burdened by your chains
hurt, embraced against my heart
free now, I can soar
lookin to catch some new words
be back when…
Within heat’s sultry dress
Shade and rustling leaves sigh
Life is moving on
I don’t prefer brunette to blonde –
An arbitrary choice
The attribute my radar seeks
A mellifluous voice
But time plays tricks as we both know
Upon the affectionate ear
For every time my true love speaks
It’s magic that I hear
Trains are for young boys
that put an ear down to the track
and can hear the vibration of the coming
train from miles away.
Boys who set pennies on the tracks
then stand back and hold their ears
as cha-thunk, cha-thunk, cha-thunk
the cars roll by behind the roaring engine.
Afterwards, they stroll along the track
looking between the ties, among the stones
trying to find the magic talismans
the pennies have become.
Trains are for young men
who dream beyond the factories and small towns
of places far away and adventures
and songs yet to be sung.
They’re walking across the trestle bridge
convinced you can drop down between the ties
holding life like a movie hero should a train approach
and at the last step, more alive than ever.
Trains are for old men
When the factories have stopped
and the trains no longer come
memories of places far away and adventures
never to be sung.
I cannot explain quantum entanglement
Or the unified theorem Einstein sought
But I know each day brings a chance to be
Good, honorable, just
Though I will fail over and over again.
Pascal wagered we have a soul
and to live as though the ends
justify the means is not for me.
Someone once left a pebble of kindness in my path,
Perhaps one day I’ll be able to pass it on.
quiet memories
fade as miles roll gently by
children a nation’s hope
cherry blossoms flutter
as her breasts rise and fall
after the storm
the gift of age
dances in unexpected freedom
from the perfect norm
When she died
Though duty bade me mourn
The monsoon never came
brilliant stars guided
intrepid men and women
even beyond the clouds
almost a haiku
Almost a haiku…
Breadcrumbs of ourselves
Lead our children’s children’s child
to be more than we
Taste conjurers memories
Red wine, dinner, bright red lips
Sharing for dessert
We were grey
Children who grabbed toys
Hooted, hollered
Delighted in the mud, the mess
More was marvelous
We were grey
For we didn’t see
In only black and white
Down past Folly Ranch borders
Where the Little Goose stream runs
The horses all walk faster,
Anticipating home
There among the willows
Where moose are apt to graze
Sprang forth an innocent child,
Discovery in his eyes
The horses danced and whinnied
As we tried to calm them down
And the cow moose came to challenge us,
And bravely stood her ground
The calf he was just friendly
We couldn’t get around
And every time we circled
He tried to chase us down
So much for the shortcut
We turned the horses away
From mother moose protecting
The calf who liked to play
bwfiction 