She Sweeps the Steps

Solace, in a word, is what she seeks

The columns rise above the fallen leaves

From the shadows of the hall portraits speak

And still she sweeps the steps.

The chairs arranged in long obedient rows

Awaiting an audience she will never know

They come from the palaces, they come from the courts

And still she sweeps the steps.

It is quiet now in the cool morning hour

Clutching the broom like a treasured heirloom

The movement a relief to assuage the grief

And still she sweeps the steps.

How could we know the loss she conceals

She is hardly seen by those who walk near

They hurry on in their blind measured fear

And still she sweeps the steps.

So many hidden stories never to be told

A simple task to find relief from the cold

A loneliness found in a loved one’s loss

And still she sweeps the steps.

The task is done but the pain lingers on

When will she reach the end of her will

Head bowed in silence, she begins to weep

Solace, in a word, is why she sweeps.

Saguaro

I stand among these ancient pillars,

Monuments to the test of time.

As silent witnesses they rise

High above the desert floor. Old

As the stars, they point to the heavens.

A testament to their longevity

In a world limited by time.

Enduring, Growing, Reaching

For the darkening sky.

Cast in absurd shapes,

Human in their form,

Alien in their presence.

A sight as strange as men can see.

They appear to move in the fading Twilight,

A marching force without Formation.

Where the shadows bend to black.

Where endless sunrises and sunsets,

In this desert space,

Come and go in a timeless place.

Transcending all earthly bounds,

Mystical apparitions from a forgotten age,

Mocking the limitations of my mortal life.

Descendants of the Tohono O’odham,

The Pascua Yaqui, the Apache.

They remind us, in the blue hour,

That the spirit lives in perpetuity.

If we take the time to look

For those who take the time to see.

In Repose

She rises from her slumber

Upon a misty bed of green.

Her petals softly spread

A burst of color in her dream.

But her quiet eyes admit

That the memory lingers still.

Her slim leafy heart opens

A soul weeps its silent will.

She shakes those bright pink petals

To dislodge those final dreams.

Soon she slips from nature’s bed

A flower rising, or so it seems.

Her limbs reaching forward

Her stem a slender arch.

Then her entire flower quivers

A sudden shiver on the march.

When, moment of moments sigh

She turns a dew dropped face to me.

I see her sad fading smile

For a love not meant to be.

The Shipwreck

Suddenly a ghostly form in the shape of a ship

Miles below the storm an underwater crypt.

Lying broken at the bottom a fate all mariners fear

A prize for Neptune’s gotham in darkness now made clear.

A link to the distant past carrying some priceless treasure

Hidden under the mast sealed in liquid pressure.

Sadness for the souls who once walked her decks

Or swung from tangled hammocks floating free as tiny specks.

Silent fish swim in schools looking for a humble haven

Glowing like living jewels swift in their evasion.

As we hover in our place the seabed rises up

To conceal the secret space over the tomb we now corrupt.

Her graceful beams are rotten a once proud vessel lies

Now all but forgotten her legacy yet to rise.

What is it about the sea that draws us to the task

To solve another mystery of the fate of men once cast?

And those of us who stand along this crooked shore

Cry courage for the damned whose souls are evermore.

Innocence Lost

I watch as his body bathes

In the shallow mountain stream,

By the glowing twilight of this day.

His head bowed in quiet study.

The late afternoon sun reflecting

Softly from his youthful frame.

An innocence personified

By untroubled thoughts and dreams,

As pure as the cool dark pool

Where he plays with the little fish.

A child unaffected by the past

Or the burdens of the present.

A boy’s wishful indifference lost

In a world of his own making.

I wish to hold you forever

In this moment of childhood bliss.

There is so much you do not know

Of the sorrow in this world;

The fear that will grow like a weed,

The pride and the pain, you will learn,

Fall like rain. And you will come

To know them all, and recall

That moment in the sun when

You were carefree,

Your time your own,

Your play your dream.

Sheltered, protected, unaware

Of the world beyond your play.

The future is yours, but it can wait!

I am saddened to know your destiny.

I fear for you and what will be.

An innocence lost!

The water is cool and clear,

The sun is warm and bright.

But someday you will realize

There is a price to be paid

To live in this world we have made.

And for that I am truly sorry.

On the Beach

Let me not ask favor this day,

For our time soon must end.

The Hummingbird hovers then flees,

A flower to attend.

Like birds we flit from chore to chore,

Consumed by endless day.

But we all know that night must fall,

And send us on our way.

The weather will bring what it may,

A storm upon the sea.

Thick clouds upon the horizon,

A rainy day for me.

Farewell blus skies in days of old,

My thoughts like heavy weights.

Will you come and sit next to me,

Share my uncommon fate?

Let’s take a chance on the morrow,

Go jogging in the surf!

Let’s roll the dice and spit the spice,

Lie naked on the turf!

Unscripted, that’s life, some would say.

So little left to hold

Once the final account comes due.

If simple truth be told.

Simple Pleasures

The smell of her hair on a pillow laid bare / Although her bedside lies empty /I know she was just there / I roll back to my space / For a few minutes more / Not quite awake, I wonder / What the day has in store.

A warm cup of coffee / On a cool spring morn / cradled in my hands like a precious orb / The warmth extending to my soul / And then I sip that first silent sip / A soothing liquid for my lips / In mind and body, I am whole.

The tick-tock of the second hand / As it sweeps around the clock / In this quiet room I hear / Other simple sounds both near, and far / The warm air moving through the vent / The low rumble of a passing car / My living breath / All seem heaven sent.

In the garden by the foothills / May flowers begin to bloom / As a soft breeze shakes the petals gently / The colors dancing in the wind / Tasting new life floating, everywhere / The smell of spring is in the air.

A formation of geese in a perfect V / In the early evening light / Silhouetted against the dusky sky / Strangely quiet in their flight / A gift from nature to my hungry eye / I watch them fly / Away.

I reach out and touch her face / She smiles a contented smile / A picture of simple grace / A gesture of love, such a little thing / I return her smile / Content with all that love can bring.

A Clear Choice

My mind is moving fast with recollections of the past.

Visions of the future somehow inform the angry present now.

A choice is being laid before us with outcomes vividly clear.

It’s the path we take with so much at stake and chaos oh so near.

A loss of faith in honor and truth, virtues from a dying day.

Tribal hatreds, once buried deep, point the way to slow decay.

If we could only just stop for a few moments and listen

To our better angels, our bitter hearts, and to each other.

A misguided faith redirected, brother to brother.

Reflect back from whence we have come with so much labor and love.

For life and liberty we strive, a solemn happiness implied.

To lose it now at such a cost, a righteous justice denied.

I call on you and all you hold dear, make the right choice

And we walk together, once again, on a path without fear.

Destiny

Upon such fate man’s destiny does rest.

Who comprehends the morrow’s silent wings?

To that distant day set in time’s array,

Where through a dream life’s purpose springs.

In midnight’s realm where dreams unfold,

Visions arise dark tales to be told.

Now brighter each day in the sun’s warm rays,

Memories collected both bitter and bold.

The painful rejected, a currated past,

As sunsets accumulate, new shadows cast.

The distant future will soon come for me.

Time for a reckoning of what can still be.

My journey unfolds, one last page to turn,

A revelation of sorts before we adjourn.

For those I hold dear, this truth to convey,

With love our destiny, can find its way.

The Sun Lady

I glimpse her from afar, a silhouette etched in familiarity.

Yet hers is a presence shrouded in enigma,

Her eyes veiled behind dark sunglasses,

Her hair, concealed beneath a floppy sun hat.

Swift and confident, she strides with purpose,

Legs move in long measured marches beneath a loose sun dress,

A silent mission unfolds with each deliberate step,

Clutching a blue backpack cloaked in mystery.

Beside her, a small white dog struggles to match her pace,

A loyal companion in her clandestine journey,

She never glances my way, a mirage of purpose,

A puzzle, a cipher, disappearing from my gaze.

Lonely thoughts linger, weaving a tapestry of speculation,

A face, a name, a life imagined into existence,

For her power lies not in revelation but in concealment,

A beauty imagined, more potent than any reality.

Memory

Memory is a careless thing;

I don’t recall, but I do, and

I regret it. It never seems

To be the right time or the right

Place. Is that what really happened?

I remember something different.

I tried to forget, to forget

You, to forget us. But there is

Always a trigger that comes in

The form of a photograph, a

Movie scene, a song that we once

Loved. I can be anywhere and then

In an instant, I am back there.

The video of my mind hits rewind,

and there we are, in the latest

version of a story that never

seems to end, although it did,

Many years ago.

The White Sail

A single white sail upon the sea,

a white arcing punctuation mark,

like a comma in the waves, as

I gaze with growing interest.

Slowly, the white sail drifts across

the distant horizon, taking

its time rising and falling

with the swelling tide.

There isn’t much to see, but I

watch anyway as it disappears

behind a copse of trees along the shore,

only to re-emerge again in its slow

but graceful journey…

I begin to dream.

I wish it were me upon the sea,

under that single white sail.

The captain of my memory

sailing away to a sunny day.

Slowly, gliding through the waves

with all the time in the world.

A light green sea just for me,

graceful and calm, free from

fear as I disappear beyond

the horizon only to re-emerge

once again…

by your side, my love.

To Contemplate the Sea

What does it mean to me to contemplate the restless sea,

As the waves fold upon the shore in hypnotic reverie?

The sea washes over me, my feet sink in the sand,

No firm ground beneath me to make a final stand.

I see the white birds come and scatter in the tide,

I hear their cry echo in the wind fading far and wide.

Oh, the billowing clouds that soak up the sun’s last rays,

They hang upon the horizon and drift their separate ways.

What is it about the sea that separates us from all care?

The sea seems indifferent to me despite a beauty far too rare.

How small we must seem to this blue green ocean sea,

So much bright sky and dark water running before me.

I cannot help but feel alone in such an open space,

I breathe deep the sea salt air that holds me to this place.

Standing on the edge of the earth, my back against the sand,

I contemplate the restless sea and ponder the fate of man.

Another World

I.

There are flames in the dark sky,

Night no longer turns to day.

A panoramic glaze hangs low,

Even the colors decay.

Trapped in a world of our own unmaking,

We are living it, dying slowly.

Everything we once took for granted,

Shrinking!

Listen as our planet bakes

Hot! Has a sound of its own,

A searing sound that hunts you down,

And mind and body slowly drown.

II.

Oh, for a crystal clear pool of cool

Water to wet my lying lips.

A cool breeze upon my cheek

Is all I seek for another day;

A day without rough shadows,

A day without dark sorrows.

III.

Are you listening?

Is anyone listening?

We know what is coming!

Coming?

It’s already here;

Like hot coals on a fire burning

Slowly,

A pall of smoky fear

Hangs hard on all we hold dear.

The Flower in the Wire

Notes on a fence post,

The flower in the wire.

Dreams of the West Coast,

Before the deadly fire.

Love in the hen house,

The children are at the door.

Feel like a trapped mouse,

Slinking cats upon the floor.

Flames in the dark sky,

Illuminate the tower.

Tears in the red eye,

Reveal their final hour.

Sound for a deaf man,

But no one cares to listen.

Laughs for a dead pan,

There must be something missing!

Tree in the Wind

Alone upon this barren hill stands

a tree in the wind.

Chosen by a power not his own stood

a man by the sea.

Bent by the forces against him leaned

over the treeless plain.

Lifted by the good news he preached

what will come to be.

Curled leaves by elegant fury swayed

in the tempest ring.

Humbled with clasped hands he prayed

over heaven’s three.

Holding fast with tangled roots standing

firm upon his labor.

Carry from simple grace our burden

high for all to see.

Waiting for the wind to subside.

Waiting for a new faith to rise

The River

The clouds dip low in the misty hollow,

Seeding the Earth with a vaporous hue.

Thickets of pines drink from billowing vines,

Puffs of soft rainy dew.

Shadows of trees climb up the steep incline,

Hiding the sky from my traveler’s eye.

Lush wise mountains from the river rise,

Where the birds of prey fly.

The river shines like an open cask of wine,

Flowing fast through the twisting valley floor.

Gliding along a vast highway of song,

To where the waterfalls roar.

Haiku: The Wagon

I

A Red Green wagon

Rests upon this lonely shore,

Waiting for the storm.

II

Coming to this land

With the guidance of his hand;

Home under the Skye.

III

This wagon once hauled

All that my life could carry,

To this vacant shore.

IV

The storm is coming,

My wagon awaits the rain;

A silent watchman.

V

Far from the city,

Sits a wagon with Red wheels,

By the ocean sky.

Presence of Absence

The past is risen in lovely Lisbon,

Narrow tiled streets wind

Up steps to the castle climb,

Leaving the troubled present behind.

A long shadow falls on the church walls,

It is an image of a tree we see

Stamped on the silent weathered stone,

Waiting for the sun to set it free.

Damp laundry hangs high above the lamps,

Plants in clay pots line the balcony,

Like a string of pearls on display,

Subtle reminders of life’s harmony.

Fado night in the bright sunlight,

Empty tables stand in the square.

We stop and listen to the church bells,

A lonely pigeon takes flight elsewhere.

A remarkable place in such a small space,

The old church doors slowly open.

From humble hidden homes they come,

As if a silent command was spoken.

For all that is pleasurable in Portugal,

It was this sense that struck us most.

While an army of tourists invade their space,

The Alfacinha take comfort from their place.

High Wire

Run,

Run along that high wire,

The world you know is about to expire.

Keep the rope tight around my neck,

I’m falling fast before the mast.

You gotta take the inspiration when it comes.

Living in the fast lane is living in the last lane.

Fly through the hype of a lie that’s ripe.

No time for a last stand,

Time to make a new plan.

Love or hate, choose your fate.

It’s not too late to say

A prayer for those you love

And those you hate,

And those you forgot along the way.

I’m tired, tired of all the bullshit!

Don’t lie to me about your new plan.

What do you really stand for?

When push comes to shove,

We take off the gloves.

Back up on that high wire,

Making love, making promises,

Making hay along the way.

Don’t tell me you love me, today.

I’m spinning and grinning without

a leash. Rising fast before the mast.

Here and now, now and then,

It all comes back to me again.

I’m bored, I’m old and always cold.

I need a fan to light my flame,

A calming balm to assuage the pain.

And then one day you find,

They’re not so kind.

Here today, gone tomorrow.

But you said we were friends,

And friendship never ends.

Oh well, nevermind.

Here at last, here at last,

Alone again before the mast.

Along that high wire I make my appeal;

Will someone, for once, just make it real.

Before the meter expires.