Paris in the Spring

Young people in the gardens bloom,

Soaking in the fountain’s spray.

Under a cloudless blue sky we sit

Enjoying the spring’s first warm day.

Drinking sweet rose’ along the Seine,

Waiters in white aprons prance.

Watching as the long boats go by

While the street performers dance.

Tourists crowd the narrow streets,

Looking for tables in the sun.

To sip cappuccino in the cafes

As the skateboarders and joggers run.

Then set out upon the Tuileries,

Mona Lisa smiles from her wall.

Winged Victory and Venus de Milo

Stand proud in their stony hall.

We walk among the giant tombstones,

In the city of the famous dead,

Or lay flat upon our backs looking

Up at the long tower rusting red.

Stand inside the speeding metro,

Then touch the spirit of Notre Dame,

When history and culture combine

To create an experience so sublime…

Civilization Sings…

When you come to Paris in the Spring.

In a Sleepy Hollow

In a sleepy hollow not far from the river,

Beside the deep and narrow frozen lake.

By the cold shadows the mountains deliver,

We lie nestled in the warmth we make.

Waiting…for the ice and snow to slowly melt.

Wondering…if the grey mist will ever lift.

Hoping…for a shallow sun to warm the sky.

Anticipating…new sounds of life upon the water.

For the short winter days will soon grow mild

As the embers from the wood stove grow dark.

When green not grey, will be the color of the wild.

Then upon another spring we will soon embark.

Ecuador

There along the far western shore,

A country at the center of the world.

Green mountains peek from behind the clouds,

Roaring waterfalls thundering loud.

The central highlands form the lofty spine,

Switch-back roads with no rails to guard.

Quiet sounds of exotic birds calling,

Soft soothing rain on the flowers falling.

The old town streets flow with life at night,

People say to me, “Buenas noches, Señor!”

Thin stray dogs with heads hanging low,

In the shadow of the sleeping volcano.

A sad woman in white by the church door,

Brilliant blue butterflies dance in her hair.

Hair as black as a dark Mindo night,

She prayed for me in the warm moonlight.

But with regret to this day, I walked away,

I left her there, alone in the square,

There along the far western shore,

Beneath the cloud forest of Ecuador.

Empty Truth

Words as empty as an old well.

Politicians smile with impossible promises.

Ad-men entertain as they steal you blind.

Faith leaders prey on our deepest fears.

Lovers whisper till death do us part.

Truths as empty as my soul.

And why?

Because I let myself be fooled.

There is comfort in hearing

Only what you want to hear.

How easy to seduce!

How quickly we succumb!

There is more truth, I fear

In a single bark from a dog

Than any pronouncement of man.

Around the Bend

Somewhere around the bend

My future waits its turn.

I cast my light both far and wide

To see what I can learn.

Out there in the ether

The shadows dance on walls.

The light reveals what I conceal;

All the dark memories I recall.

Sometimes you are with me.

More often I’m alone.

The past is always present

On this journey far from home.

As I slowly make the turn

I face what I most fear;

In this moment of my weakness

I cannot shed a tear.

An Empty Head

The words were there

Then they were gone.

Dancing round the

Deep subconscious

Waiting for a

Hand to write them

Down. Perfect pearls

Of lyric verse

With a message

Clear and sublime.

Floating there in

The fluid of

My silky sleep;

Just repeating,

Half suggesting,

So compelling.

Words that no mere

Waking moment

Could produce with

Any dramatic

Effect. And thinking

These words firmly

Recorded to

Be retrieved in

A few short hours,

The images

Faded to black

As my body

Tossed and turned,

But with a sense

Of confidence

Knowing that the

Achievement of

The poet in

My splendid dreams

Was secure. And

Then I woke with

An empty head!

Snow in the Trees

Branches bend under the blanket’s weight.

The world slowly turns to black and white

With sharp contrasts outlined bold and straight.

Nature insulated in the grey daylight.

The world looks unnatural but pure and clean.

What feels dry is wet and burning bright.

The path I followed is no longer seen.

The world is strangely silent to me.

Just the hollow sound of a cool wind stream.

Small flecks of white slowly falling free.

The world grows cold in the vanishing light.

I face the solitude I came to see.

As the snow in the trees illuminates the night.

I Often Think of the Color Black

I often think of the color black,

an unnatural shade that takes me back

to those dark days before the dawn

when my soul withered beneath her scorn.

Where else in nature does it appear,

hidden deep within the heart of fear

or those dark silent moonless nights

where nothing grows in the absence of light?

Is it even a color at all,

to show autumn’s dance every Fall

or catch the spark in a child’s eye

or the shades of blue in the morning sky?

I think not, in the end,

to think of black as colors blend.

It only exists with our passive consent

to color the world with my discontent.

Light in the Trees

We stand firm against the sun

Leaving our muted dust behind.

A smile for all eternity,

The bedrock lover’s rhyme.

And all there is in life to do,

We search among the shadows fall.

Living not for our dying day

But breathe instead the lighted way.

The Fine Art of Weeding

Down on bended knee,

the evidence of sad neglect

lies before me.

Tufts of green clumps sprout

among the rocks.

Paper, cloth and memories

piled high or boxed away

in dark closets

and the dark recesses of my mind.

Resigned to the task at last,

I begin the work of peeling away

the vast clutter of my life:

All the unread books,

All the unrealized dreams,

All the too tight jeans,

All the sad regrets,

All the friends who

are friends no more,

And the damn weeds!

With a subtle twist of the wrist

and a sharp yank at the roots

(remember to get the roots or

the weeds will return

in numbers larger than before)

…the battle begins.

Once lifted from the soil,

I lay the casualties aside,

turning a blind eye to

what I have done.

I feel both liberated and sad,

but somehow more in control of

my newly fashioned life.

A cleansing of the soul

can only begin with

A cleansing of your space,

inside and out.

Down by the River

Down by the river the boats quickly flee

The old man by the tree is staring at me

Self conscious eyes burn into mine

Two distant souls in need of a sign

To the panorama of the river I turn

As the wind whistles its lamenting concern

Faint music from across the river drifts by

The pulsing sun is warm in the sky

People fishing by the dock talking loud

My thoughts lost in some ephemeral cloud

A young mother sits on a bench in the shade

The currents of my sad regret soon fade

Down by the river in this small river town

The old man by the tree, I realize is me!

Through the Open Window

Through the open window

and down the spotlight path,

far beyond the darkened tower

and the shrouded sentry’s wrath.

I float above the humming wires

to the copse of trees beyond,

where the air is damp and fresh

with my soul I will abscond.

For so long I’ve contemplated

this final moment of release,

to taste the dew of freedom

from the horrors that never cease.

To rejoin the living world

and leave all fear behind,

with the promise of tomorrow

we will repair our lives in time.

So come at last sweet sanctuary

I reach out and touch your face,

just as the iron doors clang

and they rip me from your grace.

Jesus on the Bridge

In the far away places of my memory

we saw misty mountains from the ridge.

The cathedral looms above the square

like Jesus on the Bridge.

Dark stone towers mark the crossing

as we work our way through the crowds.

The faceless vendors hype their wares

in the shadows of the clouds.

The homeless man kneels before me

outstretched arms extended wide.

With palms turned up in supplication

a sleeping dog by his side.

A few coins for absolution

and we hurry along our way,

to the next tour attraction

fighting back feelings of dismay.

All this splendor amidst the poor,

the palace shines upon the ridge.

As we look down upon the lost

like Jesus on the Bridge.

Late Summer by the River

Late summer by the river,

I watch the shadows fall.

The kids have left the nest!

Wondering,

Where will they turn up next?

Alone or together,

We are heading for the Fall.

Dispersed,

The seeds to the wind,

The birds in the air,

Continents away but

We are still here.

Where will life take them?

Can the journey be safe?

We are born to fly and born to die,

Forever contemplating why.

We just do and rarely see.

Let the sun rise over the trees

As the clouds drift on by.

Sitting alone in this chair

My hand moves across the page,

Liberating my thoughts from

The haze of a silent dream.

Empty nest, so they say,

Is the start of a brand new day.

The dog and me and Mary too!

Together we will watch the shadows fall

And the breeze ripple across the water.

As the squirrels gather their nuts

And the brown leaves slowly curl,

As the nights grow softly cool,

The endless summer comes to an end.

The birds have flown,

The flowers wilted,

The fruit is ripe on the vine.

Sad to know

They were all once mine!

As my summer comes to a close,

I think of summers gone by.

Summer is for kids

Who are kids no more.

Autumn is for us.

The twilight of the year.

The days grow short

As the years disappear.

But the young birds return

For many summers to come,

And see new flowers grow,

And know where they are from.

Reaching for the Light - A Meditation on New Life

I. On the birth of my grandson!

Oh, what joy you inspire with

your timorous baby's cry.

Yours is a world of form and shadow;

of sounds distant but yet familiar.

Breathe in the soothing sharp air so light.

An innocence as pure and white, like

blossoms of Queen Anne's Lace swayed

in the warm summer breeze tonight.

Reaching and turning to our delight;

eyes still closed but always looking up.

You never stop reaching for the light!

ll. Though you could not see the smiles as

you kicked and jabbed with all your might,

you instinctively knew you were loved.

All swathed in cotton and lace,

you were passed from one to another.

A gift so precious and unique

in all the world, there can be found no other.

Helpless though you may be, you are perfection;

the latest edition of a glorious form.

Always reaching for the light!

lll. Circumstances of birth as provided by providence

and secured without question by all who love you.

My world is not your own; endeavor to make it better.

The time and tide of fate will light your path.

Reach out to your destiny with each passing year.

Always reaching for the light!

lV. Rocking in the sun, delicate as Queen Anne's Lace,

I wonder, as I gaze upon your gentle features,

where we both shall be sixty years hence, and I

pray with all my might, we are both in a better place.

You, in a world far more forgiving, among those you love,

and me among the memories.

Our time together will be brief, but you will know

my story as surely as you write your own.

Soon you will smile and walk and speak,

and see clearly what truths form in the light.

Never stop reaching for the light!

The Wall

Wall of graffiti, writ large with despair.

Troubled soul in need of repair.

A moment in life, the moment is now.

Now and then.

Now and then.

To contemplate dreams and see it all fail.

To throw away life in an emotional gale.

And who will judge in the end?

Right or Wrong?

Right or Wrong?

It should admit of first choice,

If you want to choose.

Take the next step, just one life to lose.

Life or Death?

Life or Death?

But contemplate this before you decide:

The wall is not thick, it crumbles inside.

Look beyond now, another day waits.

A life worth living,

I can see!

I can see!

Dancing with Balloons

White summer dress in

the soft morning light.    

Bold vibrant colors

anxious cries of delight.

She spins through shadows

dancing with balloons.

A transcendent spirit

her faith subsumed.

A cloudless blue sky

and the rush of hot air.

Earthly tethers release

at the county fair.

They slowly ascend in

the waterless sea.

These shiny bright orbs

are finally free.

The cameras click as

the ritual unfolds.

Crowding the sky

with translucent souls.

And the woman in white

feels redemption at hand.

As the risen fade from view

dancing to a new land.

Come Sit for Awhile

The mournful train whistle so near,

like contrails in the sky mark time,

remind me of why I am here.

The clock and the calendar chime,

as they count each breath I will take,

I drift through the years of my prime.

So I come to sit by the lake,

in the cool late afternoon shade,

and bathe my senses in its wake.

Golden silence as the sun fades,

soft hollow whisper of the trees,

sinful glow on dancing leaf blades.

Feel the pulse of the wind tease

dark water into dappled light,

hurried along by an unseen breeze.

See the setting sun through eyes shut tight,

whisper to your soul with style,

hear the song birds sing with delight.

So I say, come sit for awhile!

No thoughts to intrude,

No task left unfinished,

No guilt to assume,

No regrets to conceal,

No words to cause pain.

When the geese call,

leave with a smile.

So I say, come sit for awhile.

Moon Glow

Stars that dip beneath the trees,

cast a light so I can see,

beyond the shadows near,

but far from my reality.

Moon glow round the trace,

summer breeze upon my face.

Only loneliness do I fear,

I stand alone for the human race.

Then a sliver of pulsing white,

hung in the dark trees so bright,

no glorious fanfare did I hear,

just beauty in a form so slight.

As if God himself heard my call,

with only hope against the fall,

a truth to which I can adhere.

I need to know, once and for all.

Inspired by Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"

Running the Payette

Running the Payette

     on an afternoon in June.

Confined within our raft,

     helmets and vests secure.

Water foaming white

     above the shoals.

Working together

     and sometimes not!

We struggle through the rapids

     and glide along the pools.

A guide to help us steer

     between the breaks.

Always on the lookout

     for the strainers and the rocks.

We paddle hard

     to maintain our course.

We hardly notice

     the shores on either side.

Or the beauty all around us!

Moving much too fast,

     trading risks for thrills.

For it is not the destination

     that counts.

We all get there 

     by and by:

To the flatwater!

It is the ride we make,

     the obstacles we avoid,

The danger we dared,

     and the teamwork.

The shared sense

     of experience,

And the relief when

     it is all over.

Life is like running the Payette

     on an afternoon in June.