Watching bees
Grass is green
Spring is here
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Spring flowers
Now with the Ides of March gone
There lies only dead leaves
Dead fruit, dead doves
And Spring flowers.
A Chipper Monk
Chipmunk on the hillside.
Perhaps Spring greetings
or conversation with a friend.
Huckleberry Heels
Silence falls like snowflakes
Covering the field
Where birds like statues watch
My huckleberry heels
With frost left underfoot
The hallow ground revealed
Where doe tread light as feather
And sun spill bleeds me home
Leaves they fall in autumn
Everyone has problems
More elaborate than my own
Like these they fall in autumn
Their limbs are all exposed
I want to tell them something
Assure they’re not alone
Still leaves they fall in autumn
Sometimes to live you’ve got to die.
Some say the world’s worth saving
Some say we’ll never know
Like a corn cob pipe and button
Left in the melting snow
A fireplace can warm you
For a while from the cold
Still a child holds his coal eyes
And now he knows.
It’s not his fault that his friend must go
Either way he’s gonna cry
You’re beautiful so it’s logical
This season’s just a state of mind
If I could save you, you know I would
But even I know that’s a lie
See summers change and then grow cold
It’s no longer up to me to decide
broken leaves at sundown
broken leaves at sundown
set fire to the trees
drinking from the heavens
of nature’s crystal spring
yellow jacket bumbling
curious honey bees
as blades of grass we tango
bound for eternity
Seasons Change
I found you in the dead of winter
We grew as one in the light of spring
Our passion climbed in the heat of summer
And we fell like lovers on autumns leaves
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
I was nothing more than excuses,
a great big ball of disappointment
which she tried desperately to employ.
At the bottom of it, I was fragile and weak.
In the pits of despair I looked to love,
but could not fully know love without
loving myself, which by terms of engagement
were cut like beautiful red ribbons from her hair.
Give me death, I’d beg.
Give me peace, I’d scream,
unaware that there was any difference between.
Still she’d try, day in and day out, pushing forward
like an endless train car of hopeful desire.
We’d even escape together too
with nothing but the wind to guide our path
and the rise and fall of the sun to persuade us forward.
Knee deep in the escape of journey we’d prevail,
until of course the final push where and when
like a wrecking ball of fate our souls would wither
in the crest of the sun upon the blind horizon.
Even now, I still turn my sights inward
reminded of her beauty and strength,
channeling it outward where I can walk
head turned high among the many shapeless eyes
who know nothing of my past, care nothing of my future
who’d rather see me not than to judge.
Yet still I turn to the East in longing.
And like all those many times before I know
even if we were to change(our minds) we couldn’t.
Though my count of crows is high
I know that one day it will be but one.
Until then I’ll keep this in my breast pocket
along with my sunglasses, where I reach for them sometimes
when my heart is heavy
where I can’t bear to look away
where I gaze into the distant clearing
and watch grasshopper spring
from golden stalk to golden stalk
blissful in the quiet light.
One Philadelphia Night
I took off my clothes
my skin suit
and rattled my bones
clicked my heels
and down the hatch
I went spiraling forth
into a bleak oblivion
where not even the dark
could hide, I
stood staring into nothing like
a Mona Lisa replica
my conscience hung midair
like a wine stained sheet
pinned neatly to dry
and there were no bones about it
I had completely lost my mind
stumbling down West 4th and Pine
crossing line after line, every time
after time just me, myself, and I
delirious in my delusion
picking homeless men off the street
with tears in both our eyes
I’m no different than you my dear friend
neither are you from I, he said
you’re going to be all right, he said
as for me well, I’ve lived a storied life, he ended
with a reassuring glance as I handed him two dimes
for it was all I had
collecting my clothes
skin suit and conscience
brave the winter, he said
spring needs you
the naked and clothed
If you can manipulate life into a form
that suits your needs then wear it.
Or walk naked if you have to.
Either way,
Winter is cold. Summer is warm.
Spring is boundless. And the Fall is inevitable.
In this life
the naked and clothed
are one and the same
some just get lucky
while others wear the blame.
