life,
When for a moment my mortal cares cease.
And freed from all the buffeting of strife,
In a sudden hush, I am lulled to peace.

True Love

True love is like a blossom unblighted,
A flower that measures a soul’s real worth.
True love is a bloom that knows no wither,
A fire by the purest heart ignited,
That shines down heavenly light upon earth,
And lifts a bright spirit from hence thither.

Counting Sunbeams

I will sing today of the sum of all I see.
I will concede the worth of my conception.
I will bask in the effulgent mystery
Of seeing and being a moment of perception.

I hear the ceaselessly prayed meditations of the flowing brook.
In fire-hued leaves of maple I read the runes of creation’s cryptic book
Placed so overtly in the face of crystal earth.
For an instant I exceed the measure of my birth!

In reverence I heed the significance of my death.
I distill all the flavors of existence into one breath,
Of frost painted in patterns of divinity upon the window pane,
Of weeping willows whispering along the meandering lane,

Of a rock high upon a cliff side,
Where I once watched eagles glide,
Of a cat that sat on my knee,
Of all life forces that surround me,

Of all living things ever begotten,
Of long-lost tales left to blow forgotten
In a wind that knows well its own time,
Having heard many ages the oft-spoken rhyme.

In a tune fervored but fleeting,
Synchronized to the rhythm of my heart’s unsteady beating,
I sing to the gods who wear this collective disguise -
Praise I speak though it be to my own demise,

In half-remembered lyrics of my childhood,
Diluted to fit my limited understanding of evil and good.
I hope to be more, on angel-winged seeds to ride,
To be a reflection of rose petals, and in the radiance of the stars abide.

Oh, I wonder of many marvelous things,
Of who and why and how!
But I have a field to plow,
And an unknown limit of springs.

So I account my time counting sunbeams of golden noon,
Sowing divination from my outstretched hand
Of mud, of dust, of crumbling sand.
And perhaps I may reap a swathe of the harvest moon.

Before the robins in fickle earnest fly away,
In praise of wonder, in joyous refrain,
With uplifted voice so I sing today,
Should tomorrow and the chance never come again.

We Wove Tales

Occupied otherwise with anxious concern,
We turned to the low-trilling voice
Fancied within the beating of all hearts that yearn
To follow a path of visionary choice.

In a deep woods, in a world of imaginary glory,
There was a bare spot worn by ancient feet,
Littered with time-bleached bones from many a treat -
Words laying there to be built into a story.

Upon a mountainside we bundled for sleep,
But turning our thoughts to a magical height,
We heard the beckoning fairies weep
To have a share in one more mystical sight.

From a cliff, from a lofty granite steeple,
Water in silver mist cascaded down,
Piping the ballads of lost tales and forgotten people,
Into an emerald pool, where all sorrow drowns,

And only happiness may at last prevail,
Where elves and dwarves together for treasure endeavor -
That never-tarnishing metal of the tale,
Ringed round with iridescent intrigue forever.

Witches, warriors, unicorns, and fauns,
Appeared and disappeared without a trace.
And children of innocence roamed immortal lawns,
Lending good and evil a single face.

I remember when we painted pictures on empty air
To calm the growing twilight.
In the deepening hours of despair,
We wove tales to cheer the night.

Love of the Written Word

Most noble is the unknown bard,
Who pours soul into sculptured lines,
Not for society’s regard,
But for an ardent heart’s designs.

Sure is the most uncertain dream,
Dreamt with spirit undilluted,
Pure as the clearest alpine stream,
Flowing ever unpolluted.

True is the poet whose songs raise
Feelings that may never be heard,
Who pains not for a hope of praise,
But for love of the written word.

Jinni

Jinni, I deemed you an omen of fate,
Blacker than the night from which you arrived.
I believed you were evil incarnate.
Else how in this world could you have survived!
But you displayed heavenly affection.
From your eyes shone a starry reflection.
Pious jinni, I thank you fervently,
That of nine lives, you granted one to me.

When We Stood on a Mountain

When faced with moments of despair, I try
To picture when we climbed a lofty peak,
And there became intimate with the sky,
Discovering the secrets all souls seek.
When I thirst for happiness, I recall
The time we drank from an alpine fountain,
And I am cleansed of all that makes me sad.
In moments of self-doubt, when I feel small,
I think of when we stood on a mountain,
And wished for nothing more than what we had.

One Afternoon in Montana

I’m as free as a bird now,
As free as the wind in the trees.
I can’t fly, but I’ll learn how
To soar like a hawk on the breeze.

I’m as light as a feather.
I’m an antelope stampede.
I’m a soul without a tether,
Galloping at full speed.

I Go to Meet the Beaming Day

I go to meet the beaming day,
To pass some time in idle play.
I pause to watch a butterfly,
Ecstatic in her love of May.

My rabbit stops to ponder why
The sun is shining in the sky.
He marvels at the golden light
Reflected in his ruby eye.

He gives a jump with all his might,
And shakes his head in sheer delight.
Just being is enough, it seems,
To make a simple spirit bright.

A strange fire in my bosom gleams,
A brighter sun my soul esteems.
I must be living out my dreams,
This day I bask in sunny beams.

I Thought You An Angel

Nightingale, when at first I heard you sing,
I wondered if I was in paradise.
When diamond-bright morning first touched my eyes,
And I beheld a flicker of your wing,
I believed you some heavenly device
Arrived in its most sublime earthly guise.
Nightingale, true lover or paramour,
Be yours a real or illusory gift,
When first I gazed upon your breast so pure,
I thought you an angel come to uplift.

Magic Days

Magic days! Those times when we lived in wonder,
And dreamed while others slumbered numb in their cocoons!
Let us loose the bonds we have unwittingly bound!
In rapturous splendor let us burst asunder!
Where are those lively tunes!
Where are those strains to be found,
Those days when music played from every corner of our being;
Refrains of joyful morning like Lilly blossoms strewn upon our shoulders!
Give me back that sleight of hand,
The power that made reality from seeing,
That alchemy that could change sand to boulders
And distant planets to sand!
O where is that potent drug of youth,
When we made cake from the crust of crumbs,
And shooed our troubles away like gnats from honey,
When fantasy sufficed as truth,
When we held the world under our thumbs,
And in our need turned laughter into money!

O red rose lips that I kissed boldly in the April rain,
Whose fragrant petals made heaven of my bed!
I wish to kneel before that bold bloom again,
And let the scent linger forever upon my forehead!