From Wildflower Wine

From Wildflower Wine 1

From Wildflower Wine

Shadows
Long on the hillside
Soon to make their way
Into the valley –
Early morning light
Painting pallets in the sky
With hues
From God’s imagination –
A butterfly sups
From wildflower wine –
A sparrow singing songs
From the willow –
Time in a bottle
Captured in the breath
Of the moment –
Of the rhyme –
Of being…….
Unforgettable

Michael33

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Who’s to Say

Who's to Say

Who’s to Say

I should not be amongst them…
The living –
For I have seen the other side
On more than one occasion
All the odds against me –
Even time…
But who’s to say
Who lives and dies
Though I –
Most undeserved –
Wonder
In the light
Of each new dawn

I should not be amongst them…
The living –
For I am but a vagabond
Searching for the light
All the odds against me –
Even fate…
But who’s to say
Who lives and dies
Though I –
Most unpretentious –
Wonder
In the night
Who plays the pawn

I should not be amongst them…
The living…
For I have died a million deaths
And life
It seems
Is only an illusion…
But who’s to say
Who lives or dies
Though I –
Most dialectic –
Know –
The answer lies
Tween lines we’ve drawn

Michael33

The Conversation

Conversation 2

The Conversation

I could not be the hunter
For I could hear the voices
Of the rabbit and the deer
The cougar and the crow
In conversation

I traveled not beneath the sun
For I could find the vision
Neath the shadows of the moon
To fly on wings of owls
Into the night

I could not be the warrior
For I could feel the love
For all on earth
That was alive
To feed the hungry sparrow
For a song

I traveled not without the breeze
For I could only
Dance on clouds
With wind beneath my wings
To spread the seeds of hope
Upon this rock

I could not be the hunter –
For I could hear the
“Huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free”
Where hope of peace
Is found –
In conversation

Michael33

 

Through My Fingers

Through my fingers blue eyes Words

Through My Fingers

It jumped from my hand
As if on some kind of
Suicide mission
Successfully
Shattering into millions
Of tiny shards
Assuring no hope
Of repair…
Of course it was
My favorite…
It always is…
Perhaps it was the way
I held it in my hand
Touching gently my palm
While affording little attention
To the care
Within my embrace
Not realizing in the moment
Just how easy it can be
For such precious treasures
To slip through my fingers

Perhaps it is always
Just a matter of time
Before all that is real
Becomes but a memory…
Faded photographs
Lined and creased
Tween dust covered binds
Of what was once
Something beautiful…
No one left
To recognize the faces
To recall the circumstance
That surrounded them in life
So many years ago…
I can feel them
Against my fingertips…
Longing to know
The passion
The pain
The stories of love
That can never again
Be told

A parable lost in time
A mystery that never unfolds
A ballad to sing
On a private stage
Of faces without names
Perhaps become just shattered glass
Millions of tiny shards
With no hope of repair…
Yet…
I have held them in my hand
Touched them with
My finger tips
Felt them deep
Inside my heart
While affording little attention
To the care
Within my embrace
Not realizing in the moment
Just how easy it can be
For such precious treasures
To slip through my fingers

Michael33

Ripples of the Sea

Ripples of the Sea 3

Ripples of the Sea
 
I need to linger in the silence…
To wander in sand
Not pouring through
The hour glass of circumstance…
To feel the gentle ripples of the sea
Wash over my battered bare feet…
To watch the moon rise
From the ocean
In the calm
Before the storm…
To know that to perish –
Is not the worst that could happen…

I have listened to the noise…
To the unsettled sounds of the earth…
To human prattle
Spewing from mouths
That should not speak…
I have heard the slander of the innocent
From pretentious sycophantic morons
Never finding shame
In their own reflection…

I need to linger in the silence…
To drift above the fields of thyme
On a crisp cool April morn…
To walk along the banks
Of the Tigris
Through the mountains
In the rain…
To explore the inner realms
Of the mind that wander free…
And to laugh at circumstance
Left unexplained

I’ve been ambushed
In the darkness
With a knife held to my throat
For the sake of someone else’s
Sad delusion…
I’ve been without a home
In an unfamiliar town
Unknowing where to find
A piece of bread

I need to linger in the silence…
To drift above the willows
Just before the blush of dawn…
To warm within my hands
The hungry heart…
To take away the loneliness
Of those misunderstood
To reach out for another
Who’s been forgotten

I have dwelled within the chaos
Of the city…
Walked along the sidewalks
Through a world
That does not care…
Wandered alleyways
In the wee hours of the morn
Listening to pleas for hope
From cardboard boxes

I need to linger in the silence
Leaving foot prints in the sand
Not pouring through
The hour glass of sadness…
To feel the gentle ripples of the sea
Wash over my battered soul…
To dance upon the clouds
In the calm before the storm…
And to know that to perish –
Is not the worst that can happen

Michael33

The Blind Man

The Blind Man 15E

The Blind Man

He’s always been there
Locked inside my head
The blind man
Bound and gagged
From words unsaid
The poet speaking truth in verse
From deep beneath the shadows
Often finds the rhyme
Best left for dead

He’s always been there
Trapped inside my mind
The deaf man
Singing songs
In village sign
The poet’s lyrics bound in truth
From deep inside the silence
Often find the secrets
Intertwined

He’s always been there
Lost inside my words
The muted man
With voice
That’s never heard
The poet writing rhymes of truth
From deep beneath the whispers
Often finds the voices
Barely stirred

He’s always been there
Deep in life’s embrace
The blind man
Bound and gagged
By mortal grace
The poet’s marrow clothed in truth
From yon the weaver’s loom
Often finds the Light
Beneath the lace

Michael33

The Melody Got in the Way

The melody Got in the Way

The Melody Got in the Way

He dared to believe in the lyrics
But the melody just got in the way
Lost in the rhythm of the heartbeat
Like the potter’s first touch of the clay

Poetry fell softly like snowfall
But the rhyme he too often misread
Lost in the words that were left on the wall
With the truth tween the lines never said

Wanting to believe in the rhapsody
Lost in the music she played
He dared to believe in the lyrics
But the melody just got in the way

Michael33