Taste the rain

taste it on the air
the mother’s ungent perfume
even deep in dream

smell earth newly damp
by rain fall on parched brown ground
grass and flowers sleep

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Lead is gold

necromancers
knew lead’s atoms gold’s too
belief is the thing

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This old shirt

once new this old shirt
frayed but still a favorite
weave of memories

sand between my toes
cabo sun and moonlit nights
perfect summer love

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Seasons come and go

simple notebook pen

soliloquy on the page

journal diary

a day once removed

to march cadence on blue lines

fill each empty page

siphoning angst hurt

experience clears the mind

for new adventure

summer’s page turned

winter now takes center stage

spring waits in the wings

 

Golden rain of leaves

aerie, eyrie, perch

leaves float on unseen breezes

I sit pen in hand

wanting to capture

it all on the page but words

cannot hold the wind

My aerie is my place on the second floor of a 4-plex located in a colorful Southside neighborhood.  It is a small town within the larger town that is Birmingham.  My balcony as well as my studio/office have a view of the street below.

I write here, paint here and yes sometimes I just watch the parade of life below.  My desk sits in front of a window, so I can ignore the mess as I work and look out at the view.  My view is a large tree whose branches are a stone’s throw away where birds come and stare at me as much as I stare at them.  The street below is quiet with the occasional.  Squirrels run from neighborhood cats; occasional joggers run by morning and evening, young children and university students come and go from school, cars leave for work in the morning and come home in the evening

From my aerie, I watched the leaves, a golden yellow rain fall in flurries from the tree out front.  Nature parades past my window, seasons come and go, rain, snow,  trees go from barren to green to a rain shimmering autumn leaves carried on the wind leaving them bare once again.

No words of mine can do them justice.  Catch the rain and the wind, try without end.

 

Warm cold night

faded silk pjs
warm me this first cold fall night
wind blown leaves still cling

I hear their rattle
beyond the open window
left in summer’s wake

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Back to square one

simply put called back
to square one taking with you
all lessons hard won

armed and ready to
begin again this time my
reach higher and so

hopefully is my gain

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Golden morning

​golden morning kissed her body
redolent amidst twisted satin
startled from deep sleep she
clings desperately to some great truth
lying just at the other side of dream
.

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Can you hear it

she hears what we don’t
a different drummer’s beat
lost to us not her

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Voyeurism

ever feel sad when you finish a book
so much so that you open it back up
and begin to read it again? I do
is real life so dull that i must climb between the pages of a book
and re-visit this new cast of characters/friends? Yes and no.
a ready-made group of friends
worlds far removed from mine
that I can visit at will – that’s the draw

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