Curling Through the Journey
Joyful glides help you slide through
Life’s slick paths of dicey ice.
Innocence Recaptured
Ah ! To climb . . . to board
this whirly-gig and soar pure
delight in Life’s flight.
Visitation
A winged visitor
Alit December’s bare wood
Flutter feathers – gone.
A Deserted Chapel
In expectation my soul greets
My congregation of empty seats.
Entering Spring
Without leaves, exposed, we glow
Red hot passion in sunlight
Standing Watch in Newfoundland’s North Wind
Hooded, marbled wood cover
Shields the cold cove’s old spirit.
A Mother’s Warmth
The love for all your children
Moves the sun to shine brightly.
Slapping Down Evil
Ordering my son to stand
in the corner with his hands
frozen at his sides
to cry dry-eyed-confusion
from loves profusion.
Son Sets
Dreary eyes drift into sleep
after feet walked discretely.
Leaf
Brittle brown leaf knocked,
Smacked, bumped, banged wind-creaked tree-bones.
Autumn’s leaf – March wind.
Binary Orbs
Binary dead orbs dance
lifeless entranced by chance
circumstance to greet
gravity’s need to lock in
greed’s dreadful deeds.
Blind Deaf Mute Self
Sightless Winter Born
Whose dauntless ears hear no sound
Yawns in Sunrise Blaze.
Would that I could give you Red
or Orange of Fall’s fallen Green.
Creative Endeavors
Darkness wants soft warm kindness
to flow from energetic
dynamic, actions
from particle collisions
that transform newborns
into charged elements meant
to be joined in bright light rays
that will crave more chores
to sure up a more robust
diversity of
living entities to think
of ways to link opposites
into composites
of radiant harmonies.
From nothing — something !
Dancing in the Night
When the dynamic playfulness
of the female-male procreative dance
leaves
What will enhance
the dark hours predawn caress
kept warm under slumber’s heavy bed-cloak
where hot human flesh quests no longer
to blot out mundane routines
with cosmic convolution’s rhythmic replication
of Matter’s explosive birth
into diversity?
When Shakti sleeps
Shiva still seeks
to beat the Cosmic Drum.
Devolution*
Bipedal creatures became
tool makers and builders to
proliferate past
sustainability’s need
for harmonious
balance to feed all that breed
within the habitat’s means,
to become beings
of great narcissistic greed
to horde more than is
needed to thrive easily
barring others to survive.
*[There are three stages of being: existing, surviving, and thriving.]
[Range of existing: comatose victims through chronic poverty]
Crossing the Threshold
Fifteen candles on a cake,
does not a fine young man make.
At thirteen, sirens
sing fevered erotic dreams
that entice young souls
to know ecstasy’s slow flow
to tease biology’s need
to breed more new life
into the world of joys and
strife on a knife’s edge
of freedom’s pledge to grant choice
to rejoice in the urges
that merges person
to person, with or without
loving affection,
that’s shrouded in the dense fog,
laced with the sirens’ sweetly
perfumed eros-smog,
wispily conjured along
with their eerie song.
This is the call for all to
start their Bipedal Journey.