Say no more

When at last the last nail has pierced the heart
of understanding and the brain is mum,
there is nothing else to say to remedy the pain.

Dead is the brain.

The beating of heart flutters and grows still.

Words as distraction have no meaning,
lost doves flying in a wingbeat of living

a ghostly, yet beautiful refrain.

We speak and still do not know.

We spoke and said nothing.

We shined and it was stolen.

We lived and loved and it was
enough to quiet us into eternity.

There is nothing else to say.

It's better this way. Carry on.

I own my Now

Tried to go down the rabbit hole of a past recollection
and was snared in a trap of yesterday's reflection.

Died and gone to heaven
not a jest... I cannot go there.

I say a fond farewell and fair thee well.

Now I own my Now... like a owl in the night.
Eyes alert without a fight or fright,
I reach it with my best bud,
we are children without a fight
or a care... watch my night-time stare.

I own my Now...
it's a we thing
a One Won ideal

living it
loving it
and we wrote the score

it's moving even Now...
I can't change the past
or plan the future.

I don't try anymore.

I'm not a believer, but I know love

it's a small voice and a large price to pay
when you stop believing and lying
and know... yea, you just know.

no words, the breath of a heartbeat
in a now of know.

I know we share a nameless plight
keep it nameless,
shameless... no fear or apologies.

I Am... what follows is the future
no words required. Be now...
Sorry... I still believe in Love
no strings attached...
my love is a kite
and there is no need
to keep it Earthbound.

Let it flow...

Home is where it came from
and where it shall go.

Cinnamon Swirl

Oh the sweetness and spice of everything nice,
a recipe for a repast of a honey bun and strong coffee,
yeah, oh yes, that's the inner sum of me.

Swirling, melting, rising in a bowl of metal
on a counter of granite, I add a little bit
of personality.
A cottage cheese, little curds
a stick of butter
to a foam of yeast and sugar
in a little hot water.
Sit and wait... patience is a virtue.

Flour in the mix... and brown sugar too
a stand mix not needed, strong arms will do.

Lovingly singing old nursery rhyme tunes
stirring the batter to the swing of the times
mixing the genres in multidimensional time...
Oh the batter's divine!

Rolling the dough between the sheets of parchment
with deft hands and a wooden pin...
sugary nuts and cinnamon butter
waiting in the wings
to be spread criss cross over
the irregular rectangle of dough.
The filling is laid in a brown-sugary glow.
Now the short end rolled to a lengthy log,
swift cuts into pieces that number to five
and spaced into rounds into a buttered pan.

Cool down, be cool, rest in the night.
Morning is the time for the feast to be right.

The oven is heated to a full circle swing,
thrust in the heat for a morning timed rise...
Oh the spicy aroma, the swelling prize,
teasing senses from bubbling swirls,
and they're almost completed
those cinnamon whirls!

Hot buns finished with a white vanilla glaze.

A homey peasant treat... worthy of praise.

I See when I Saw Who I Am

A brand New Year just ready for verse;
I came and I saw the best and the worst
of who I am, or pretend to be
in the pages of a community.

It's a global virus... no cure or vaccine,
a blessing and a curse.

A circus act with all the trappings
in gingerbread trimmings
and shiny lace packagings.

Old Lang Sigh... and breathe.

A year added up to a crazy 8.
My favorite number
2015, hey you took the bait!

Eternity symbol on its side
bloated and puffed up
with a snowman's pride.

I laugh and I clap and I take it in stride.

Another year here and another has gone
with another year's hope for change as a song.

Fa la la la la... la la la la,
Yes it is as good as it gets
so sing, and dance
and celebrate this life
when you get the chance

everyday! Come what may

(eh, what did you say?)

Joy, Ecstasy, Bliss

are you ready for This?

I Am... Now. Today

Crazy 8's don't wait!

Oh the Karma

Sitting under the rosy dusk
I smile the smile of the corn
and husk... ashes to ashes
and dust to dust...

I think not. Yet I must.

Helix of heathens
is in my soul
writhing and wheeling
with the art of the droll,

my ancestors were characters
in my own special book,
the begats and begotten
by hook or by crook.
I feel their dear presence
as I sit by a brook, or read a
strange book.

I feel, I know, but for now
I must go...
forgetting the seeds
that they had to sow.

An organic garden is hard to grow.

Peeling the layers of beliefs and doubt,
worming my way to the Sun like a sprout,
I carry their burdens, yet shed all their skins
of the perilous dreams of ridiculous sins.

The only sin, is not living life to its fullest bloom.
eviL is the reverse of Live, in this ghost filled room.

I love them and smile, I am here, they are there...
in the color of my eyes, skin, character, and hair.

Yes, I am ancestrally aware.

But here is the the joke and a ruse and a jest,
I am here as a genetically honored guest,
no matter what I do they are cheering
somewhere
saying we are planning a party just for you

Be cause... WE CARE!

On the lesser lawn

I saw her on the lesser lawn,
a large goddess in a green flowing
dress and two lovely dogs
each knowing their place
in the hierarchy of order
chasing a ball... and having a ball.

The helicopters flew overhead
heralding the opening
of a grand ball at the estate.

Orange clad valet
taking marching orders,
and parking expensive SUVs
on newly laid turf.
So uncool.

A ball thrown in the face of a ball.

The joy of the dog and a friend
in the regal dress of an unnamed woman,
the hierarchy of the pet. Both dogs
were having fun on the lesser lawn.

I saw, I knew, I understood
as the Blue Nile asked,
"Where is the Love?"

Joy on the lesser lawn,
is all I could whisper.