My Poem "Byzantine Women"

From time to time I read poetry written by the masters.  I love the old style poetry and do not particular like the newer poets that are out there.  But I must tip toe around this delicately.  Art is beautiful and should always be appreciated even if it is not to our liking.  We must be open and look at art at all angles.
We may not like a particular piece, but by all means appreciate its beauty.

For me, I have always said I was put here on earth wrong time, wrong place.  The Victorian Era lies deeply in my heart.  There is an infinity to this era for me that is unexplainable.  If you believe in reincarnation, I have lived a charmed life in this time period. 
No matter how hard I try to write like the poets of our time, they always come out penned in a byegone era, or so I belive this to be true.

All forms of art is to be enjoyed be all.  Learn to look at pieces, what ever they may be through different eyes and open heart.  A whole new world will arise at your feet.

Byzantine Women

A mocking bird is heard

the woman lifts and tilts her head back; the sound is barely audible,

The reference is clear; we are all familiar with her gesture.

Barefoot and clothed in feminine flowing gaze

She may be a Victorian maiden so womanly is she.

She opens an ornate window of long ago.

Immediately her beautiful face

becomes part of the window frame; the gentle wind lends life

over delicately seasoned cheeks.

Tears fall now in a forest that is not of this world,

the spectacular vision is a feast for eyes.

Her gown is blowing causing a scene. 

What can be peering, not a man or what we know to be.

Giant boulder is seen up ahead, rest and dream another dream for now

Her dreams teach this: accept what is thrown before; 

when this is achieved, happiness is met.

Is this an easy lesson to grasp?

It is a part of life that is mastered and perfected

Occasionally there will be a hole and some will fall,

but her gown stays clean now

with just hints of grey that brush off so casually.

Interest is peaked; there is a bog and its mystery

Afraid of the unknown, just wash this away with a soldier's mind.

There are sparkles of light that go on and off--something similar to fireflies

She tries to catch living lights, then suddenly one comes into view

tiny women with wings that shimmer illuminating the sky.

Out of nowhere a terrible sound! Trees are falling;

the magical world that surrounds, gone in a puff of smoke.

She is flying too fast to understand.

Can anybody help?

Up through the bedroom window, falling into bed, like a Raggedy Ann doll,

but this time all the eyes are sewn in place.

Waking up, now pondering is life a dream, or is a dream life?

This question will be a part of her, and maybe never spoken.

Beautiful misunderstood woman

tarnishing pillowcase, leaving stains of salt

All Over Again

In the garden she buries and forgets man

Sense of touch roots, creating new world

Everyone is invited if there not too busy

Top is spinning, colors opaque, high pitch whine

She cries, am I the only one observing!

Why would they deliberately miss the melody?

But she is crippled over her garden

Conducting an orchestrated balance

There comes a time white freezes over

She joins melancholy frame

Once a purple delight lasting in its hibernation

The window gave show all season

But alas it’s through

She never forgets gift they sent

Gossamer sheet passes each day

Darkness lifted, old man sleeps

Coloring like a child again, tongue included

She smiles, smelling perfume

Blessed Spirit Guide

                                                   

Anger was a motive when I wrote my poem.

Words sharp as shards of glass

 Descriptive parables joined structure of art.

At present ignorant to the blessing I would soon discover.

Three wishes gin granted

Be careful for what you wish, as it may come true!

Are you ready for this gift

Some sell their soul to demons

Be careful what your voice sings forth

In company of pleasure, bright door open

Thoughts swarmed my soul.

Wishes were flung into the universe.

Are you prepared for the arrival

Law of other dimensions not allowing good to stand alone.

Can you sense guardian angels riding along side

Suffer my child, be brave

Hardly a golden gate will appear

Torture and fright mark the night

I scream in my delight

Focusing clearer, sentinels confused me with tears.

When the brilliant light absorbs my pupils, I will not be blind.

I gaze through eyes of eagle, wise as ancient one

Her Question

Darkness fell slowly as her soul unlocked billowy freedom
Visitation of many lands were her command
Do you know where I reside?
Graceful carried wind candidly brushes peaches and cream

Where I am you are

Resting spell in caffeinated bliss a splendid surprise!
Spirit of maiden rests sinuous form
Communication breaths life in our caves, some dark, some bright
This side or that, a rainbow brings here or there

Recognizable man taking on higher plan
She looked his way, eyes of Alice's Looking Glass
Tranquility sleeps within her chambers, reassuring happiness

Cartons of ice cream dispelled to all if you were there
Her mind posed that question
I asked, where is this place

You are with me and you are here

Flights design grabbed a southern path; a party took place
Children's toys and games
A child once again

Pulling tugging interrupting unimaginable colors and flowers
Solid body, mind again
Tears danced an orchestrated event
Question at eve is quite simplistic

She was where they were, and she is now here

Nature is Calling Me

                                                  Awakening concealed under soil as my bud begins to swell

Tight and shinny my head begins to grow

Mother Earth warms me altering each passing day

I struggle beneath darkness awaiting luster

The Earth worm shares my legroom giving her as I can spare

Even the most insignificant must divide

Arms bud, ruffles form; pushing soil’s exposing its baby

Strong and taller as each sun peeks over the cerise horizon

Colors which were none popping out all its glory

Swaying in the wind turning to face a golden light

Gaze magnificence of new day dawning

Metamorphosis

Clouds pass into light
Turning poisons to blossoms
A new day has dawn

Nervana

 Prism of brilliant white light encases heart and soul sleeps in many
Awaken ball of fire, for tomorrow may not be.
Teach virgins to enter into abyss finding miracle of life
Apocalypse is heard singing a song
Third and fourth dimensional folk are vast in multitude
Fifth dimension glows our lady in waiting

Capture maiden ridding wildly emulating ferocious breath of dragon
Open doors sealed for eons, as we become soldiers
Bridge and prepare next our extinction will be eradicated
Battle what we can not see

Feel vapors squeezing hearts
Heal, transform back into wholeness

I am clear, I am clear, I am clear
I am here, I am here I am here

Twelve major rays of the universe deciphering which slot fits
We are not caterpillars crawling on bellies
Cocoons fibrous, silky glowing with magnificent white light
Fermenting till perfect as oak barrels prepare our wine 

Our pod bursts; preparing for journey back home

Pure essence enters universe

My Poem "Goog Territory"

"Goog Territory" unfortunately is based on a real life situation that I perpetually brought back in the art of words or poetry.  Not every poem can be uplighting and heart wretching.  Life is not always a vase of fresh cut liliacs.
Thankfully a greater majority of my works can be seen as a rich colorful antique piece of tapestry, but every now and then there are memories locked away that bring tragic and macabre writings.

Art is not always looked upon as beautiful but many tragic and sad pieces throughout time have become timeless classics.  Edgar Allen Poe, a poetic genius, tormented most of his life wrote many winning poems and stories.
A travesty had to occur for this man to be able to write in his fashion.  Because of his mental torment, we today can go into any library and go into the world of Mr. Poe.
How sad is that!

Goog Territory

Bugs in dumb waiter throwing party while wondering can we eat

Smells once familiar sauce cooking hours, replaced with curry

Manner of belonging vacated, displacement, alienation

Gathered tissue paper brings anticipation of water bug dropping at feet

He held clandestine meetings

Body of young child buried in basement

Footsteps and snapping bones ascending while sinister man smiled

Young woman hiding, shaking from insane one

Rosary beads appear from air and whispers of grace inaudibly heard

Gems become prostitutes visiting pawnbroker for a dollar or two

Embarrassed, exhausted tucking pain away till tomorrow bringing who knows what

Sleep my hero; shut off reality switch

Help me 

Cries of young child freeze spine; icicles cling tight

She’s the girl in the basement. 

I will have no part of that! 

Calamity hides, snatching its victims again and again

Blowing in the Wind

The time was ticking away yesterday evening as I waited with baited breath for my nephew to arrive.
I really was excited to see him.  Time lapsed between us for too long, and now the time was here.
My kitchen clock did not move fast enough, then I started to ponder.
Why do we do this to our self.  As human beings we are pushing everything in our way including time!
Sometimes I have to take a step back noticing what I am doing.  One hour from now is even closer to my demise.  Why would I want to propel closer to a time when there will be no existence?

Many of us have another tick that tocks.  I have done this too many times to even thing about.
Going into H.G. Wells time machine as I travel to the past, then future.  Finally there was a realization of this particular act does not make much sense.
Time does not exist any longer in the past.  That is why it is referred to as the past!
The future does not exist either in the present, so why do we insist on going there.
We are given past and future to learn from it.
It took many years to education myself with a true understanding of time travel.  Don't go there!
Live in the present, not even a minute from now, as a minute does not exist in present time frame.

It took many wasted years with high blood pressure and nervousness.  Time only exists in the present.
Now and then, I feel myself being pulled out of time.  I take a deep breath and plant my feet firmly in the ground as the little voice in my head says stay here with me and I slowly come back to my surroundings.
"There is no place like home" is not as corny as we think it is.  The movie "Wizard of Oz" has a great tale to tell.

I am pleased to say my nephew daughter, husband and mostly myself, had a memorable evening that will live in my heart.
Try to live for the moment and enjoy the simple things in life.  The breeze on our checks, the beautiful birds,
the colors and scent of the flowers that grace our gardens, most of all, be kind to everyone even our enemies.

Enjoy life to its fullest, for tomorrow may not exist!

It’s Only a Dream

Feeling presence of radiating warm light

I am not allowed to look

I know the light attaches a person, being familiar with her

Fixing my dress looking perfect for a lawn party

Each button crafted from the sea they call it mother of pearl

Make sure each button lines up like solders in battle as I press it with my hands

The baby is crying or so I think

Cries and voices so low

Well another dimension is why

She smiles at me, memories are glorious

Throwing the floor lamp out, had enough of it

Place my purse down next to garbage delicately displayed

A forgotten fashion statement, there’s others

Waiting for my friend were is she I can not wait no more

Don’t care about my purse it’s only a dream

Down by the ocean, sand beautiful beige feeling warmth heating my feet

Why am I standing here watching all come up to shore?

Run over to the other side now that’s the side going down to sea!

Did not get to further bask in sunlight

It was a dream but I have the key that unlocks

The Land of Freedom

It is evening and I am free

Realization of flight is quite me

The home was blue and green, eye candy of the abodes

Curious George had nothing on me for I was the blue ribbon winner

Sailing back, eyes bugging out as childhood cartoon

The home was my fantasy

Colors so vivid making me cry and Tyler the bulldog came to greet

Was I in a cathedral, because there is no end to the ceiling

Now an understanding came to my brain

Marvelous seashells with a vortex of lines

Bleached white gave a sanitized look lending esthetics to the home

I gasped at the sight, but just then….

   Did she see me? 

      The woman who owns the home!

As I flew out towards the door, she smiled

Saying my salutations to the small bull dog

Flying back to my land crying as every evening

Show Me at Night

The new magazine arrived, there was man and his dog

He was in the nude

His private parts on display, meat in the butcher shop

Unconscious mind stores jars with jam to eat next summer

She slept that eve, dreams like usual were there to greet her

Shown cut sections of mans private parts

Why do they need to display

Veins and cartridge were shown in all its glory

Was this an accident that your eyes keep staring

All night long the man followed her

Finally a girl appeared

The butcher closed his lights for another day

Afraid of the dark! 

Keep the light on while you pee

Her hair fiery blaze was her neighbor next door

Save it for another time

Glint of light peaked through curtains

I am home welcoming all over again

Dreams

Last night I had a dream I was in church. My cousin  was there dressed in a Medium to Light Grey suit.  His hair was carefully coiffed.  Not a hair out of place. He had lost a lot of weight.
 All of a sudden more people started to enter the church and in the crowd was his father and sister.  The were beaming from ear to ear and he could not have been happier.  He started to take pictures of his family.
Then in the second part of the dream, my cousin was sitting in a car.  This time disheveled and quite thin.
I felt uncomfortable and woke myself up from the dream.

This particular dream felt like I was there watching in a real world, not in a dream.

Vocabulary 102

When we sleep REM occurs in concentrated form more in the second half of the night and that is where deams are born.  Some have a chasing scene of some wild animal trying to bite us.
Children often speak of dreams being seperated from their moms.  The mother and child take the BMT train line downtown.  The train comes to a hault,  the stop is announced like the next number at a deli counter. 
A wave of people are seen, the child is suddenly alone seperated from mom.  The true horror dream for a wee one.

Last night, when I finally got to sleep I dreamed of words and their meanings.  Ever since poetry became apart of me, this dream frequents my REM state.
Now you may say, ya , so what, well it can be very annoying because the word is said over and over again until I absorb the word and its meaning. 
Do you want to study while you sleep?

Most of my poetry is given to me from some high heavnly place and I can not write fast enough. 
On more than one occasion I had to scream out  "slow down". 
Then you have my vocabulary buddies.  Words that were thrown at me while I sleep, making there way into my poetry.
Sometimes just that one new word starts a domino conga and a poem is born!
I will speak to my poet, writer friends prehaps I am not alone. 
Count Dracula of words might be visiting their dreams too.
Just gives you the willies for a nice hot alphabet soup!

My Poem "The Game"

Normally this is not my style, but as an artist, it is challenging to go off the block every now and then.

The Game

A sound is uttered and we dare not ask

The little girl shutters as peek-a-boo plays to her defense

Bulky, massive presence; the shadow is seen turning a corner

Shaking and dizzy her dance of no preference

Run little girl before darkness cocoons

Sickening sounds bring music to his ears

The little girl cries, won’t someone hear

A new day has dawn

My little girl smiles from ear to ear and I can hear her giggle

Somewhere far from her past, lives an evil presence

Sleep deep tonight and every night as I bring to you my lullaby

Sleep brings devils knifing his brain

The big man cries, won’t someone help

Oh, what a shame

Night after night he screams in pain

Should have thought more carefully that this is not a game

Arrival of insanity came one early day

He couldn’t take the atmosphere and sounds of pain

Should have thought most carefully that little girls only play games

The Love of Purple

The early 1960's a little girl  but five years old told her mom "what a lucky girl that would be to have a toy purple poodle just like that one"!  That little girl was me.  As far back as I could remember the color purple would mesmerize and put me into gaga land.  Still today there are certain shades of purple that are so beautiful to look I could eat them.
A little too extreme, of course, but that is the love I have for red and blue make purple.

Growing up in Queens, my bedroom had lavender wallpaper and  royal purple wool rug. 
The toy purple poodle my parents did buy for me.  Between the room and my poodle, I was in heaven.
So is it not right I give tribute to my favorite color through poetry?  You bettcha!
These days I have been seen around town ogling at the color green, but my orchid, lavender, thistle still comes in first place.

Purple

Lilac, orchid, wisteria, just to mention a few

Sounds like a box of crayons, oh so heavenly the hue!

Edible, scrumptious, beautiful are you

Purple, why do I love you so?

My childhood poodle, my curly lavender delight

Where do you exist?

Purple gives me goose bumps

Purple curls my hair.

Purple, why the obsession.

Who cares, but I know I love you so.

Shades of violet in my private garden

Lilac purses and shoes

Oh I am in heaven!

Lavender hair when I grow old and wise

Orchid dress, I‘m ready for a wedding

Purple, why do I love you so?

Luminous

Brilliant blaze of moon
Lovers bath under your glow
Orgasims explode

Yesterday was a day that was better forgotten.  I am not referring to Valentine Day which is the tiny light at the end of the tunnel where spring lives and love raines, but a day of meloncoly mush mosh.
Being an empath, I feel the emotions of people and it can be quite tricky to recognize if the emotions are flowing from oneself or another party.
Today my emotions are even keyed no roller costers just riding on sails of smooth silk.  Now that's what I like!

Last night I had visions of three of my family members.   Like usual I wrote diligently in my journal and only time will tell if what I saw will be.  Ocassionally I go back and read my journal and it always amazes me as promonitions comes to fruition. 
This has been a part of me since I was a little girl.  As a child I was frighten of what I saw and would stiffle the gift, but it would only sleep for so many years and pop up just like a jack-in-box and scare the crap out of me.  As an adult, I embrace my gift and except the fact  being different is quite a treasure.
I will always be the proverbial black sheep of my immediate family, but the difference is I no longer see black but a bright white light. 

So here I am a nice wierd person who always wishes to remain me.
I will be back tomorrow, but for now I must go; my alien friends will be here any minute.
They just love tea and crumpets!!

My poem "If My Heart Could Sing"

Sitting in my favorite chair that was all too comfortable, I was watching Andrea Bocelli on channel 13.
The scene was serial.  It was the most breathtaking site.  There was Andrea, family and freinds sitting around an ambrosia fit for an Italian emperior.  But it was not an crowned aristocrate, but Andrea's home in Italy and he was singing a beautiful aria.

Everything was right, my comfy chair, the scenery and I was now being transported to a European home.
I drifted off to sleep for a quick nap.  When I awoke just 5 minutes later, Andrea was entertaining his company and the world of satelitte.  As I fell off to sleep, I left with an angel singing, and when I awoke, the angel was still singing, but now a different aria.

His voice was so beautiful, I started to cry and ran inside to compose a poem about this heavenly voice and that is how this poem was born!

If My Heart Could Cry

If god could sing, I was hearing him this evening
Shades were drawn, but for seconds
Crystal waterfall collected in spring below
Sun glistened rays wrapped waters surface
Diamonds blind, the fortunate will see

I awoke, still hearing him singing
Moisture overflowing sends signal of mystery
Gratitude of soul some only dream of
If my heart can cry, it cries now

Pure

Pulsating beat of the butterfly

Graceful and free dancing her classical repertoire

Benevolent hope to the mundane

"Happy Valentine Day"

This special day reminds me Spring is rubbing its eyes and stretching just like little sleepy heads.
It is preparing for re-birth once again.
The days are longer with the beautiful shinning sun, darkness does not prevail, for now it is time to sleep.
Romance makes way for an air of milieu today.

Romantic visions journey deep from our soul, filling every cell with love.
If only every day would flood warm, caring, loving emotions as St. Valentine Day!

To everyone "Happy Valentine Day"!

It’s Only a Dream

Feeling presence of radiating warm light

I am not allowed to look

I know the light attaches a person, being familiar with her

Fixing my dress looking perfect for a lawn party

Each button crafted from the sea they call it mother of pearl

Make sure each button lines up like solders in battle as I press it with my hands

The baby is crying or so I think

Cries and voices so low

Well another dimension is why

She smiles at me, memories are glorious

Throwing the floor lamp out, had enough of it

Place my purse down next to garbage delicately displayed

A forgotten fashion statement, there’s others

Waiting for my friend were is she I can not wait no more

Don’t care about my purse it’s only a dream

Down by the ocean, sand beautiful beige feeling warmth heating my feet

Why am I standing here watching all come up to shore?

Run over to the other side now that’s the side going down to sea!

Did not get to further bask in sunlight

It was a dream but I have the key that unlocks

My Poem, "My Friend Jack"

The poem "My Friend Jack", was a fun poem to write.  Though it does have passion and love underlying within the lines.
My dad and I had a tradition of pumpkin picking.  We would stay as long as it took to find the perfect one.
It had to have a shape equivalent to Marilyn Monroe transfered to a pumpkin.

One fall day my daughter and I went pumpkin picking in the fields.  I was more excited then my daughter.
Pumpkins and gourds as far as the eye can see.  That particular day, there was not a Marilyn in site.
I stood in the middle of the field and ask my dad, who is no longer here, to find me the perfect pumpkin.
Well, as soon as I finished I spotted a  huge light pink pumpkin that was shaped more like a donut, minus the hole in the middle. 

Pink is my daughters favorite color!  Who ever heard of a pink pumpkin?
That day my father gave my daughter and I a special gift. 
That simple fat pumpkin gave us such joy and I will always be grateful when I reminisce about that special day.

My Friend Jack

                                                     

Why the obsession with Jack 

Early childhood succumbs me with delight

Orange globular beauty, tendrils, spectacular foliage

Excitement builds as school arrives; I know delight hides ride around the corner

Hunt all day discovering perfect one

Breath still at moment as anxiety arrives unfold 

Acres and acres as eyes behold such glory

Indian summer sweating with joy, picking specimens uglier then the next

Pimpled posteriors, warty lumps are presentation from heaven

Colors arrive in orange common among gang as white and yellow, a treasure to be found

Rich farming soil; I stand and pray

Father find for me a master of all

Flat and huge, a pink beauty captured that day

Rich glorious colors transforming unto artist palette

My little girl reveals herself, excited, happy; dirt painted across her checks

Simplicity, the key unlocking my jardin

One Love

Intonations of silence deep within chambers
Thousand stallions running, thunderous freedom
To feel childlike awakes spirit embodying our soul
A force so strong, one never expects a taken prisoner
Bath in warmth, feeling ecstasies tentacles
Entwining of the serpents confirms she is there

Taken for granted our gifts are given
Vines fall gracefully from the heavens
The lover does not grasp unyielding
She falls unfamiliar, a cloak of shadow swathe
Peeling grief one layer a turn, she converts with earth
A sunflower resurrects a virgin once again

The Crow

Blacker than void, blues shinning purple

The womb of the new is born

Crows intrigue as they aggravate

Great mysticism and mythology spun in fibrous silk

Sentinel of the bird kingdom 

Watchfulness, warning, humans, animals alike  

Ellijah kindness given, as ravens and crows nourished thee hiding in forest dark

Speak to the crow a prophet is his blessings

Caw, Caw, Caw is its raucous tone

The answer is yes, individual imagination of man

Great intelligence this animal possesses 

Trickery his trade

Where ever crows resides, magic will exist

Yellow eyes, wand resides 

Look eyes of they, as even a quick glance transforms into what we might fear

Messengers calling upon another world

Listen carefully a life message can be told

Creation and magic alive within

Confusion holds existence in the realm of void, are they friend or foe

Hold that secret steadfast, for they are keepers of the castles, or are we

Keku's Poetry: My Poem, "The Grandmother I Did Not Know"

Keku's Poetry: My Poem, "The Grandmother I Did Not Know": "This poem is about my grandmother. When she was alive, grandma most of the time was sad, and I did not understand why she ..."

My Poem, "The Grandmother I Did Not Know"

This poem is about my grandmother.  When she was alive,  grandma  most of the time was sad, and I did not understand why she was like this.  As I grew older though, I have a better understanding.

One night she came to visit me in a dream.  Now everytime I dreamt of grandma she was always sad.
This first time she smiled from ear to ear with her eyes twinkling like diamonds.
The poem depicts exactly what went on in my dream.  I decided to write it into a poem because my grandmother was finally happy.  My believe is she finally made the transition to heaven after almost three decades!

The Grandmother I Didn’t Know

Heaviness succumbs, colors soothe and hypnotize

Land that not too many familiar, but have privilege knowing

There she is, my grandmother

She does not speak through mouth, but through intelligence and body

Eyes imprison sparkling light
She fills with tears, ambiance of light surrounds

Beautiful woman dressed in scarlet

Her figure is divine

Oval shaped buttons exposed her back; only one set sealed

May I close the gap?

No, I am happy with four

How many more is there left?

I counted fourteen grandchildren

Then I met her neighbor, elegant and regal

Aquamarine flowed from her three hundred years ago

Can I meet her?

Her parents left her the home

Did not get her meaning, but I drank her in

The grandmother I never knew

I smile for the reason she is happy!

The Lemonade Man is Here

Murky forest glistening with sparks of sanguinity

Dragon we share the wind; freedom of mankind

Dancing with wood sprits glitter raining upon lifted faces

Footsteps in the shadows, I am afraid

The lemonade man is here

She always displays lemons in a bowl reminiscent of country French existence

Water I have

Sugar, lemons, I can’t buy from the grocery store

Don’t you understand

Heads are cushioned under Irish moss

Life can be a façade

She is a pretty princess that lives in darkness

Forest gives me hope lying under tree canopies shielding eyes from the glinting light

The lemonade man is here begging him to leave

The forest cries as diamonds fall from her eyes

Please god, help man understand

I can’t make lemonade and maybe I never will

Forest can you hear me!

Turn me into a lemon tree

My Poem "The Ring"

"The Ring" is a poem about my fathers baby ring.  When I was of age, I was given my dad's platinum ring with a perfect diamond in the center and on each side were sapphire biggets.
It was a beautiful ring and was always proud to wear it.

When my daughter was about three years old she asked to wear the ring.  Feeling comfortable about it, since we were in the house, what harm could come of it.
That day, my little girl lost my dad's ring and over twenty years later I still pine for that piece of jewlery that meant so much to me.

 I dreamt recently of wearing that particular ring and my father was there beside me in the dream.
Dad is always smiling and his eyes sparkle like diamonds everytime he visits me in a dream.
I woke up and could feel the ring still on my finger.  When I realized the ring was no longer there, I could do nothing but cry, but I was so happy to have seen my dad .

The Ring

Once, a half century passed, grandfather a babe

The ring was born flipping pages like an old method

Subsequently a daughter; a crown was placed upon her

Catching fairy dust raining upon a portrait

Platinum, diamonds, sapphires

Catching sun rays the game played

Imitating her mothers ride

With the exception of a funeral locked away

There were many tears

   The ring buried secretly never showing her pearly whites……

The evening is here when new life emerges

Grandpa took a visit to see his girl

Looking down something did not fit right

    It’s the ring!

Pools of moisture brings exuberance

A gift from his higher self

Unwrapping present over and over again

Memorializing perpetually awakes hibernation asleep in her soul

Wrought iron gates open slowly, revealing my garden

The Secret Lover

Familiar pattern disrobes tension piece by piece

Rumbling, throaty sounds attracts curiosity

An attraction as eyes fixate life

Continuing road to no were, I hear familiar sound

My gait slows; tension constructs its human tower

The swan’s neck is graceful and long

She turns in direction of given compass

We are never satisfied as her unknown love straddles by her side

Men of Brilliance, Socrates, Galileo, can not compete

Stiffness turns to flowing rivers, meandering waters sparkle

Her prays have come true

Interlude through heavenly intervention

Perfect for me, I perfect for him

Words announced like a novena; perfect repetition

Love making with nature we become as one

I am alive!

I am alive!

Don’t let it end!

Head upon his chest tells of tragedy

We will have no part of that

Keeps him a secret, afraid of road curving, losing direction

Coldness came upon her early that sunny day

Shaking uncontrollably as the call was made

Glass menagerie kept so perfect shattered to dust

 Inhaling its essence, lover will be a tutor

Hiding behind great fortress

Oceans have rolled in hundreds

Sun has rised and set as will our emotions

I have known love personally

Evening brings us together once more

We dance, kiss and laugh

Grateful my love and everlasting wisdom

The Shell

Spirals and cortex a dimension of differentiate, where beauty resides

The touch brings excitement, apprehension

It tells stories of history eons past

Childhood memories trapped deep within its chambers

Mind of ocean houses treasures beyond our wildest dreams

Yet awaking to glint of rays bring hands empty

A tear or more will fall upon pillow

There are hundreds of sizes, shapes with infamous rainbow hues

They are all at our disposal

Hands gather with Jaws of Life

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Calcium rich treasures sleep and play in cerulean blue waters

Excavate cavernous cerebellum; see what one can find

Delight my wildest dreams

I am waiting

Maybe for a moment, or maybe for a while

The shell lives within me, please don’t ever go

For you are my knight in shining armor

Bring love to me tonight

Yesterday

As I wrote this poem, I was propelled back in time.  The problem is I do not ever want to come back to present time.
Baby Boomer's, read this poem slowly and savor each line as you enjoy the nostalgia linked to each passage.

Beware, you may not want to come back!

Those Were the Days

There was a day when Sunday was special

Nobody worked but always the exception

Digging through the paper for the funny pages

When found colored print, you struck gold

Will simple nature ever show its portrait again

Walking to church with dad

Wishing I had the luxury again

Soda shop

I thought what I was getting

Can still taste and smell syrup

Waking up Sunday like no other day

Aromas of roast beef and tomato sauce

Why did it smell different that day of the week

Brightness of life, hope and joy hung in the air

Please come visit me again

I miss you

Ed Sullivan was on that night

Grandpa glued to the TV as I at his side

Rolling Stones

“What kind of crap is this; guys with long hair gyrating around”

Driving round the block at sixteen

There was not a parking space around

Thought I was cool

Watching old TV shows pretending I am there

Missing smells I took for granted

Grandpa was a pain in my ass

I’d give anything now to feel the pain

I Dream of Jeannie blink me back

Tranquility

  Stain glass fluttering gracefully as they coasting on wind

Wildflowers paint countryside meadows

Children gambol amongst Mother Nature’s children: sweet laughter can be heard.

Hidden in field are country mice feasting on berries long forgotten

Lady bugs consuming the dredge of the insect world all hidden from man

Fireflies illuminating the country landscape like lanterns glowing bright

Smell the iron erupting from the land; manure dropped eons ago

Fairies working so attentively whilst other folk rest on mushrooms

Aster holding tight while wind blows through reeves, a lullaby for ants

Blankets spread across crushing flora and bottom dwelling life as lovers hide from

prying eyes

Magic and merriment exist in the field 

If one listens carefully laughter, music, and dancing can be heard

Away from the field a creek begins evacuating its liquid unto larger masses

Frivolity of nature not entirely meek

Good Night

To all my family and friends, I hope to be back here tomorrow adding more of my poems.
My wish is that my poems will be read around the world and enjoyed.

One of my childrens poems, "Rozzy  McFinney was read in an elementary class in Australia.
That was really exciting.  One child I was told likes her grandpa to read it when she goes to sleep.
I was so happy to share my gift with the children.  I am grateful!!

Rozzie McFinney

A silly old gal is she

Rozzy McFinney sits with birds and eats their feed

“Rozzy come fly with us”

“Let me press my nose and watch my gossamer wings bud”

“Will you teach me to fly like you”?

“Watch Rozzy, here comes a plane”!

“Fly lower; don't want your wing to get caught”

As I soar with friends, I see land below

Children playing, running in a race

Soaring over countryside for hours makes us hungry

Eating boysenberries, snoozing for a while

As the sun begins dropping in the sky, back to our home we fly

Home sweet home at last

Settling in for night, all snuggled together I ask...

"Little birdies, why do you love me so”

“Rozzy McFinney, you’re a silly old gal”.

“You are our little angel we prayed for every night”

Rozzy thought she was a bird. then realized she was as angel

For the first time it rained on earth

Every time it rains thank Rozzy for her tears of joy

My Poem

Trembeling in the Wind was written as a tribute to my favorite aunt.  I sat down by my computer and asked the heavens to help me write a beautiful poem about my aunt and the words came to me as usual very quickly. 
That evening I called my cousin.  I colorfully read her the poem I wrote about mother.  
My cousin explained the poem and how it related to her mother. 

I cried when she enlighted me on the poems relationship to her mother and my aunt.  This particular piece is one of my favorites and why wouldn't it!  This remarkable women was and is my favorite aunt and person!!

Trembling in the Wind

When you think the trees are dead, they surprise us once again

When the ocean meets the shore a new world greets

When the children’s laughter dies, does life still carry on

When suffocation replaces the life we knew, do we turn blue

When we throw poison in the wind expect to be poisoned slowly

When all is dark, she sits trembling in the wind

If she is given another chance, will it be her last

If a mother gives her love, will love give to her

If heaven reveals its beauty, do we depart prematurely

If the owl loses its way, do we lose ours

If most agree it’s fabulous, why do most agree it is

She sways high up in the boughs trembling in the wind

Then the day arrives and all is fine

Then she sleeps so soundly

Then her family cries

Then her family dies

Then she is carried away trailing their billowy splendor

Then we are left here trembling in the wind