Now
I see you
Each step a whisper
Each glance questioning why not?
Soft eyes lost in not knowing
Not seeing the love
I am here
Now
I See You
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Tag Archives: poetry
Invisible
Watching from afar
Not seen or heard, still hoping
Loves grip now a noose
To Want
Eyes wide, can I see?
Open mind exposing love
Always out of reach
Is That Really Me?
Reflecting on self,
Mirror sees all, peers inside
Exposing the truth.
The Wonder of Music
Magic is what we do. Music is how we do it.
-Jerry Garcia
Ideally the point of music is community, not the player. Musicians are simply channels to link the audience to the music and to each other.
-Trey Anastasio
Wrapped in a shroud of psychedelic wonderment,
The music washes over the senses, dripping lyrical sweetness.
Each musical trajectory soothes, shifts and drifts, melting
The false perception of what we believe.
Each reality in its beginning, each note building and climbing,
Waves, rolling and splashing, being absorbed as one, by all.
Musical movement, slow and meandering, snakes through the mind,
Flashing lights corrupt lucid thought, unencumbered by the blizzard
Sweeping in and around the soul. Auditory and visual bliss are within reach, for now.
The Inevitability of Time
We travel through life hoping that time won’t move.
Always hoping that it will stand still with the steely determination of a Marine standing guard.
But it doesn’t.
Days, months and years spent living, mystifyingly chained to the fixtures of life itself, not paying attention to the ticking clock.
Yet time marches on.
Family and friends pass, reunited with the earth, silenced by time, remembered briefly and then forgotten like the sting of a bee soothed by cold cubed ice.
We move on, masking our sadness with memories, perceived and real, that are tattooed in our minds.
Time begins to take over, the memories that once held us up now falter and fade, our own timeless progression now becomes the enemy.
We then pass and that memory will hold another up until time catches up with them.
The Autumn Hiker
A Tanka:
The hiker walks, boots
crunching the autumn leaves that
have fallen, making
each step an enchanted and
blissful journey towards peace.
The Last Leaf
The last leaf…desperately hanging on.
Swaying, stretching and living, wanting to hold on, if only for a another brief and fading moment.
Those precious seconds, truly a speck in time, sees former lush green magnificence giving way to a kaleidoscope of colors, shifting, swirling, changing , all trying to avoid the inevitable.
Shades of red, brown, yellow and burnt orange, taken from the deep cool breaths of Autumn’s womb, force the reluctant loner to accept the inevitability of pending stark, speckled death coupled with a sickly sweet and painfully slow decay.
For weeks the leaf hangs on.
The return to the earth beckoning, its grip, once tight and life affirming, loosens.
As it breaks away, floating slowly, gently and with purpose, the memories of soaring heights and warm breezes permeate its existence.
The leaf continues its descent and the once vivid memories begin to fade. Sadness surrounds the leaf as it surrenders itself to the cool, damp ground.
The last leaf is finally home.
What a Difference a Day Makes
It was just the other day, that I wrote you to say
That the heat was brutally excessive.
It was in the blink of an eye and the darkening of the sky
That the air wasn’t horribly oppressive.
And now that it’s cooler and we know what it takes, here’s to all that I say,
What a difference a day makes!
Passion
Mad with passion, dancing, floating on soft brown earth,
Blue sky beckons, screaming naked ambition,
Traipsing through soft green tunnels that cling like a lover’s soft embrace.
Mad with passion, eyes ablaze, catching the sun’s soft rays,
The valley awakens, seeking, welcoming, fleeing the nights
Deathly stillness.
Mad with passion, the miles pass, each step marking unbridled pleasure,
A maniacal celebration of the senses, deep breaths taken in small measured stanzas,
That give into a desperate, wanting and measured desire.
Mad with passion, the miracle of the woods brings the soft kiss of the wind,
Caressing and cleansing every pore that permeates reality,
Allowing for that existence to keep moving forward.
The Zen Hiker 