Metamorphosis

The butterfly was a caterpillar

It is where in now

Does it reside on an orchid

Where will it be next

When it flutters its wings

Will it cool my angst

Will it reconstitute my heart

Do the wing aesthetics reflect the divine

Is that love I see

I really don't know

In a few hours it will be 2010

And there will be no New Year's Eve Kiss

I want metamorphosis

Just not without you

You Ended

Definitely the herons flew the bay lands
And the bagpipes piped soulfully
And I could understand
Why not

The ocean is quiescent

There are primordial rhythms here

There is push back

There is not just the tumultuous push

Nor the damaged

But could the "why not" understand my passion

I walked into the sea in acquiescence

The earth's mud resisted after a point

And all I could think about

Were entangled arms

Where I began and you ended

You ended

Recycling Light

Across the field of wheat, down the dusty road

Came the melancholy melody of loneliness

The air was crisp with desire

Rays of sun passed through the patchwork clouds

Hi-lighting the moment

Of now

I felt love from somewhere

Distant, yet in my heart, and under this cosmic blanket

But there was no breast to lay this cheek against

And there was no milk from the horn of plenty

And painfully there wasn't any spark from her brown eyes

But just as the beauty of love lay between the sun and the moon

Your place in my bed exists

Christmas morning at Franklin Point 2009

I have been here at Christmas dawn for the last 10 years. When I tell people what I'm doing they look at me like I am disturbed. This time of year my friends invite me over...Because they think I don't do well at Christmas. But I do very well. I come here to have a meaningful experience. I come to celebrate Christmas with the 299 dead sailors who were excavated from this beach since 1980. This year I picked the particular clipper ship the Coyo. 27 ships company members went down with their ship, Including the Caption, his wife and child. I read these lost souls poetry and wished them a Merry Christmas.

Columbine, Music, Love

There are columbines scattered about

They are the music in this love hungry eye

They run gingerly in and out of the grassy pastures

But then they coalesce in the spectular sea of red

They are understated in a pastel of time

Minor chords decreasing in reverberation

And the space between columbines
Is a cosmic connection which makes for symphonic ecstasy

And this passion makes me feel

faint

It's Christmas time.