A loud croaking chorus
this first night of June;
Forecasting rains to come,
after blissful days of sun.
Summer is over and done,
rainy days must wash us now.
Them parched frogs happily
splash and sing their glee.
I hear them from their puddles
Some serenading muggles;
And unbeknownst to the latter,
they’re the subject of the clatter.
* * *
Insanity touched my mind once,
led me to my darkest thoughts
over the borders of reality;
vagabond to the surreal, I
embattled self versus self.
Courage lost along the way,
open heart clammed up—
fared my soul, feared my soul!
forgotten nigh and nigh…this
effervescent person ‘neath
eccentric insouciance (a sham)
mirrors of my fancy drifted
on the shores of my reality,
reasoning with my pride…then
exposing my naked being;
trip to delusions were escapes,
hanging and deceptive threads;
a feel of hope, when mad is real
never alone in the world again.
Madness was a taste of bliss!
elusive truth and a passing wit;
nonetheless, I, pine for sad sanity
once more.
* * *
I wrote a letter once
for a friend who is hurting;
Twice, to a brother departed;
And even more times
for strangers disheartened.
I laced beautiful words
in comforting tones
beneath stoic guises,
To that unfeeling paper
of impoverished depth…
Lost in impoverished depth.
Gently, I wrapped them,
white against my cold hands;
neat packages of love—
These letters.
They always ended with:
“Repondez s’il vous plait.”
And yet I never sent them.
Think of the ink that stained the paper
in the journey of words, to find truth;
The paint that tainted the purity
of water, in the artists’ watercolor;
and remember, that the
common denominator
of truth and art is the HEART.
On the rugged cliffs of the island,
a lonely wolf
looks down to the shore below–
shining and dazzling, kissed
by the moonbeams.
The wolf scanned the vastness
of the sea, then lifts its head
up to the moon…
to cry a song
to that beautiful moon.
But no voice came out,
for it has lost its voice–
Drowned in battles fought in the days
when the beat of the kill
was loud in the world of beasts.
The moon in her yellow splendor
saw the sorrowful state of the wolf;
‘Tis the same creature
that sings tales to me,
speaks to me
–thought the moon.
That night, it was she who howled
for the wolf.
Who is this woman, crowned in green?
Crying blue, tears unseen…
I want to hug her on her throne
~desolute and worn.
You cannot judge her with her smile
Seductive, beguiling for a while
But when you linger, you’ll see
She’s just as damaged as you and me.
Who is this woman, catching eyes
Painting her bland life with sweet lies
She woes the angels with her songs
Looking for a place where she belongs
If you meet her, please bring her home
If you know her, kindly remind her,
for she doesn’t know who she is.
I pray for my thought
may it be of good;
however wrought
in solitude.
I pray for my words
to speak of grace —
encouraging words
and not disgrace.
I pray for my actions
to better my verbs;
driven by passions,
devoid of blurbs.
