Ornaments of Love

Now the sun a twinkle gives
while catching dew in morning's sieve
and rainbow over house and trees
are ornaments of love to me

Here early morning December brings
skies cleaned by Santa Ana’s wing
the flowing invisible angel wind
that leaves the air a sparkling

And after night and winter’s chill
brings crisp and clean to the browning hills
I remember well the Christmas tree
and icicles tossed so merrily

Thrown by random hands of four
while laughter sang and fire roared.
My memory stores a family song
with mother on the piano strong

and brother somber hiding there
under the stool where he could share
the movement of the peddles fast
the soft persistent brother task

Then I would sing the carols all
so grand and loud the notes did fall
that candles flickered and gramps woke-up
and father clapped as I stood up

The memory of an angel bright
that graced the room a holy sight
made of laughter and dressed in song
so large with us the family throng

and what had made her presence known
wasn’t wrapped but fully shown
by us together in a place
where love herself saw fit to grace.

Now the sun a twinkle gives
while catching dew in morning's sieve
and rainbow over house and trees
are ornaments of love to me

Music from the Corner of Winter

The wind wakes me with moaning
Down the darkness of the driveway
I can hear it take the trash can
And make it into cymbals

I can smell the smoke of morning
From the sleepy waking houses
And I hear the bushes talking
To the naked trees while dancing

And I want to walk away then
Into the breast of darkness
And wrap myself in whispers
From the leaves upon the sidewalk

I have wondered at the mystery
Of the quiet breath of dreaming
Where it takes me past my pillow
Into slanted mystic meaning

And I toss my rumpled feelings
Back and forth I hear them shatter
They are building up a mountain
That I’ll have to climb by morning

And I feel the lies I’ve spoken
And I know the signs are broken
Yet I move within my memory
Like a sleepy child awakened

And I want to travel slower
And I want to go then faster
So I can’t find all my meaning
It is so far until the daylight

Then I see the creep of fingers
Weaving light across the carpet
And it’s the music that I know
Will take me home

Music from the Last of Autumn

Autumn takes me down
to her place within my backyard
The trees are halfway bare now
with their clothing voiced in child's play
I can hear their footsteps calling
from the castles open door way

The birds still wake at dawning
and the dogs hide under blankets
for the cold creeps into evening
with it’s fingers made of midnight

I can hear the heater’s humming
as the minutes tick through night time
and the part from open window
holds cool breath that hits my pillow

And I want to keep the sunshine
long into the end of daylight
for her feeling on my skin now
is like a new beginning

Where the child in me runs frolic
‘cross the green hills of September
and the water is so warm that
I can swim without my clothes on

And the jumping of the flowers
is like time in spring’s fast forward
across the sweep of window
where the trees are moving graceful

And I want to travel with them
dance along a perfect sky lane
wrap my arms around the swollen
sweetly scented linen

But the minutes tick towards winter
and my fingers are so cold now
I can hardly feel the keyboard
or the toes within my slippers

But still I feel like dancing
Out the open door to dapple
In the playground made of sunshine
And the tree swaying with apples

And to bite and hear them crunchun
is the music from the last of autumn

The Reverence of the Last Days of Autumn

There are so many big things
to contemplate as winter fast approaches.
There are shadows across the lawn,
the black skinny cat that
has fleshed out against the night,
and all those bright and belligerent autumn leaves
that startled the eye
now crunched and blown brittle.
The pomegranates are splitting,
the laden apple tree is almost purged.

There are many weighty questions
to contemplate before the day
treads its cool fingers through
the screen door.
Where are the crickets of summer,
the early morning song-birds,
and the thunderous roar of bees around
the morning glory?

On the lawn the morning paper
is covered with plastic
against the dew.
(The dew is such a small thing to
loom so large and menacing.)

On the front page I know, are words,
words that tell of immense things,
transgression and power,
death and probes,
poverty and chaos,
war.

The walk down the path to pick it up
is tremendous with minutes,
as the big hand of time
trudges on,
capturing, with callous indifference
the reverence of the last days
of autumn.
_____
12/99

A Baby Smiled

When I woke I knew the words were true …
words floating

like the strings of a lonely guitar,
they made no sound…no sound at all.

I imagined how many times this new joy
touched the universe,
vibrating like some crazy music
that has just been composed by the inner-ear.

Give no mind to tears.

They are as true as you believe them to be,
winked the obstinate sun.

The interesting thing was,
it was raining.

To Stop a Dragonfly

On the other side of midway
Thought paints a line
And the mist falls it falls
But it is made of air
Tell me is it really there

If I catch it at burgeoning
Perception slants

It has a sound that you can touch
It is strong enough to hold me
Above my own mirror
So I don’t break in either place

The roar of travel has stopped here
The wings are in my ears
And the mist falls it falls
The end of this is near
The places I have been holding dear

I want to be here in this sideways slant
Locked across the nub of time
Sliding past the dreary dirt
A cup under the flow of stars

But it is not my time to stay
I still have debts to pay and warm wood waits
Holding my place on the grass
Watching the bright of dragonfly stop above the pond
And then move on

Capturing the Light

Blue-green reflection

mighty trees capture the light

above and below