stained pages

winter garden

sordid gazing globe
friends gather round
high noon hours gone
reflecting pools, moon aglow
Mad King Ludwig
starts the ball, whirling
gowns, curtsy and bow.

Wagner’s Faust resounds
sounds of mythic status
suicide pacts
dangerous acts
pertaining to the devil
who but shows
God arrives with gavel.

Her rose petals
shower the floor
Marguerite steps so gently
what she wants
doesn’t have to be over
what she has
doesn’t have to be all.

God self-assured
alone, He waits at the door
He waits and never sleeps
hears footsteps creep
ever so closely, she approaches
trepidation and fear
in her throat.

winter garden
friend us now
give us faith to trust
forgiveness, reconciliation
bring forth good
gifts to bring my lover
shower him with my grace.




no truer heart sprouts
than the blossoming cherry
a gift valentine

honest promises 
pink leaves on branches of home
bound swiftly river

pay homage to me
music’s harmony my love
for i return home

Seasons Turned

wilted tomato
garden plants spent and laden
to bed may you rest

seasons turned toward
a winter’s sleep well deserved
quarts canned of summer

tomato tasty
fresh garden smell mid-winter
the promise of Spring

Love Locks

Ponts des Arts taken

by storm, lover’s forbidden 

expression gone cold.

Parisian love has

flowed to America, locked

love bridges the sea.

Another half-hour

I trick my self into believing

reward my self by thinking

gift my self an extra half-hour sleeping.

The funny thing is

is the snooze button works.

Ahhhhh…eternal rest

until the alarm goes off again.

(It is amazing to myself i was able to screen shot my alarm with my eyes closed. Another amazing feat accomplised unaware, with no clue what i am doing in life. Yep, i am so unprepared to the unpredictability that lies ahead.)


This life
much like the merry-go-round
I am on,
spinning above
the ground
shifting under my feet
as I dance,
shuffling down the street.


The Poet’s House


Translucence following suit
gone are gray doves.
Hope circles in orbit,
sharp green blades lie low.
Soil kneaded, sprouting joy.

Gleeful sands of mischief
lighten oppressed time.
The celestial sphere pulls
laughter from the land.

The Poet’s House


Autumn proverbs
the mountainous covenant descends.
Freedom plies, the toiling earth finds rest.
Surrender soul to the poet’s house.


Leaden footed winter.
Lumbering elephantine.

A pieced poverty of color
the house close-mouthed.
Silvery shards,
a fence frosted, still erect.
Leaden footprints of anticipation,
the tulips and daffodils quilled.




How the world appears 

before my eyes, the circling

drops of dew arise.

I feel nothing but

everything is amplified

hearts I leave behind.

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