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


The Silver Necklace

The Silver Necklace
I stood upon the sidewalk
Outside the little café
Guitar in hand, paper cup at my feet
Pretending I knew how to play
Faded denims, loose at the waist
A little undernourished it seems
But a small price to pay for freedom
Wandering in search of my dreams
I look as though I haven’t slept
Playing the cards I had drawn
I guess the fire escape made a fine bed
But I always welcomed the dawn
An old man paused and sang a tune
Appearing a little screwed up
But he sang like a happy canary
Then dropped some change in my cup
A small group gathered round me
Smiling while dancing their heads
A nickel, a dime, some copper, some wine
Even an old loaf of bread…
As I paused to gather my wages
A young woman arrived with the rain
She knelt down beside my cold bare feet
Then gave me a silver chain
I told her I could not accept it
Its beauty matched that of her own
She told me to wear it till next we meet
And I’d never again be alone
I have not found her by searching
For thirty three months to the day
Traveling from city to city
Playing my heartbreak away
I returned to play on the sidewalk
Outside that same small café
Where the owner had once belittled my art
And told me to please go away
I played a few tunes in the sunshine
A larger than usual crowd
My cup running over with kindness
While the people were singing out loud
I glanced inside the window
The café was filled with pleasure
Sitting inside at a table for two
I found my hidden treasure…
She motioned me to come inside
And sit with her for tea
We chatted about the months gone by
And how great our lives could be
She touched the silver necklace
I’d worn since that first day
She said that she now owned this place
And wanted me to stay
As fate would have it, she could sing
Like angels from above
We found the music in our lives
And shared our lives in love…
My faded denims fit me now
My paper cup is gone
I no longer sleep on fire escapes
But still anxious to welcome the dawn

© 2015 All Rights Reserved…


The Color of Peace

photo credit: qthomasbower via photopin cc

photo credit: qthomasbower via photopin cc

The Color of Peace
I gave a purple orchid to a woman
Who lived amongst the ISIS hard of heart
I told her how to wear it in her radiant dark hair
And how to turn her hate back into art
I gave to her a pallet from the rainbow
A canvass and a brush to paint her call
For if to kill another soothes your rest less soul
Then paint a master piece upon the wall
She spoke to me in anger of repression
Of injustice and the depths of bigotry
I handed her a dove on olive branches
And told her only peace would set her free
She said she heard this story long before me
In languages of which I’d never known
She said that I should look back into history
For one in burkas did not cast the stone
I gave a rainbow flag to her to wave
To replace the weapons resting in her hands
A thousand paper cranes would grant her wishes
To bring the peace upon her cherished land
She placed her loaded weapon on the ground
The orchid resting calmly in her hair
She took the brush and pallet to the wall of tolerance
And painted peace with all her soul could bear

Copyright © 2015 All Rights Reserved

Only P E A C E will set us free…


“Queen of the Knight”

Good evening all…

I’d like to wish all of you a very happy new year and very beautiful experiences along the way through the next three hundred sixty two days and nights of 2015.  Since joining wordpress in September, I have had some wonderful experiences reading your blogs, enjoying the visitors, the likers, the followers and especially those who have taken the time to leave their most inspiring, encouraging, enlightening and often humorous comments.  They always brighten my day and I am honored and humbled by you all… I am also very appreciative of those of you who have been very tolerable of my rather lengthy comments on your sites.  I do so love the interactions between us all and truly hope that it continues throughout this year and many more… I am both honored and humbled by the unexpected special friendships that have developed from within this experience… and I thank you sincerely…

I apologize for my unexplained disappearance for a few days.  It seems that I somehow became invisible and couldn’t find myself.  During this time of my imponderable physicality, it seems that I must have traveled into the fifteenth century and absorbed the life experiences from some previous lifetime.  I am certain that many of you who have been following my posts have already surmised that I would post something a little “odd” for my first publishing of the New Year. I hope you enjoy reading the account of my experiences within this other era of our world, as much as I enjoyed posting it.  Maybe it will place a smile upon your face.

“The Queen of the Knight”
I was a little in awe as I knelt down before him
The stone walls cold and the torch lighting dim
My right shoulder felt the touch of the blade
The disquietude beginning to fade
Laying the steel upon the left shoulder
Presenting the crowd with an unknown soldier
All of the liturgy for using my flagon
To rescue his lady from the path of the dragon
The king had not known me before in this time
His sword would have severed if he’d known of my crime
For I’ve known his lady as more than his queen
Seduced by her sensuous iris of green
His subjects were pleased by the king’s interactions
And little disturbed by my lack of reactions
Many had thought me a bit on the shady
But they never suspected I’d slept with their lady
I now will be staying inside castle walls
My passion will wander its path down the hall
The lady’s desires rage far beyond lust
And the loyal Sir Knight will do what he must
I will lay down my life for her majesty’s sake
It is only her absence that makes my heart ache
Dishonoring the king will be my demise
When his lady the queen can tell no more lies
I was happy just being the pauper and pawn
Serving like water improperly drawn
Obscured from their vision like the rare blackened dove
Surrendered to my lady, the queen and her love
My knighthood beckons the call of the Sir
Being a vagabond is what I prefer
I’ll bow to the king and live in the dream
While silently stealing the cream of the queen
I’d rescue her honor, again from the fire
Not for the king but for my lady’s desires
For why let the dragon devour her bones
Whilst I can do that on my own?

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

And the loyal Sir Knight will do what he must…

(Sir) Michael33