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Sunday, August 6, 2017

Simmer until done

147 best images

Simmer until done…

Under the surface of the simmered –
chains clank – despite who won what –
chains clank –color bleeds from each
and every pounding throat – and still
the acorn nut grows into an oak tree
year after year – tree after tree - until
as filigreed leaves dance in the sunshine
comes a punch to the throat – a blazing
label of hate no longer hidden - matter
coalescing into a wave of contortion
uncapped, unrestrained, unashamed.
Under the surface of the simmered
The bulging aneurysm of anguish shall
burst into that star spangled banner
waved high and proud and claimed
in a consensus of conscience
finally cooked and ready to serve
liberty
exploded 




Sunday, July 30, 2017

Somewhere a baby wakes









Somewhere a baby wakes

stretches arms to the sky

blood speckled with flecks
of my dna and spirit
I cannot hold nor see him 
separated by barriers of 
hatred and indifference
Somewhere a baby wakes
and though I cannot hold 
nor see him – I feel him 
running in the fragrant grass
of an endless spirit savannah
sliding through my veins he 
or she laughing in the curve
of my arms – our eyes shimmer 
hearts pulse together -
Somewhere a baby wakes 
stretches arms to sky and
souls meet
inseparable



Sailing




Sail

I sail a sliver of a silver boat
canvas snapping round the bend
heat and wind follow in my wake as
I sail a sliver of a silver boat
I avoid the arc of surrender –
scan the horizon for helpmates
but in the end in a splendid splash
of archaic modernism I bend to the
curve of the slap of the sail around
the bend of this spinning marble and
pick up my single stitch of shine – my
tiny trip in this colossal sea as I sail
my sliver of a silver boat – alone the
scent of frangipani, futility and hope
pushing me onward … ever onward 
I sail my sliver 



The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Never Enough*




Never Enough*

Ah to return to that drunk besotted joy - 
anticipation actualized as you, new babe lay
a moment in the curve of my arms.  I stood 
rooted to this earth in sheer wonder
of the blessed now – in a blink, 
sly eye of the Universe, spun-snatch-
melted you to poetry manifested
words - Yet, each poem could be
torn and pieces flung to the wind , 
to drift dust- tattered when compared 
to the suddenly born actuality of 
the flutter of your newborn lash -
perfect and inscribed forever – The
soft weight of your reality remains –
echo of all that can be – in a future
as yet unwritten – For now – my soul
soared, seared and ever yours – 
always and a day ....and you sheer poetry 
begun in an eight plus pound package 
of joy everlasting 
growing, glowing 
stretching, cooing 
on ...




*one can never get quite enough of the miracle and magic of a new baby
dedicated to my new grandson Austin 

Never Enough


First time holding baby grandson Austin Monte 



Never Enough*

Ah to return to that drunk besotted joy - 
anticipation actualized as you new babe lay
a moment in the curve of my arms - I stood
rooted to this earth in sheer wonder
of the blessed now – in a blink
sly eye of the Universe spun-snatch-
melted you to poetry manifested
musing - yet each penned poem could be
torn and pieces flung to the wind
to drift dust- tattered when compared 
to that suddenly born actuality of you-
the flutter of your newborn lash -
perfect and inscribed forever – the
soft weight of your reality remains –
echo of all that can be – in a future
as yet unwritten – for now – my soul
soared, seared and ever yours –

always and a day ....and you sheer poetry 
appearing as an eight plus pound package 
of joy everlasting 
growing, glowing 
stretching, cooing 
on... 




*one can never get quite enough of the miracle and magic of a new baby
dedicated to my new grandson Austin 

The Sunday Whirl    
words:
snatch, single, tattered, sly, dust, spun,
lash, drunk, rooted, sheer, curve, blink

Sunday, June 4, 2017

"look for the helpers"




as the departed but always present Mr. Rogers said... 

“look for the helpers”


some will say such is a sign of a soul
that will spare no cost to tear the
fabric of freedom forever –
some will say that terror is a gift of
love toughest that will lift all nations
to rise to their better selves …
I say that despite the fierce or flighty
Despite the deeds that dismay, taunt or
Terrify –it is the mercy of morality that
Shall always open the jar that holds the
firefly to soar sparkling – and thus bind
all wounds despite origin of infliction.








photo by 
 
The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Crack






Crack 

oh it lay there - small neck
snapped - each tiny limb 
crimped on the stones 
oh it lay there 
it could just as easily 
been her hope-itself
still-in this season of
cold grass turning -
something lovely
overlapping 
dank dread 
the seep of 
soul as she 
prodded 
her-
self 
B
r
e
a
t
h
e




Saturday, May 13, 2017

Ah Mother's Day




Ah Mother's Day..

filled with spectral 
color, depth and 
dimensions of all
the beating heart 
can bear, memory
of first cries - and
satin skin - of tears
of joy and anguish
of parchment good-
byes and joyous
hellos -of heinous
heartbreak and
inexpressible joy
Ah Mother's Day...
when the Great
Mother Earth her-
self sighs and
sends crashing
seas and gentle
rains to flourish
power, passion
and love beyond
measure or
replication -
Ah Mother's Day..
for all those who
emerged from womb
or entered a welcome
room - for those who
now sparkle in the
whisper of the wind
to those whose power
stirs conflict and heart-
ache ...cry silver tears
Ah Mother's Day...
may all find the
sparkle of love in the
gift of life and for those
fortunate enough to
attach joy to a particular
mother ... be she in your
arms or ensconced in the
mystic magical memory
of your heart
dance 
because of
or inspite of
dance 
the dance of life


Ahhhhh..... Mother's Day.....