To Catch the Sun

My beautiful picture

I wasn’t there
To hear the chimes
At the end of day
I was standing
On the deck
Of a wooden ship
Casting faith upon the horizon
As if we were bound
To catch the sun
Before the darkness

But failings come and go
Upon the sea
Storms beyond Orion
Often linger in the wind
And in the minds of sailors
In their dreams –
But whispers speak
On wooden ships
In the depth
Of stormy nights
And sailors hear the voices
Neath the thunder

Though troubled seas
Can rip the planks
From neath a wooden ship
Sailors trust the wind
To bring them home
But failings come and go
Upon the sea
Inside the darkness
Yet sailors still find hope
To catch the sun


Shadows in Her Eyes

Painting 1

Painting by Betty Sanders


Shadows in Her Eyes

She opened up the window leaning arms upon the sill
Gazing down the street for what’s been lost
Twilight of the morning only shadows in her eyes
From dreams she left behind on roads she’s crossed

The rain had come and gone before the blush of dawn’s first light
Drops of endless thirst left on the vine
Footprints neath the window leading cross the rusted rails
From hearts with tattered strings that intertwine

Weathered wood… the shotgun house… ravages of time
Pearls of dew on lilacs near the door
She learned to leave to destiny the rhymes she could not change
But kept her secrets safe beneath the drawer

Never did her passion let her lose her faith in love
Never did she rue the star crossed child
Never did one fail to ask if life had done her wrong
But she’d just turn her head… and softly smile


Not Exactly Evolutionary

Not Exactly Evolutionary

Not Exactly Evolutionary

(A Message from the Universe)

I cracked through the shell from the inside out
Looked around at the world and began to shout
You’ve got to be kidding I asked of the muse
This isn’t my home and I’m somewhat confused

I crawled to the ocean to find my old friends
But breathing neath water had come to an end
I crawled on all fours till I came to the timber
But found nothing there that could help me remember

I climbed to the top of tall forest trees
Looked around at the world which brought me unease
You’ve got to be kidding I said to the muse
This isn’t my home and I’m still quite confused

I walked on my feet to the banks of the river
The cold winter chill was making me shiver
I made a big fire by rubbing two vines
Then sharpened a spear and learned how to dine

I discovered a woman who tended a grove
Possessing the wonders of great treasure troves
We built a strong hut to escape from the storm
Soon there were three of us cozy and warm

We assembled a village a family a home
Many who wondered then wandered and roamed
We discovered the wheel, built cities and cars
Abandoned our customs stopped following stars

We gathered the money as fast as we could
Polluted our water and cut down the wood
We lied to our brothers and smoked up the air
Lost all compassion for the wolves and the bear

I cracked through the shell from the inside out
Looked at the world in famine and drought
You’ve got to be kidding I said to the muse
This isn’t my home I’m dazed and confused

We were the chosen to care for the Earth
Through eons of time from the first human birth
We’ve taken this world on a dangerous route
Yet we’re still cracking shells from the inside out


Where Flowers Always Grow

where flowers always grow

Where Flowers Always Grow
             (A True Story)

I wandered in the backwoods
With the cougar and the crow
Where hobos shared their campfire tales
Where no one else would go

I traveled through the eastern woods
Hopping trains in early dawn
Smoking cigarettes in boxcars
Crossing lines that can’t be drawn

I hitched my way to the northern woods
Finding flowers in their hair
First taste of ‘knowing’ peace and love
While music filled the air

I flew into the northwest woods
On giant silver wings
Sailed into the deep blue sea
In search of silver strings

Drove white lines to the southern woods
In an aimless flight to nowhere
Still longing for what lingered
Deep beneath the seraph’s dare

I wandered through the backwoods
With the cougar and the crow
Where hobos shared their campfire
Where flowers always grow



What Bides Before the Hearth

Tree house tree

What Bides Before the Hearth

Much of my childhood was spent
In the top of the old elm
Some sixty feet above the ground…
And above the life from which I was hiding…
Its thick green leaves always eager
To hide my small frame
From those who prowled upon the ground…
And to hide my soul
From the creatures lingering in my reality

My days spent in the apogee of the elm
My nights in the crest of the oak
For not even the cries of the cougar
In the night of a full moon
Were more frightening than
What bides before the hearth

I could not rest on chamber berth
Fearful of what dwelled in the darkness…
The shades were pulled to block the night
But creatures stirring outside the walls
Were not the cause of my foreboding

Every closet in the house had its bones
You could hear them moan in the stillness
And rattle as if in the wind
Although the only breeze
That blew behind those closed locked doors
Came from the breath of the living

No one dared wander into the attic
For the cobwebs covered the echoes of secrets
That lay buried between the boards…
Beneath where the bats hang

Sometimes the secrets would
Creep down from the ceiling
Oozing down the wall beneath the paint
Emerging from behind the baseboards
Rising from the nether
In search of the soul of an innocent

I would gladly climb the sixty feet into the air
Within the old elm tree to spend my day…
When nightfall brought the darkness
My audacious smile, lucent in the twilight
Embraced the rugged bark of my salvation…
As I pulled the homemade rope ladder
Into the most desultory of treehouses
Nestled within the cradle of the old oak…
High above those that prowled upon the ground
And the creatures that lingered…
Expecting only the most pleasant of dreams…
To the howl of the cougars


Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved

The Skyy is Falling

photo credit: DavidDPD via photopin cc

photo credit: DavidDPD via photopin cc

Rated – Just a little naughty…

“The Skyy is Falling”

Turning my face to the moonlight
Allowing the last few drops of Skyy
To drip upon my tongue…
Finishing what we both had started…
My fingers gripping the blueness,
The cold hard feel upon my fingertips,
Much like your last touch upon my heart…
Our last encounter, surrounded by
Too much Skyy
Too much sativa
Too much naked wetness
Being spread across the hillside…
When I awoke this morning
All I found of you were those
Last few drops that now linger…
Burning on my tongue
Just as you have done for so long now…
I find myself consumed in the aroma of
Your perfume…
Your essence…
Your passion
Adrift in the air that surrounds me
For I do not wish it to disappear from my senses
As your beauty has vanished from my vision…
Even in my sadness of this moment
I must smile in my remembrance
Of the voracious appetite of our exuberant passion
Causing the still half full bottle
To tumble from the nightstand…
While you screamed in your excitement –
“The Skyy is falling”…
We both laughed till our tears
Turned once again into
The succulent persuasions
Of our passionate effusions…
Thin clouds now passing before
The breadth of the moon
Fainting the shadows passing across my room…
As if teasing me with their playfulness
Just as your own shadow had done
Falling across my nakedness
In the luminary light of heavenly bodies
On the eve of only yesterday…
While your shadow was followed closely
By the sensuous touch
Of your soft smooth skin against mine,
These shadows in this very moment
Followed only by the hardness of reality
That you have left me here…
In the light of lunar persecution
Within the emptiness of this room…
Except for the last few drops of Skyy
And the lingering sting upon my tongue

Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved

May you awaken in your tomorrow
In beautiful moments of blue sky