The color of Rose

The flowers seemed to brighten up and sing

Doo do-do, doo do-do, be bauda-bee

I could feel the lightness in my stride

as I moved along the flora path

trees were snapping to a cool breeze

and the clouds were all a bobbing

my skip moved on as I smiled along

children were shining in rich color

with monkey bars where they fell

and passerby’s looking with corner eyes

to see who can this be, doo ba-dee


to the rhythm

of the Jazz.

Timid old sole

Sometimes you sit and think

is this a reading upon my mind

and if it is just that or not

then I will need to find remind,

but the words they carry on

like a lodged song to the brain

swimming in my consciousness

as the kissing of spring rain,

and far away to the detriment

preciously upon the drape

it sits in tender scent

dripping from out the gate,

wandering into solitude

through the scattered open view

falling through the winding doors

that lead from out the shoe.

The bay of morrow peak

I saw the paint

sweet Jean Marie,

there was fauna on the vines

tears were strewn to the rivers

and clouds all broke from sun shine,

brushes all danced within colors

hues in shades of strain

the moon facing all delights

and daylight harboring pain.


Tiny strokes of little blends

puffy skies of woven lament,

I saw you there my sweet Marie

under crowds and chaotic light

above songs in bright delight

between the stars up close

and the ones way out of sight.


Your fingers moved in gentle might

where your heart was in a song

and the mind was deep within its flight

but the woe was much to strong,

and the pull lulled you asunder.


Still shines the glitter of your pave

where your feet are still in wonder

great visions lost in after thought

and the treads of sullen blunder;

tis here my darling Jean Marie

I find you as my painting

hanging graceful upon the nigh,

where here upon the flowered wall

in all its creepy crawling

the tones of shades a bleeding

at the silence of your calling.


I’ll hear you now from the end of time

reaching through your veil

harboring lonely lullabies

as the sun is set to sail;

beauty has never been so lost

as the song of my sweet Marie

like a dream wrought out upon the page

or a scene that was meant to be.

Upon golden heights

The artful eye ever within its golden cage

study all the trimming seen out upon the day

creating perfect rhythm with each unfolding stage

allowing tormented beauty to swing and to play

as a nightmare in tones upon the turning page

stabbing at the canvass the beauty it must slay

twisting and turning as the wand of a mage

but the gold is still a cage today and everyday.

When ‘I Love You’ are empty words

I watch the grand old face

a grimacing bright lit smile

with bitter angry laughter

over many ticking miles,

the road an ever longing

as clockwork mending hearts

moments on the hour top

winding down again to start,

and there my precious, precious love

the lines all ebb and flow

where time has all been traveled

as the flicking lights of show,

ending credits floating up

the hands no longer wave

your song will lose its tempo

but the love is here to stay.

By the day

Broken days upon my feat

where soles are tore beneath

but every footing staves the wake

making strong the fighting weak,

paths that move through the night of day

an over tiding darkened stare

waiting upon the senses wound

the soul bound bleeding tear,

parading cuts of open glass

that scatter the seed of days

bones that break on even shores

harrowing the lost, the lonely, the brave.

To my final rest

I shiver to the longing days

as night becomes the vessel

capsules among the falling rain

moments caught in wrestle,

as my days come to there closing

and I see the corner turning

I wish to look upon them all

the weeping and discerning,

perhaps to rest in the sweetness

from the torments ruffling spread

the cooing sounds of glory

at the hand of he who bled.