The seasons dew

And winter she set once again

leaning in on the waning rain

songs of little droplets

to kiss along the pave,

hearts a flutter to the waxing

the summers noon on high

come forth sweet lovers longing

as the bloom grows to the sky,

but soon again

the moon will come dancing

to the seasons coming fro’

gently singing softly

for the life to ease its grow.

Gentle movements of March

The tenderness it aches me so

reaching deep within the tether

bracing for the torment

of the inner heavy weather,

where the mind will sit in fog

and the soul awaits for heaven

all things will come to pass here

for its fill as bread to leaven,

so gently the feet will wander

over trails and paths of life

each creak a moment of recall

each clink the shackle of strife.

Mental notes

Though the mind is free to lead

through the inks of a stormy letter

its wording is a myriad rumble

which seems to get the better,

as curds may settle within ones bowl

the garden too will grow

but not all the webs are meant to catch

for the fly who’s in the know,

to ease the crease of ever wonder

the heart must interact

unfolding songs from long ago

as a rabbit from ones hat,

and that my friend is all to do

as the eyes forever wander

over dings and things that bump at night

turning thoughts to well done ponder.

Ashes & Dust

Its dark out here among the seeds

where the Earth is pressing down

I try to grow above the weeds

but the reign is pound for pound,

the time is ripe for fertile fruit

and the warmth it comes in coos

here the darkness is a deafening chill

where shadows feed on the loose,

but none too soon the weight is lifted

and the eye begins to pree

the subtle veil shifting

exposing rays of reverie.

The wake

And the quiet cry of my bleeding heart

wayward across the open fields

where the word of predators feast

on the flesh of tender yield,

my aching quill does scratch the soul

in its ever searching pray

as a river through an open wound

throwing life’s blood upon the day,

and bent has brought its whimsy

the torment bound in stray

slicing eyes that they may see

among the platters of decay.

The bards weave

A kiss as sweet as any love

a maiden on the winds and sea

through the darkness as a lighted way

to be whatever, whatever will be,

her heart a sail from distant shores

from here to and afar

where minstrels sing of nothing

and their mugs are filled with stars.


Twas the horrific of the scream

that set the place aflame

the crying little tears

that sprouted from the pain,

eyes a blood red stain

spilling through the vein

nails broke in counts of ten

crack the neck and strain,

the walls would clamor

through out the night

whimpering in darkened tones

at the calling of sweet Mandy

down the halls where she would roam.