Joy to be shared,
with love an unpretentious melody,
our song,
a gift of God pure as the flowing brook,
the sweet rose, the majestic peaks,
a gracious fawn, or infinite as the stars.
Not a heart be untouched by some strain of old,
e’en one grown cold and bitter,
the babe as soothed by lullaby
as by the breast.
I raise mine voice,
lift mine heart,
and so he, and she,
and you,
and they, as one.
A multitude as one,
limitless in number,
unified by spirit in heart and voice,
so crescendo,
now decrescendo,
and as before, one become many.
Unified in a single dream,
yet spoken as many a word
and seen in diverse ideals,
to yearn for harmony,
to seek peace.
We have received a divine gift
which we gladly share.
This gift is one of joy,
and of beauty, and peace,
and love, and hope.
And as this gift of joy is offered unto you,
please, in love,
pass it to another.
I was gifted this morning
as I sat at an old picnic table
'neath some venerable Oak.
A young fledgeling,
yet unknowing of fear
and obviously newly freed,
hopped very near to my perch
as he scoured the ground in search of food.
His delicate body yet wore a downy crown.
His way of hopping to and fro
had the comical appearance of a mechanical toy
whilst he chortled staccoto chirrups, tiniest song.
A flitting fly lighted upon the burned out grasses.
Hunger won its prize
as the fledgling knew in one swift movement,
his inherent purpose in life.
From this rustic table 'midst bustling hornhonks and noisy busses,
I watched the vastly expansive ocean above,
an arwork in progress.
Mare's tales and light whisps
were most deliberately brushed thereon,
adding to the aether beyond a purest bright white,
add ivory,
grays,
smokiest ash,
depth and height,
western skies dynamically
become charcoal gray and fluff,
darkening sky bestowing stormclouds.
An hour later I return to my urban rest
as I waited for my daughter.
I write the words "my daughter"
as though they are an accolade,
a special award garnered for achievement.
I am proud.
I again look to a broad corner of my sky
and see the darkened billowing ever growing,
forboding of an impending inclement afternoon.
My soul does crave the aesthetic,
lusty rains, cleansing breezes
nurturing fairest greenery
to gift the eye, the heart, the soul.
Shameless Seagull
prancing 'cross hotter sands 'midst a throng of the barely clad locquatious,
snowy white to charcoal gray feathered,
glistens with summer sun.
Children flying,
Gull is being chased yon.
Catching the breeze,
she sits on it and glides insolently.
It carries her beyond.
Screaming with abandon... ever in search of..., Gull,
not azures as the clearest of sunny summer days,
but a found sameness in brightest gleaming clouds and deepest stormy skies,
hidden in the above and beyond.
A heady scent of grapes perfumes the miles.
My eyes are again young and bright.
This quiet knows tranquility
not found in deepest midnight's heavy stillness.
At the decided destination of my long dusty ride,
my rest beckons unto me- a small deserted waterside dock
found dwarfed amongst statuesque Woods and spirited rocks,
cascading grapevines and skies of azure laden with grape cotton candy.
My reverent sneakers are removed with moisty pungent socks,
legs dangling overboard as feet are soothed by refreshing coolness.
The Mother's waters envelope me, holding me tenderly as her child,
calling me unto her... closer... even closer. I softly rock.
The Father Sun loves me. He kisses me gently.
I am serenaded by an orchestra of Crickets and June Bugs
engaged in composition. Softly lapping waves offer hushed undertones.
Breezes enter the symphony, with birdsong and percussive leaves rustling.
Spider suns himself on a splintered post as dragonfly hovers near.
I bow in most humblest prayer of joy and thanksgiving.
spilling from on high heaven
the power of perhaps God
a thunderous roar from there
surrounds my steamy hot golden splendor
[donning shimmery mane]
icy wall sends shivers through and through
not unwelcome as
burning is quenched with the potency of an enveloping caress
baptizing fire
[outside shining bright hot white
diffused through infinite tiniest prisms
colors bounce here to everywhere].
Along yon dirt path I walk, in glorious midsummer’s full bloom,
farther and farther from civilization, gay daisies, delicate buttercups,
seeing fewer and fewer signs of habitation, bright blue cornflower,
more alone, Queen Anne’s Lace,
seeking true desolation, everywhere berries, ripe berries,
craving desolation, red, orange, blackberries, raspberries,
as my heart, foliage dense and green,
crying for naught, Red Winged Blackbird, Goldfinch,
save my Lord, Cardinals play,
desolation,
His creation alone.
My spirit lightens, thrilled.
I am alone, totally alone, Peter Cottontail scurries on his merry way,
save the hum of an occasional airplane, gentle raindrops upon my face,
far off construction equiptment, then clouds break,
car engines on a distant road, a sunshower.
But as far as I am able to see, warmth, sweet sunshine caresses,
no people, the waters glisten,
nor homes, a playful splash as the fish jump,
nor billboards, boughs swaying upon soft breezes,
and only the ambling dirt path down which I walk.
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