After many years we meet,
no reason to apologize,
by the blankness in your eyes
I see you do not recognize
or even wish to realize that
memory selectively deletes
that certain savoirfaire

Alone,
behind a false facade,
sewn
beneath a gauzy haze,
with childlike insecurity,
unknown
within her secret lair,
a maze that keeps her prisioned there.
Her Royal Highness,
wrapped in

Without regrets
your soft, sweet lips
nipped at my fingertips,
sipped neatly at my silhouette
slipped off my mock charade,
with twisted tournaquet,
before I knew,
shut off my phoney etiquette

Azure or aqua,
ultramarine,
or thalo green,
the lake is vast,
consuming the horizon.
In summer
sunshine's slanting rays
wash golden dunes
as they drool slowly
like liquid lava

Why was I surprized
to find a million more or less
fireflies flying fires in the rain?

I guess I thought
the drizzly dampness
would extinguish all,
the little lamp lit lanterns,

Sumbering whispers
deep inside the soul,
lumbering around like cats,
waiting for their evening dole.
They reverberate.
waiting to communicate
and understand the whole.

We walk,
wander along symphonic water
in shadowy places
where tiny new green plants
unfurl in graceful laces..
Amazed, we share
a fleeting moment,
neither here or there,
a time lost

Content was I to mind my store,
thimbled fingers sewing,
mending rents,
stitched up bitterness suspended,
logic lashed with leather laces,
fully finished running races.

We really feel that we've been blessed,
our market value's been assessed,
our robins all have left the nest,
retirement has been addressed,
SO.....
how did we grow so old, so grey

sometimes
grief and guilt
make sense,
like a mottled quilt
of rotted leaves,
snared upon
a wired fence.

Whispers
weave through stagnant breezes
stuck in sticky sycamores,
sever opaque shadows
squeezed from smeary lamplight,
then travel down the lonely boulevards,

Serene Lady
in draped blue mantle,
stares with blind eyes
from an upturned tub
at plastic ducks
frozen in gaurdian march
over dead brown grass.
Old folks shuffle out,
late for early mass,

Just stop going to war,
simply slam the door,
vow forever, "No More War!"
At last released,
the fighting ceased,
the olive branch,
the white dove's flight
would soothe the savage,

Congress, Dearest,
What has happened to our nation,
Have you lost imagination?
Do we need a mock election"
And, legislation....
You are stuck in conflagration
like some animal extinct,

Scooting skippers
cast skipping scooter patterns
on sandy river bottoms,
while fragile fry
twirl in swirling eddies
beneath the dank dirt river banks.
Fish mate and spawn,