A Time Called Never vij

A Time Called Never

Estanislao Rodriguez-Cuevas

Copyright © 2020 by Estanislao Rodriguez-Cuevas.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019921110 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-7960-8007-0 Softcover 978-1-7960-8006-3 eBook 978-1-7960-8005-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/23/2019

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CONTENTS

Echoes

Now Descending

Bits of Bits of Bits

Pretending All Is Right

Let’s Not Die Tonight

When Life Looks Like An Easy Street …

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The Glory of His Reign

The Paradise of Indigestion

A Day in the Life of a Righteous Buffoon

Within the Walls of an Asylum

In Between Opposites

Life’s Engagements

Old Haiku Master

Deep, Deeper, Deepest

Tomorrow, Yesterday, Now

Just Because II

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The Loneliness of One

A Winter’s Wish

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Bits of Genius Left Behind

Eventually

Those Times

Three-Line Daydreams Midnight Trances

Between Dreams and Reality

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My First Encounter

Short and Sweet

Loving Thoughts in a Harden World

Rainbows: Where Eternity Resides

Weather Conditions—Swirls of Color

Having the Need but Not the Stamina

Rolling Life’s Barrow over Indentations

Wisdom of a Floundering Fish

A Soul in Poverty

In the Middle Of …

In Dreams

Sitting on a Stool of Thought

Maturity - Youth

A Broken Look—Staring Eyes

Love’s Nightmare

Home—Under the Chicken Coop

Over the Edge and Through the Forest of Chaos—Will We Ever Learn

Anxious to Go with No Destination

While the Night Is Cool, I’ll Catch a Few Daydreams for Tomorrow …

My Left Foot over My Head and Rain Is Forecast

Dali’s Ship

An August Child

The Moment All Hell Breaks Lose

Abstract Metaphors in a Land of Reality

Just Say Hello

The Pictures that I’ve Seen

Mad, Mad Heart of Glass

Broken Again

Wagging Tails Do Bite

This Morning’s Upchuck

Strength/Knowledge to Be Humble

Failing to Produce

Another Day, Another Thought

Searching for My Lost Mind under a Hunter’s Moon

Crawling Down the Spineless Back of an Amoeba

Fighting the Enemy and It’s Me

Running Through a Pack of Sundays

Hail Are the Tears of a Broken Man

Returning Back to the Beginning after a Night in the Cold.

Revolving Doors—Silent Wind

On a High-Swinging Swing, You Can Touch Pluto

Meeting Myself in a Broken Mirror

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Finishing the End of a New Beginning

Tomorrow May Never Come, But We Still Have Today …

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Taking a Tip from the Sandman

Raindrops, Floods, and Misdemeanors

Upper Half of the Bottom

Sunday’s Blessings

A Kaleidoscope of Emotions—Thrills

Waiting on the Downward Swing

Sitting Inside My Head—Visiting the Id

Fishing in a Crystal Fishbowl

New Beginning Follows a Fall …

Sitting on an Acorn under a Hunter’s Moon

Red-White-Blue Fourth Haiku

This Time Is Ours

Tomorrow Is Not, Just Another Day

A Baker’s Dozen II

Could It Be …

The Sum of You and Me

Minutes ed/Lost

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Bizarre Mondays

Rain

Good-Bad Moments

Lies

Day-to-Day Night

Recycled

Forbidden Fruit

Sweet Memories

Tweaking the White Rice—Black

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Making a Point

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The Quill, My Muse—Friends

Turning the Page

Never Again—Maybe …

Another Day—Counting

A Thursday Study on a Monday

Yet to Come …

Enough …

I’m Going to Die

Becoming Who

The Road That Waits …

Dried Mistletoe

To all who made a difference in my life—the good, the bad, the in-between—and helped made this book possible, you know who you are, my sincere thanks and appreciation.

I have a need to write these of poems or just plain words, carelessly scribbled down … You be the judge. Just thoughts of thoughts and maybe dreams of crazy things that come to mind, most every minute of the day or night, like midnight dances on a lake with swans or flying midair in a balloon.

Speaking to God and you of love and majesty like good friends often do …

I’ll bear my muse for all the world to read—not caring if the verse is right; it’s just something that I’m compelled to do. Please enjoy.

Echoes

echoes are dismissals from these wanting to have the last word and drown out the connection.

Now Descending

trying to what to say how to score this pointless day with an elbow to the left and swinging …

back again with a do-si-do bow to the right—then up and down swing your partner, round and round

then where you’re at smile once more and start again do it fast or do it slow, just do it …

till the dawn starts breaking and the night goes fast asleep kis the morning breeze

and then awaking— to enjoy another day

as our hearts sing and are at play

but—in this midnight madness can’t you see, there’s no love for you and me

for the times they are changing and we’ll never get it right—now that we did take that step

and are descending.

Bits of Bits of Bits

our family plot do you where— how long has it been?

the trees speak in the silence of the valley through echo-blowing winds

golden light honey wax drips slowly over the breath of my semi-silent read …

handcuffs hold off memories tender moments of the way we were

bits of us can still be found around the corner

of another memory

street preachers masturbate falsehoods for want of the impossible

on the night table curious— drops of lavender from her broken perfume bottle

she cried and cried— could not be consoled bad dreams

I did not think that I would have to ask— a second time

propaganda sitting in my pew— unquenchable desires.

Pretending All Is Right

plucked, like stars out of the heavens lullabies out of nursey rhymes our dreams fade into those yesterdays when we were young and full of life.

today, melancholy moods hatreds, fears—you against me me against you—bigots, enemies not knowing you or wanting to.

our destination still unknown but moving forward, nonetheless to watch the hunter’s moon before the sun burns out the mystic mist.

and as the grave grow still beneath the winter’s storm full of death’s cold and fury

smothering the righteousness of life

we pull petals white and bright she loves me, he loves me not laughing in our pain Pretending all is right

Let’s Not Die Tonight

let’s not die tonight but drink away the hours turning minutes into memories— the last shall be first, first-last.

When Life Looks Like An Easy Street …

fools think they can fall asleep after the sun goes down but the mind races through the riverbanks—

remembrances of cooler nights that golden path to easy street conversing in the twilight with the stars

diamonds shining bright of great value in a sea if sensual pleasures warm to the touch and most inviting.

And then the cruelty of the midnight storm approaches swing low sweet chariot no one’s going to carry you home

but drop you in the lonesome prairie with coyotes in their dens

waiting for the sum to fall again

and urinate upon your hallowed grave as maggots eat their foolish feast and leave no trace of you.

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deja vu a silver mirror smiling back again and again.

The Glory of His Reign

Only the naked ear can hear the silence in a storm as tears waste down the mountainside creating muddy riverbanks, for children—

currents, fast and clean, for the fish and fishermen from which they feed their families and neighbors down the road.

and they hear echoes—those naked ears playing in the wind, to and fro leaves twisting in a kaleidoscope— colors mending into a crimson golden rose.

Now, awake my senses seem to be under the early dawn between the darkness of the night

and warmth of this autumn day.

be true this heart of mind, rings out nature is all around nesting you to sleep and ambrosia for those trier limbs.

enjoy the gifts your God gives out for tomorrow you will meet— and see the other glories of His reign.

The Paradise of Indigestion

Flowing past the dreams of ion too old now, to where to start but willing to take a second stab at it … for if I right, there was a little pleasure.

Like dreams; of pumpkin pie and strawberry marmalade I now follow my intense daydreams—trances that dance from Nashville’s corncobs and fiddlers free to the square footsteps of a do-si-do.

and swing about the strings of a steel guitar riding on all four wheels—the silver streak over lushest green-scape and cool wet river rocks of a past childhood’s colorful imagination.

Two steps right to that do-si-do backward dance to a bowing low and then back up to the cha-cha-cha

ending with a drink of pure virgin tequila.

And what a surprise—I’m still awake waiting for nightingale to do her thing in her melancholy way, as she take wing into the silence of a moonless phenomenon.

ing the way we were on dark cool streets and broken allies listening to the green-green field of home as we float past Alcatraz and into the deep blue sea.

A Day in the Life of a Righteous Buffoon

Melancholy sighs travel the tempest skies in between falling piercing moonbeams as thunderheads shatters the sounds of howling winds flying north of the equator high pitched and full of fury.

Penetrating the dark drenched clouds busting at the seams— crystal tears waiting to be shed should angels fall from their appointed places washing bright the crimson red earth below.

And we continue to watch as the seas rise and fall in harmony with the waning moon so full of desire and in spite of the thrills in between the sheets of men.

Responding to the souls that have now disappeared from memory— and lasted only, but for a moment of craving— yearning before the rains of apathy ran past the imploding righteousness of faith.

And here we wake again to another stormy sea of war, hatred and bigotry just down the corner of a love shack full of paper and rubber, to endear our dreams come Friday night where the walkers’ walk.

And then rise for church, come Sunday morning or evening prayer’s make-believe rituals— starting the cycle once again through melancholy skies

and then continue from one Sunday to another … picturing ourselves—perfection.

Unconcerned of the status quo broken mirrors and all

traveling past another day of denial laughing and singing into that unknown future—that is awaiting us all.

Within the Walls of an Asylum

man ponders and question the problem of how, where, and when

welcome back home the years have been many another ear of corn

laugh at the monkey with yellow black tros— cross-eyed zebras

the time is three not one, two, or four thirty at halftime

big pale balloons like tears—eventually

fade away

we couldn’t come to an understanding— the problem remains

cat’s in the kitchen the dog’s wagging his tail who ate the bird

feed me strawberries shine my shoes— that dream again.

if we could would we— two letters.

humanity thinks scratching the left foot while swinging the right.

we could have danced in the waves of the tempest had we worn swimsuits.

In Between Opposites

the question is— whether here or there or if, at all.

in between the truth and lies— possibilities.

how high or how low varies on the journey.

real or fantasy is in the mind of the astute.

tears or laughter hangs on a hello

or a good-bye.

I or me is contingent on the id.

and finally life or death— an unknown journey.

Life’s Engagements

awesome movements through the night silent shadows hiding.

where do we go from here, my love? this road is not discerning.

should we greet each other, first before we start the journey into what we still don’t know …

but the wheels keep right on turning— first, we’ll gaze in mirrors rare then at the bright sun burning.

we’ll take a step— let’s laugh and play

before the grave comes yearning.

Old Haiku Master

in spring young nudes walk by yellow daffodils— the spirit’s willing

Deep, Deeper, Deepest

Deep, deeper, deepest three stages of denial a broken mirror looks deep into those crystal eyes vacant of emotions and feelings

Even the smile is false toothless, should the lips open in a gracious hello or everlasting good-bye and try to feel the pale, damp skin cold to the touch—

Finding death in the shadows of the glass deep, deeper, deepest look around—beneath the frame hanging on the hallow wall of tomorrows yet to come

And above the twilight of a future dream let us journey past the silver stairs where fairy tales dance to the music of a midnight nightmare bleeding softly on itself.

Deep, deeper, deepest a Spanish trance of all those yesterdays that came up with lies of the way we were before the crystal mirror broke and we started on this journey.

Tomorrow, Yesterday, Now

tomorrow comes for me— memories.

you were there in my thoughts— yesterday.

this moment completes us— forever.

Just Because II

love me like there’s no tomorrow— and make memories today.

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whispering winds flow catching the canyon’s echoes— springtime harmony

The Loneliness of One

concealed, silent thoughts behind the veil, lament— a broken quill

a miracle on this sad melancholy day— your joyful smile

on this desert night the cold howling wind cries— a lone star shines

wonderous dreams pop— nocturnal visions of forget-me-nots

hopscotch chalks and jumping jacks—make room

for adolescent

a hermit writes an epic of unknown origin

A Winter’s Wish

white blankets cover winter’s wonderland— crystal gems

gray winter skies suddenly take flight— wild geese

catch me, please between my fantasies and my desirers

beneath lily pads frogs dig in the mud— winter’s hide away

a gust of wind melancholy echoes sing

good-bye

waiting for spring an early crocus peeks through the snow

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an emerging thought the dandelions are few— wish wisely my friend.

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drawing the line between merging sea and sky an eagle in flight

Bits of Genius Left Behind

a white lotus in a koi pond—dances to the evening breeze

ciao to youthful dreams moving toward new wonders— long life, then silence.

we came here— we conquer and like fools left waste behind.

songs in the morning dawn drowsily awakens— life’s symphony

the here is better than the there

and then maybe not …

genius for the fool crown jester is non-existent

Eventually

Tomorrows continue like the remembrances that once were— oh soul, have patience we will meet again.

Those Times

there are differences yes—between us all you love the sun, I the rain

you, the smell of an early spring I, the freeze of cold, cold snow yet we are all the same

a heart—a brain two lips and arms holding on to a warm embrace

so love me while the night is young and we have our essences sharing taste, feelings, and emotions

which tomorrow will be but foolish fantasies, memories, or dreams

of all those times—that could have been.

Three-Line Daydreams Midnight Trances

looking toward far horizons purple mountains above roaring seas a picture of nature’s harmony.

twilight kisses in someone else’s shadow are best left to fantasies.

running through yesterday’s memories you were warm in my embrace now only coldness fills the emptiness.

it used to be that I could find you playing hide-and-seek now even your essence has vanished.

there were also happy times— memories just don’t travel that far back

not in this lifetime.

fading, weakening in the sunset youth in all its splendor today wrinkles and a little fat.

Between Dreams and Reality

for a moment there I thought of ordering a requiem mass— maybe it was the silence.

the startling moments of emptiness a death chamber without candles a soundless echo in the dark

where have all the muses gone I read no ink, red or black a vacuum—a void in space

barrenness that waking moment between dreams and reality.

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singing in the rain mid-spring still gets you wet.

My First Encounter

you promised me utopia— strawberry fields and sheets of silk. opening the door I let you in large sensual lips and raven hair.

I, a knight undone by glamor you with immense dark Spanish eyes that winked of unknown pleasures and a curve to your hips.

I, virgin—beyond myself you, the mother of damnation come to make a man of me out of sweat and understanding

maturing the essence of the soul to levels yet unknown to humanity through the magnification of creation

the downing of another fool.

and to the wise of me I let you enter my domain unshackled, well embellished by time, experience, and desire.

Short and Sweet

the answer is no, not this time I’ve recovered my senses.

the shattered pieces of my broken heart have mended seamlessly.

and I am moving on without doubt into that bright tomorrow

without hesitation for I have found that there is room for only one of us.

and I choose to take that journey with an open mind

leaving the essence of us behind.

Loving Thoughts in a Harden World

does it really matter what we think what we say or what we do— will that change the world around us?

will you feed those that are hungry, build them shelter from the winter storms, or just lend a shoulder to cry on?

who will comfort that orphan child, give them good needed advice and love, make them family?

can we bring peace to hatred, bigotry; console those that are without and help show them their worth?

—not all the Masters of the Arts were rich, white, or came of privilege

we are all unique and special …

so let’s celebrate each other share our love, our needs, our dreams and become that Homo sapiens family again.

Rainbows: Where Eternity Resides

Night, in the infinite heavens— cut by a bluster of silver moonbeams before the start of our prism journey long beyond the calling of a tattered face.

Submit—no need to make a sound for they are but words in transit echoes of a wither mind blinded to the truth of everlasting colors.

Rainbows running from light to dark and back again captivating life’s senses in childhood dreams, to the end of our existence.

Rush and let us go beyond this voyage to the sun and two minutes past the moon

where eternity resides …

Weather Conditions—Swirls of Color

interesting morning overcast with signs of brilliance running down the gutters like candy.

make-believe trances that only run on black and white servicing a million-billion shades of grays in between.

yet your face is like a golden globe warming my heart and inspiring my soul.

tears … are translucent silver clear crystals from falling stars that waste away reality.

and there is God a prism—magnificent hues

enhancing each and every life.

swirling many kaleidoscopes from birth to death and brilliant explosion in between.

Having the Need but Not the Stamina

I yesterday—hours ago and I coffee this morning but what I most didn’t happen …

I thought of making it happen wet lips—a warm embrace into the twilight of forever.

a daylight trance-journey the port entry was a love note beneath last year Christmas tinsel tree.

that I didn’t open until now why? hell, I don’t know too many candy canes, maybe.

now I can’t even your face and the sound of your voice

that love that was meant to be …

forever lost in the recesses of someone else’s mind— not to be found, ever again.

Rolling Life’s Barrow over Indentations

and so the soup is on, come dance a little jig enjoy the small pleasures being offered let us walk the moon’s path this night, together …

this morning we hope for clarity though our heads are still in dreams of neverland— time to rise and take responsibility.

while we wish for a feast let us work the fields and make ready for the harvest.

tomorrow is just another promise still waiting to be fulfilled— while yesterday is but a memory.

lunching by the sea seagulls sway in harmony to nature

can you hear her calling?

tomorrows will keep coming day by day by day until our count is done.

Wisdom of a Floundering Fish

when the tides rise and fall again it’s a constant miracle of nature a work of love shared by those who witness it.

and in the beginning, my beginning for its unique for all of us, you came into my life and made the difference.

special memories are shared by us but more so by those which have felt a breaking of their hearts.

hold your head up high so that the world might know you exist and share your importance.

smiles are made for fools like me in love with love and all its emotions

starting with euphoria …

and the list goes on in no particular order one step at a time.

A Soul in Poverty

Let me scribe you a tail taller than the tallest tree and wider than the seven sea.

A tail of want and greed so few could overcome … so real and maybe true.

It starts with a pocket full of hope— a mind filled with knowledge and a broken heart without direction.

In the beginning, God created man and woman, then the snake crawl in the picture.

No more goodies— hard work for Cain and Abel

then the murder and so on …

Years later a son was born sweet and tender needing love an aura of want …

No need for names the importance was neediness— it become his craving and desire.

A sin of a sinner without direction wallowing in self-pity He picks up the quill to write the never-ending story—

of what came first the chicken or the egg or was it a turkey.

Searching for love to share his life yet not knowing what love was

and being merciful I am cutting down the length of this story by ninety percent …

with a melancholy ending death comes for us all— those knowing love or not.

In the Middle Of …

rainbows and wishing wells a fantasy begins just add a green-toed frog

and lollipops, candy canes fill up our hungry bellies ensuring childhood dreams

but most of all are those kisses and embraces that leave us in total bliss.

In Dreams

There she stands on a pedestal made of gold— diamonds I couldn’t afford not in this lifetime, anyway …

Daydream, trances composed of all my desires smooth and soft her words flowed on the evening mist.

And knowing the truth I added to my will the perfume kisses of a perfect love affair.

Come, love, awaken from your rest and let us travel through the mystic skies as you hold tight to the wishes of our dreams

while I’m try hard to stay asleep.

Where the essence of your being survives and I can love you with all my heart this faithful fantasy which from reality hides.

Sitting on a Stool of Thought

let life’s guideline take you one step before the fall and past the morning dew …

flowing gently down the hill of your tomorrows and memories of childhood tantrums

past all wants and unknown desires of which came first masturbations or an oily face.

and knowing the truth the cosmos still assemble to the left of the horizon

fried chicken comes without feathers

or brown gravy

and the night life still walks big cities’ darken streets and alleyways

promising euphoria and ending up with an enlarged penicillin shot and bill.

smile, though, there’s still tomorrow and a second thought, just make sure you don’t follow the same guideline.

Maturity - Youth

Yes, I am content to be the person who I am today with the skills, experiences, and built. I am content to live among the living and enjoy the human touch.

But in my dreams and those daytime trances my mind finds its way back to that earlier time in life when we could dance the night away

When we could share the experiences of love— intimacy for hours at a time when we shared our laughter and our tears without a care of a good-bye …

Then I wake back in the present still filled with memories that could have been and try to bring me back again

trying to make sense of the moment now.

A Broken Look—Staring Eyes

new faces in the window stare some smile, some toothless some unaware that someone’s looking back.

and if they knew those looking souls, would they wave back or walk on by without a nod or a good-bye?

can the world see through darken eyes the sky is gray during stormy nights— with thunder flashing as we look.

some are lovely, soft, and wise those bright blue eye that walk on by still staring as they laugh and cry.

others are just out of sight so we keep looking here and there

for staring eyes—that do not care.

and they keep looking through the glass that separates us all, still unaware that we are staring back …

Love’s Nightmare

In a dream, a fantasy, I visualize your face beckoning me with wet kisses and a warm embrace only then do I hear good-bye.

Home—Under the Chicken Coop

I acknowledge the fact that life is real The act that we travel in and out— the upside-down and all about …

that there’s hurt and all the glory the tears—there’s laughter too, why it’s hard to get it right, though many of us do.

there are kisses and sweet tenderness embraces that were warm and true though there still good-byes that bring a tear or two.

we know that the sun gives life the moon watches over this earth and we are a community of one

home is where the heart is the here and there of this good earth

even underneath the chicken coop …

Over the Edge and Through the Forest of Chaos—Will We Ever Learn

dreaming, affirmations—acquiescing with doubt acceptance that the moon is red or has a blushing man in its face.

reluctantly, walking across the barren seas sprinkled by the thirsty sandman— the moment the fantasy began.

standing in the middle of never while traveling on stormy clouds digging up falsehoods—flying with Peter Pan.

roaming across the Milky Way singing, swing high sweet chariot will you ever carry us home.

but in the end of this nightmare’s trance the boogieman smiles with sharp teeth

eating frog legs with kidney pie.

and chaos is ruling the status quo over the edge of who-cares-less and/or flying during a hemorrhoid tempest.

Anxious to Go with No Destination

around and around the mulberry bush I stole a kiss and a promise one, we never kept.

we’ll slip away to San Francisco count her many hills, riding the cable cars and ending in each other’s arms.

what is it that directs birds knowing where to go, nest and the time of year while we can’t find our nose despite on face.

eager to please we smile our friendly smiles while craving solitude.

give me hope about tomorrow and I will do my best

to share those hopes with you.

never let the wrong side of an apple pie hit the floor while your dog is on the loose.

While the Night Is Cool, I’ll Catch a Few Daydreams for Tomorrow …

let the sun sleep in and the hourglass stop—and let me dream dreams of huckleberry-raspberry pie.

in a trance, I visualize your face beckoning me with kisses and embraces and then I hear good-bye.

old souls still dance to the music of life we just dance a little slower one dance at a time.

let us share humanity together through all the days that are yet to come in peace and harmony.

hopscotch and lollipops are what children’s dreams are made of—

hope and love their sustenance.

if I could share one thing with you it would be knowledge, understanding— opening the world and making it anew.

My Left Foot over My Head and Rain Is Forecast

went fishing when I should have been working fell asleep in the noon sun— as July is a bad time for mosquitos.

what a mess when one lies forgetting the start of the fable— the frog prince always get stuck in your throat.

not to mention that fairy tales won’t hide the pain, when one pilfers a slice of pie—that’s going to the church social.

and as I have said, sins may be sins but a hidden kiss in the rectory is a no-no and will get you ten to twenty.

did you know that purgatory is full of left-footed men, women that like to kiss—

this is your last warning!

Dali’s Ship

Sailing on a ship of fools tormented by a roaring sea is an achievement by itself.

Separating into moments of control— the here and now versus into the yet to come— exhilarating …

Abstracts and metaphors running in different direction does not a pretty picture make

But the Dali tranced in a kaleidoscope of medium presents his masterpiece.

A wonderment of thoughts created to simulate the eyes

and refresh the mind.

An August Child

on a gray August morning— I climb the shadowed hills of tombstones as the wind blows the stormy clouds

a fitting setting—in retrospect of seventy-five years of leaning, teaching this old id to come to …

and what is it I’ve learned— the sky is blue, my heart is red yet I need more to fill my life.

a happy smile, a warm embrace two kisses in the shadows and I’m beyond myself in bliss

and what is August, you may ask … a month of lions, peridot

greens and browns to fit our fancy

soft warm day turning into a harvest of elegance tree turning into kaleidoscopes of color

my month a loving month my reason for existing.

The Moment All Hell Breaks Lose

doesn’t matter if the sun is out the rain falls, quenching the earth below and then the floods …

or a picnic in a San Francisco park on an autumn’s day the ground trembles with destruction.

and on a Christmas Eve while shopping for Grandma you get held up by some cheap drunk.

and the world continues on her merry way rotating around every twenty-four hours— but then that moment returns …

a fire in a twenty-story building people hanging out their windows

and then a baby’s drop …

a little girl is playing with her friend gets lost in a crowd then finds her face on a milk container.

or happily going to work on a cold winter’s stormy day you lose your job due to downsizing.

yet there are other moments and the smiles return the baby’s save. a cure is found a mother gives birth and taxes are cut.

your mate says yes sweet kisses in the shadows life is good again.

yet we’ll never know what wrong or right on any moment for anything or all could change.

Abstract Metaphors in a Land of Reality

sun rise—silent crescent moon the cat’s in heat shoes go flying through the window.

feel me with affection, her cry fill me, in my need to reproduce litters to keep life’s vermin in check.

and aren’t we like the felines stubborn, moody, self-sufficient needing affection, only when desired.

sunset, the evening walk and there’s man’s best friend walking by our side—devoted

wagging his tail wanting to run through the field

eyes open and aware of all …

smart, patient, forgiving like the best half of ourselves with eyes on the future …

always looking, wanting, needing what we cannot have, in spite of ourselves, the music plays

our minds wander … our feet skip to the rhythm of infinity trying to find the end of existence.

Just Say Hello

Do you see me sitting, wondering who and what I am— am I someone else’s brother, or do I even have a friend?

Of me—there are so many in a world within a world not knowing what we’re doing or if we have a home.

My pockets were full of money back in my younger days and I smiled a lot back then with my family and friends.

I went to work one morning and the nation called me to war fighting days to midnights

how the blood was flowing then.

And the killing never ended from age one to one hundred and five legs—those limbs were everywhere a face, a mouth, a tongue.

I never quite got over where the blood ran just like rain and the smiles were burned away from the bombing, guns and pain.

I’m still not over reaching I have nowhere to go my pockets are still empty I’ve even lost my soul.

So if you see me sitting, don’t wonder who I am—just smile and say hello. I’m still alive, and help me if you can.

The Pictures that I’ve Seen

Through many books both near and far the world has always been of fireworks that split the earth the mountains and the seas.

I’ve read the pages—turn to gold the trees of evergreen and people in their many shades that speak of different dreams.

And though my hands might never touch those valleys nor those streams my head is full of wonderment for pictures that I’ve seen.

The pictures that I’ve seen.

Mad, Mad Heart of Glass

From the breaking of the mirror to the drinking of the wine, there’s no question that you’re thinking it all falls in the sublime …

Let your arms stretch put in pleasure and your lips riddle a rhyme and our lust will last for hours taking time is not a crime.

What be your hopes this evening? Are we looking for something new or just the twisting of your heart strings below this harvest moon?

Shall we start with a broken—something or workup the pain to match all those fantasies you harbor

in your mad, mad heart of glass?

Broken Again

Thirty years have come and gone, oh, so very briefly … and what happiness we shared won’t be forgotten easily.

There’s not much to say today, it hurts much to , yet in the sleepless nights I share, there’s joy in reminiscing.

You left this heart empty, you see, with no way of mending, yet there still are wondrous moments when I still feel your nearness.

I long to have you back again and to hold you, oh, so tightly, but since that can never be,

I’ll wait to catch you smiling.

Wagging Tails Do Bite

do not let a smile fool you into compliance think before stepping out on a thin limb— the fall could kill you.

words have no more wisdom then the man behind them or how they are taken …

let me make a feast of your continent traveling your essence by day or night promising love and equality.

walking life’s tight rope we manage to mask our intentions while treading lightly on quicksand.

night, an advantageous, faithful time marches to the thunder of winter’s storm

while the hearth warms our hearts in thanksgiving

the taste of a granny apple as summer matures bring back memories of the dogs that bite and fenced in orchards.

it’s autumn once again the harvest of upon us what rich rewards God imparts …

mastering the thrill of make-believe you are always present and willing to accept my hand and kiss.

old dogs like old men like to nap in the afternoon and dream of the youth they left behind.

This Morning’s Upchuck

waking to the news of that raspy voice— I plugged my ears

it has been raining almost two weeks straight call a fairy

a big appointment— tomorrow buying my plot

always knew—but never in a month of Sundays, it would happen now

Trump’s in love with younger Korean man

what’s that called?

let’s bring levity to this sad world of ours repeat elections

on a good day you can see forever but not today

I want to sing— share the music in my heart but no one’s listening

on this day or any other day a smile might catch you

let’s make today a joyous day catch a young frog

traditional haiku soup with seventeen ingredients

a cluster of pine needles under the snow rot

her shade of lipstick on my collar won’t come out

Tooley fog when one is drunk can be hazardous

let me say good-bye with just a smile—it’s coming from my heart

no work

and all play will keep you broke

Strength/Knowledge to Be Humble

I’m here, Lord, waiting in the wind—Your servant … let me hear Your voice I’ll follow Your commands—Your will

Or have You given those instruction long ago—for me to execute today? Written in your great book—or stated in Your commandments.

Give me the strength and knowledge to be humble to know without having to ask, to feed the hungry with not only food but also my love through You.

To give to those who thirst water and Your blessings that they may know You and show those in sin forgiveness

as we ask forgiveness for our sins.

I’m here, Lord, Your servant. Back me, Lord, so that I do not fail You and, in turn, receive Your blessings.

Failing to Produce

Decided to kill my muse for lack of a return— she had the choice but couldn’t put it together …

Actually, she didn’t care enough, for one more try.

It would have been easier to pull her head out of her rear, long enough to write “The Star-Spangled Banner”

Marching up San Juan Hill down Cuba’s rice and beans

Couldn’t even come up with a haiku

marching through the snow on silent night

Santa Claus feeding his lackluster reindeer on the roof

No need to continue, though, with my confession … the quill has left me for a swim in neverland

the paper for a pile of rages

Maybe a change in professions would be in order, but I don’t give up easily when all around still sleep

sugar plum fairies are climbing the walls and I wrote this masterpiece, without her.

Another Day, Another Thought

I still feel the love, I felt in the beginning maybe more

as memories never die they just fade away

let’s go around the circus ground pop goes the weasel

another childhood chance at hide-and-seek

when we grow up—we’ll climb the corporate latter to chair

or be sent back down to mail clerk

still don’t know my own direction or how long I have

I’ll just have to take my time and sing a little in the rain

no more waste of time the quill keeps moving on parchment paper

for all the world to read absorbing the quote or not

let’s share a song you play at words right to left

I’ll sing the tune and harmonize

where is the hearing aid it’s Sunday morning—can’t hear myself read the funnies

fried chicken on the stove hammering the mash potatoes

and Monday comes again leaving the weekend far behind in wonderland

fairy tales and bright red dragons turn to twirl a tango

Searching for My Lost Mind under a Hunter’s Moon

it was there that I lost it that thought, that would carry me to stardom under the willow tree, swaying with the breeze.

those magic works that would transport me to the edge of never, riding on my quill— feathers brushing the stagnant air of reality.

but I can wait for my muse to get her act together and help me stay my noble course.

that’s my task for the day three-line poems of five or more stanzas true to the emotions that I feel.

not just words but moving pictures of a life

that no one wanted and I took carelessly.

for want of a better existence with friend poets of my mind— Frost and Poe.

Crawling Down the Spineless Back of an Amoeba

flying without a care between a living life and silent death like an amoeba searching for an unknown.

a floating mind gambling on treasures yet to be realized waiting for codes—multiple dimensions.

here and there we run separating thoughts and actions as not to confuse the quill …

and where the sky meets the roaring sea a copulation of sensual pleasures between a sharp motion and rest.

reflections of the good old days versus the fat sluggishness of now—

comprehension found in red/blue pills.

where fantasies like butterflies emerge from their cocoons— bringing delight to fools who love and bleed

under the cover of a celestial night our dreams are fixed on thoughts waiting for a time of maturity.

while running for our lives behind the shadows of an early spring and before the eyes of March.

down the back of an amoeba flowing in midair like sandcastles stopping an angry sea.

Fighting the Enemy and It’s Me

even in the morning just before the light of day the fight starts, trying to stay in bed.

sitting in my spot quill in hand and pleading softly I need a thought …

my arguments with me are world wars my stubbornness fighting itself draws all my energy.

disputes between the morning and the night pointless quarrels—contentions make me wonder why I just don’t divorce myself.

pitting one thought against another the title of the book I’m writing

nothing come easily.

and that is why I’m my worst adversary— nemesis …

Running Through a Pack of Sundays

another day, another dollar—doesn’t pay the rent, but makes the time go by— last checked; ten more years were added.

foolish dreams, thinking we could beat time dancing ourselves into infinity under the cloak of youth—how asinine.

Grandmother’s smile and tender hands— a sharp contrast to the porcelain teeth on the table, but that didn’t matter.

Grandpa seldom smiled— he would slap us with one hand and/or reward us with the other.

vagabond feet each night would find me far from home

searching desperately for …

Sunday mass and family dinners filled many memories and stories what lies we would tell …

Hail Are the Tears of a Broken Man

do not wallow in disappointment have the nerve to try again tomorrow will bring new horizons.

under life’s bridge, sometimes trolls boldly congregate— obstructing one’s progress.

breaking up confusion— the sun breaks through the clouds no rain in the forecast.

the tears have dried and a smile is working its way back the pretense of a broken man.

so that the day is not a waste open up my heart

and let someone in …

conditions are made for fools that can’t see beyond the horizon and find pleasure in stagnation.

we create our own storms questioning the facts before us.

the climax of a long wonderous day climbing mountains, swimming the seas— is to sleep by your side—what euphoria …

like a masterpiece in pastels an April night’s twilight— bridges two heart into one.

Sundays bright and free a rest after church’s tribulations needing to be forgiven—weekly.

I start to go back home, nightly within dreams-wonderous trances— to the green fields and country folk.

silently we wait, having no choice for the freedom that awaits us all— that journey beyond the vail.

smiling doesn’t make the problem vanish during the winter storm it just makes it easier to manage.

Returning Back to the Beginning after a Night in the Cold.

take me back, my tears screamed knowing that the clock would strike—farewell never to return, feast or famine.

the shared moment of a hello seem so much more special now, that I have gotten you know you.

common moments— repeated kisses and embraces in this love affair, are treasures …

cont at the hip and mind— there is not a day that I don’t feel your love.

horizons are our footpaths— twilight our cover and stars our guiding light

in these moments of bliss.

warm summer days and cold freezing nights—all have their propose in the joy of living.

don’t except me to surrender to your will— but share as equals, life’s experiences.

I have learned to enjoy the moment and have saved some good times for those that are not so good.

trying to trap a thought into an experience doesn’t seem to work at this age.

Alice doesn’t live here anymore her life in wonderland is now filled with blue and red little pills.

I love fantasies the make believe of happy times— illusion of a broken man.

when living in the moment we learn to create fantasies we can control.

Revolving Doors—Silent Wind

a ionate sigh— desired collaboration love’s first attempt

if I kiss you will you loop it back— love’s harmony

when I was young love’s revolving door flowed on and on …

I you— Jerry, Alice, Carmela, John, and so many more …

the winter winds blow cold—your arms increase

my body warmth

your scent your eyes and lips I want them all

On a High-Swinging Swing, You Can Touch Pluto

my dreams are free to fly to wherever they feel most at home and they return full of thanksgiving

may all that is seen and unseen travel with you and not against your destiny

negative thoughts—mosquito bites, a sharp fall on a bed of roses muddy footsteps in the rain …

no strings attached said the puppet to the puppeteer finding himself immobile

laughter is as laughter does when the joke is on the other foot

and not up your backside

let us climb mountains you and I swim the seven seas of hope in our togetherness

extend your hand in friendship for we are not alone in this boundless ocean of a universe

if we were to travel the heavens for many years would Pluto still be there?

Meeting Myself in a Broken Mirror

you can’t always believe a broken heart either in the light of day or silence of an empty night

feelings are emotions brought on by painful tears—torn down walls leading to loneliness-distress

facing infinity in a mirror takes too much energy for the human heart to withstand

we sometimes walk around blind while trying to disbelieve the true in the permanence of a good-bye

love will heal a broken heart a damaged crystal mirror

is another story

an empty nest need not be lonely when one extends a willing hand and finds acceptance waiting

we laugh while still crying finding ourselves in disbelief that no one is accepting the facade

outwardly we smile masking our intend to strike the moment of acceptance

we might love in an upside-down world while walking on our hands—nothing matters if our hearts are in the right place

being open to the world I find acceptance and denials what matters is that I’m free and open

we must all come to the understanding that our life is ours and not a plaything for someone else

Seasonal Haiku 2019 - 001

memories of spring peaceful tombstones covered hills echoes left resting

Finishing the End of a New Beginning

traveling from a silent start and finding an eclipse partly obscuring my ending

and who’s to say the wrong or right of it when we can’t even find the bottom …

wishing on tomorrow will bring you nothing here day except for an empty stomach

the wishing well is out of order in disrepair— the caretaker wished his life away

striking a pose the sandman managed a smile

into the wildest of dreams

concealed in the mist two ducks, one chicken, and a goat ing the good old days …

a mistletoe, a broken heart and you food to fatten the swine for the new year …

from here to there is not the same as from there to here under the hunter’s moon

and the eclipse ended without a cry and whimper over a lover’s path

antiquity bestowed to many us the greeting of hello and agony of goodbye

reciting mantras gave the illusions of an avatar holding up the blue heavens

deleting the picture of you and me was as swift as a jackrabbit hiding in his burrow during the spring feast

a false start to a new beginning ended with a single tear …

Tomorrow May Never Come, But We Still Have Today …

you’ll never find what you’re looking for—if you don’t know what it is …

if you are not sure if you’re in love— you’re not

stop fantasizing laughter and/or tears last only a short time

love me now while the moment last—there may never be another

two bands of gold … are not crucial to make

a perfect union

make a music loop— love me while it lasts and let it play forever

lies reappear again and again until corrected

don’t fell in love if you’re not sure that there’s a catcher

abandoned chapel nuptials forgotten— now silent, empty

a four-leaf clover might not always be lucky on Valentine’s day

a mild argument can turn a spring shower into a tempest

the summer’s gone along with spring dreams of an April love

kiss me again and throw another for tomorrow lest we forget today …

Senryu 2019 - 0332

soft grieving echoes— heard beyond the old willows speak of a lost love …

Taking a Tip from the Sandman

too many thoughts fail to produce this day’s humble haiku

sandman’s wonderland— love’s kisses and embraces and did I say …

dreams are made for those who have the hearts and minds of youth

sitting in a trance somewhere between here and there I found you

far from nightmares kisses warm the twilight mist

of our love feast

a gust of laughter can produce lullabies for a weary soul

your whispered goodbye did not surprise me— don’t forget the door

under the sheets hints of excitement—whispers of forget-me-nots

slow dance—weaving between the nightmare-trance and your lips

new millennium and I’m not finished—yet with my old dreams

a hot-steaming bedroom the rise and fall of a teacup tempest

your phone number smudged by the rain what a nightmare

note from the sandman don’t forget to leave a tip— twenty percent is customary

Raindrops, Floods, and Misdemeanors

spring rain an early hail storm … holey umbrellas

forgetting to say I love you— a major offense

brilliant rainbows like colorful kaleidoscopes bring glad tidings

drowning in grief from our many lies truth, our lifesaver

memories can flood an eager mind searching

beyond loneliness

mist in the morning produce spring flowers— a promise made

tropical nights bring warm soft showers in between kisses

the cycle of life soft tender spring rain—new births replacing old …

teardrops waste away our deepest sins—leaving the soul in harmony

April rain— a heart in love does not pause

the chameleon changes blue to gray during a rainy storm

at the graveyard during a light rain services are held …

a shift in the wind causes the rain to fall vertically

Upper Half of the Bottom

tranquil winds causes powder snow to fall— naked trees

hide and seek the puppeteer moves his hand— nimble fingers

shadows fall while lightning bugs play riding night’s breezes

children wake to the whiteness of the snow Christmas morning

a kaleidoscope— many thoughts have exploded

during this scribing

Sunday’s Blessings

have we failed to give God’s much of our time—always looking for handouts …

blessings, our lifeline seem appreciated only when we are in need

my God’s haiku full of love full of sharing

spring brings the message renewal of this earth— everlasting love

family a unit of one

humanity

let the mind wonder set your spirit free—rejoice in God’s creations

love one another as I love you— how simple …

if we could be as infants in love and trust— a marvelous world …

Sunday’s blessings O Lord, make us worthy!

A Kaleidoscope of Emotions—Thrills

another day of peace-tranquility we are together

taking the next step will thrill your mind and make a vagabond of you

never stop grasping for the truth—enjoy your achievements

happiness— writing the perfect haiku on your first try

flying falcons playing a game of tag

over their domain

on Memorial Days hundreds of plastic flowers sacrilege

at the graveyard silent willows stand guard

under the crescent moon God’s nightlight— humanity sleeps

this too will — your broken heart is just a little bruised

the sound of this rain warm and soft as it is brings back memories

I’m tired of crying drowning in self-pity spent …

an abandoned church where sheet music brought song lies silent in decay

two roads and Frost entered the yellow woods and penned my difference

Waiting on the Downward Swing

homeward bound after so many years the prodigal son

a lunar moth flies off to catch a mate— leaves his cocoon

we who celebrate deep secrets and shadows— thrive in the night

wanting to share a life I search for kindred spirits in the mist of chaos

in angry moments— the autumn storm blow leaves

through the rusty gate

pandemonium a heart not willing to accept good-bye

accepting the truth will dissipate the ugly storm brewing in one’s heart

in search of happiness nothing seems to work but honest candor

you promised me a fall harvest after the field was plodded

my mind-set on fire by memories of what could have been

never slept so well as with dreams of you hand in hand

a full moon on an empty lover’s path tragic

April showers spring’s light rain positively euphoric

Sitting Inside My Head—Visiting the Id

taking in the moment as life es— assembly needed …

corridors of dreams hoping for another outcome beyond the toss of time

clear crystal tears a moment of action and then a smile

sitting at the top traveling in the clouds a fool at play

an abstract world where one and one make three—

dangerous thoughts

tomorrow, our second day after today’s fantasies— painted in colors

reminiscing … indelible impressions can be refaced

your essence set on fire by words bring me warmth

let us make a picnic of this gorgeous day and share each other

we’ll climb the hills many horizons—till we fine our way home

playing hide-and-seek in the tall grass—I’ll make a feast of you

know that you are my only reason for existing

Fishing in a Crystal Fishbowl

a swish of the quill transforms thoughts into brilliant genus

best of class—money moguls, politicians, or good Samaritans …

into the night searching for love can be dangerous

across the street I had a friend—the house is now vacant

haiku workshop seventeen syllables

some prefer less

a winter storm she told no one good-bye

reading the message that you left—needed no explanation

holding you when we were young— I still

once I faced myself I came to with imperfection

one-by-one, city lights turn off—like so many stars at dawn

frog melodies serenade the lotus’s beauty under a hunter’s moon

kaleidoscopes— colors merging in spring God’s blessed canvas

New Beginning Follows a Fall …

start this day with an open mind like children at play

modern haiku displaying the moment without total decorum

writing love letters should bear thanksgivings not clemency

rituals come from old habits— find alternatives

this New Year’s Eve I never got a kiss

nor shared your smile

this stunning sunrise— a long guitarist strums the flamingo

winter’s cold winds playing in this wonderland—freezes warm memories

the climb to the top of the graveyard hill keeps getting longer

first drop of dew touches my craving lips and I’m still waiting

Sunday reading the paper in an empty room

time for a new start greet the dawn with a smile

a smile in your heart will keep loneliness away making room for new …

Sitting on an Acorn under a Hunter’s Moon

let your thoughts soar cut all your limitations fulfill your purpose …

from winter’s dormancy awakens the gentle spring the cycle of life

your smile in my time of need has shown your worth

within the night moonbeams play among the stars light our way, forward …

a full moon dark stormy skies—

kisses in the rain

warm summer’s day the koi battle for mosquito larva

Red-White-Blue Fourth Haiku

freedom red blood pours like sweat from fighting men

purity of white the hearts of lotus raise from muddy battlefields

a sparkling blue sky the bald eagle flies above this Fourth of July

This Time Is Ours

don’t let time by without making your mark— we are all crucial …

time between the fall of apple blossoms—a million memories

rushing across sand footsteps search for times when we were young

an afternoon storm rushes through the cornfield dangerous puddles

a tender word can make the difference

between success or not

whistle stops ing train rides— a bald eager

autumn colors the smell of oak burning— fresh apple pie

time has not changed the fact that death comes like a thief in the night

Memorial Day those that gave their lives … did they die in vain?

we were never meant to be alone— where have you gone?

you have the answers to all your questions— just stop and reflect

the morning speaks and when I listen what wonders she reveals

Tomorrow Is Not, Just Another Day

woke up this morning not feeling myself—I look to mimic another …

an estate sale— a small gold cross a lover’s gift

I am strong/loving for you entered my life and gave me purpose

working my garden— memories bloom among the beautiful flowers

flowers in hand an old man visits his love

at the graveyard

as the hills fade shadows move with the sun echoes of love

a new king-size bed— we search for new ways to fill the void …

A Baker’s Dozen II

raptor’s nest rest on the Golden Gate— fortune cookies

counting the miles— distance is an illusion you’re in my heart

the gentle breeze has ceased this spring night— blossoms are at rest

scrapyards full of waste hide long-lost love letters— them …

San Francisco winds travel her many hills

up, down, and up

footsteps in the sand remind me of the love we once shared

one more day—another step toward my city painted ladies

it’s time we demand human right for all our people

the old fisherman mends his nets after the fall storm

butterfly shadows fly the warm spring breezes searching for love

another quiet day my quill in hand waiting for a thought …

sermons on Sunday a time for family we ask Your blessings …

winter memories— are close to be forgotten except for the mistletoe

Could It Be …

could it be that they can’t see the glory in that mirror—there and muscles on muscles everywhere …

I stand on top of the Oscar stairs and fly my flaming eye around seeing the little people on the ground waiting for a smile from me …

And wonder how I’ve got to me that greatest of men—for the world to see and then I open them again and wake from my fantasy …

Knowing I that I’m no way like that but if I dream—no sense being who I am if my dreams can make me king

then I’ll just live in this special trance.

The Sum of You and Me

you’ve heard me before running through last night’s rehearsal mind drifting in a roaring tempest of thoughts.

where are we now, what does it matter, and when will the bill become due?

questions we fail to ask ourselves at any moment of the day or night while thinking we’re all that.

and does it matter that we keep our journey close at hand and secret?

smiling with a melancholy heart and vengeful soul

searching for the upper hand …

or do our loins take charge moving to the rhythm of a tango as flamingos blush?

listening to my heart’s desire of will I make it through the night in my altogether with a shoeless foot.

or am I destined to fall in between the cracks of my salvation full of fury and unknown desires?

come now, let us write the story of perfection—beauty beyond the righteousness of men.

take a step with me for I am miserable, despondent, when traveling along.

and I need the softness of your touch around my waist, full circle your lips upon my brow.

writing in our ion to the sounds of sweat, tears, and laughter— as we take communion from each other.

Bringing this day and night into completion—well satisfied and making ready for those tomorrow

yet to come …

Minutes ed/Lost

antiquated now the north wind, pierces my bones— thoughts of you …

his love song still resonates through the years

a blade— the winter winds slice through an empty heart

seeking shadows— I travel the graveyards searching for what could have been …

the color azure blue paints the skies—remembrances

of a promise made …

a warm fall night the hunter’s moon waiting for a kill

his absence— in my hands warm crystal tears

in our home a mouse plays with empty space

negative space the empty house now stand in complete silence

five years now I’m still waiting to be by your side

an early spring rain falls from my tired eyes yet I remain waiting …

his name, his life ed in this empty heart

knowing my many years is a good sign— but where will I find you?

Haiku 2019-20A

in this empty space waiting for spring to waken time seems eternal

Bizarre Mondays

twenty-one not sure how I feel— what to do first …

drawing the line between the merging sea and sky an eagle in flight

his first kite flying on the summer winds thunderous excitement

the first crocus a bit of blue peeking through the snow

Tooley fog playing hide-and-seek

with myself

street walkers—off a badly lit rainy alley call it a night

an attic chest heavy with memories sits silently away …

here we are again wanting to be right— have invented lies

after a lifetime I your face— a tombstone in shadows

blue skies—green forest each have a beginning and an end

white cherry blossoms I make plans for my ashes— flying in the wind

creating another god you rewrite the Torah just to fit your fancy …

Rain

December rains are but a waste and messy while rains in spring open up our heart’s desire fantasies—daydream trances

And off we go hand in hand skipping through the roses red as blood, not white … the rabbit’s white, and what a timepiece he holds—yet he’s always late

The queen sits on your throne eating away her guilt watching the rain fall and rainbow skies out in the open while kaleidoscopes blending the colors of a summer’s day

and wonderland continues in story books and fairy tales— winter is on the move again bringing in cold breezes and rainwater turned to ice.

Good-Bad Moments

Despair, this earthly friend that marches through the hills in jest mockingly swaying to the music of an eternal night of bliss never-ending …

and then your touch cold as ice yet melts my heart into the writing of this epic while Carmen sings—a two-step minuet disting the speed of time

My fears resting on the moon a red hunter’s moon where Cupid sits with broken arrows his aim not quite as sharp in the silence of his old age.

and should I care? I think not … moments come and moments go sometimes run in circles and despair finally meets joy a fitting end to all that good in life.

Lies

Lying—I look at them … not searching for a prince nor princess I my time alone, though either could still save me from myself.

Day-to-Day Night

a vivid life just outside my grasp I hide in shadows

trembling geese flow the length of my skin bumps on winter snow

reflections return freezing waters—mirrors another life

waking mornings the eastern winds blow the leaves to gossip

finding a gentler side a heart in love

hides in the open

Recycled

wakening to the dawn night terrors flee— the guardian sun

sharing his warmth brings birth to spring numerous rainbows

the cycle of life rotating spheres we are renewed

Forbidden Fruit

My name is red I live it, feel it share my strong emotions …

Let me flow within you did I say love—every bite of me as intense as the forbidden fruit.

Sweet Memories

memories, many of which seem to have merged— need time to heal

words describe emotions emotions-actions what a mess …

a tear and smile went to sleep—a stormy night the smile faded …

sing of the joy and sing of the explosion in our hearts

within mixed company pleasantries—you scratch my back

I’ll smile awhile

no memory of last night … too drunk to drive

a dozen months of Sundays all come up clean and dry today a storm …

the trail of tears— your house to mine have dried

hide and seek the honey bee waits for flower to open

even in church, I sin with thoughts of you— most damming

back to nature … picking the roses while still feeling their thorns

want to ring my bell— just put your lips together and whistle

rainy days even rainbow umbrellas will keep you dry

a cold chill climbs up my backbone from my bare feet

laughter merges with tears at the grave site— reminiscing

quiet afternoon soft falling waterdrops shootout— turned-on springer

incoming sea tides abandon memories still return

on the wet seashore imprints remain—for waves to wash away

I hoped that in time— somewhere after my travels— we would meet again

your eyes set afire the evening tide—reflecting this summer’s sunset

I know your body—

the curves, mounts, each share my fingerprints

children soak themselves on hot New York summer days around fire hydrants

I call it failure to communicate when your lips turn away

I love you after the sun sets, and only your scent is present

the bullfrog re where the flies gather after a summer storm

to read haiku sit in silence—

with an open mind

whatever worries you may have, I’m still here …

a green thumb a little water paradise

we need to save our memories for when we are alone

babies cry in cribs wanting to be held— I cry in silence

spending the evening counting stars and making wishes

disappointments I’ll live in private— loves I want to share

Tweaking the White Rice—Black

a new book— being prepared for publication thoughts of the infinite

in instead of out will make the difference in the up and down

in love with light the lunar moth greedily kisses the flame

the mockingbird mimicking other’s song sings loudly

behind sunglasses she hides her tears

at the interment

guppies in the lily pond share their mosquito feast with dragonflies

the weather vane creaks greeting the winter storm— dances in its axis

twilight, taking day into night—a playground for lightning bugs

under the sunflowers Van Gogh feeding his parrot Polly seeds

left to the wind autumn leaves—covering the path home

the rooster’s comb redder then the tulips— white chrysanthemums

playing the piano black and white keyboard out of tune

drops of rain fell, made their way to the ocean, consumed by the tides

astir the willow’s branches—flow to the rhythm of spring breezes

midday early spring searching for simplicity haiku comes to mind

around your zone many arms long to secure a foothold …

when we were young, we played at house—now all we play is us

a place for meditation next to the lotus pond— God and reality

icicles off the roof cast diamond shadows—on a blanket of snow

come near … I want to know you—so you can know me too

squirrels stealing bird

seeds—travel on hot wires above my window

a dogwood bent from the constant winds—superb in its shape and vigor

the day ends twilight starts its play with the hooting owl

the funeral march through fields of flowers— rolling hills of peace …

Haiku 2019 - 0329

hidden from the light and cloaked within memories I pen these words

Making a Point

Morning walks on my San Francisco hills exhilarating

going back home to my city by the bay— a wayward child

hiding from the dawn her partial smile warms lover’s hearts— calms the stormy seas

early morning breezes softly stir the warm spring air— crystal leaded chimes

wispy moving clouds pastels in heaven—

Monet’s sunsets

a small blue bench in Central Park sit empty wanting memories …

in your eyes— longings for lost friend-family we will them soon

after Beethoven notes crash—turn unto words a murky tempest

the flurry of spring joyous fresh love and new lives— defective pollen

under the Tuscan moon— David on parade

gourmet delight eating in San Francisco— five-star cuisine

abc soups alphabetically cooked without a period

a solitary leaf refuses to fall gracefully waiting for the tempest

the bitter wind moves the sunset clouds watercolor dreams

the empty elevator could care less of life’s ups and downs

the house plants, dead she left last week dirty dishes

the smoking Indian— wooden heart is dying of bug infestation

gushing winds open the gutter ways of the old haunted mansion

another frog joke— why did the frog jump the road? big fat gourmet flies

ing—how we laughed in our youth, the priest closed the casket

yes is the answer

to all your questions— throwing in a maybe

while the old mansion has been abandoned for years, shadows still linger

forget-me-nots bring in a load of blue— remembrances

night bring the answer will we share the bed or not …

Haiku 2019 - 0117

the queen bee is all spare no energy-effort— nor an obstacle

The Quill, My Muse—Friends

please say hello and smile awhile— make my day

smells from the kitchen overwhelms our senses a good night’s sleep

giant lunar moths extending their fragile wings— play at the flame

only in the woods does the beaver listen for a tree to fall

clumps of white lilies over my coffin—

a final good-bye

my quill’s rise and fall are but emotions of an inner struggle

what we need in life is not found within ourselves but from extended hands

an endless night— I’ve lost my sleep and count the minutes—one, two, three

some nights are nothing, while others inundate our psyche

on the lotus pond a micro world of inserts miniature lifecycles

conversations fill our nights, thunder too adds to the music …

where we’re going is unknown—life’s still a mystery

children amuse themselves with little—adults look on in envy

over piles of words we sometimes stumble— for an answer

the clock runs down our minds—forget-me-nots we fade away …

please play for me your dreams of love— on your steel guitar

I wish I had corrected all the wrongs after each sin

not enough midnights in our lives nor twilights to get us there

I found myself sitting alone, wondering—till a stranger held out his hand

we need to live for something other than ourselves— words of love

elusive dreams

find their way into our minds— sometimes even smiles

we ride the day as if on a racetrack—missing life’s many wonders

after our joyous day out in nature’s spring, I’ll take you home

a wish for boys— windy hills to fly their kites of every size and color

racing with the sun I through my days in wonder

a meadow walk— down by the pond a bull, honey bee

excite without envy

on an incense stick some of us pay homage to the dead

a bigot’s sign down by the road whites only

stupidity calls to mind hate, ignorance

a bottle of wine soft flowing music heavenly

frogs in the mist searching for insects music of the night

a tree, a gardener shaping the bonsai one leaf at a time.

Turning the Page

winter’s tears have dried while clouds have blown away leaving an early spring

a dark sky covered by a murder of crows— scarecrows strike

a fishing trip where everyone wins a neon nightclub

an artist’s brush across a naked canvas starry, starry nights

an artist’s brush onto the cotton fiber

self-portrait

a kaleidoscope of broken glass—shines richer than a diamond

footsteps on the beach I walk alone—your image on my mind

Mother, don’t cry— the road I taken, only I can travel

the peonies so white, so pure—await the sun’s first kiss

the heron waits through the Tooley fog for the sound of frogs

take my hand we’ll walk the darkened night together

I want to be the perfect knight from fairy tales of old …

here I am in the mist of loneliness discovering me

mountain’s silence hide— pathways among the redwoods a hunter’s moon

traditional meeting— touch me only with your eyes first impressions …

a chameleon in nakedness I’ve become changing with venues

running on the rails— a midnight train through Tulsa on a dream home

moments of laughter reawaken our spirits— Dad’s funeral

my younger years were spent in depravity wicked indulgences

a glutton wanting to taste all … I ended up alone

Party time

Too drunk to rise the flag pole to full staff …

a spring mosquito playing its part bites me in the neck

in the deep woods the north wind— talking to the pines

the sun declines—the end of an imperfect day crabgrass in the lawn

a hunter’s moon—the wolves’ echoes pay homage through the night

writing a thought— elongates a sentence

three lines a ku …

focus on us— the you and me of existence is where I need to be

coffee in the morning— climbing one mountain at a time

don’t rush time stay young open up your mind

swinging on the porch in the twilight lightning bugs

it takes me time to fully awake from dreams of you

the sun is at its zenith the golden orb dispenses life.

Never Again—Maybe …

I don’t when I stopped calling— you left years before

I could have had it— all of it—and much more if you had stayed …

reflecting mirrors of regrets—I see on all reflecting plains

talk to the hand my ears are tired of hearing NO

some people need words to nourish love—

you are enough for me

your body—inviting couldn’t have asked for more your lips, liars …

I knew your face A clear dream imprinted on my psyche

this you-and-me thing— a perfect ing— this you-and-me thing

fantasies are all around here, now, and ever after— imagery-insanity

when did we stop the inner laughter—the glue that kept us close?

I’m so full of you that I forgot to ask about your needs …

the way we sleep in perfect harmony right to left to right

while trying to heal, I completely forgot I was not alone …

I am blessed among many men—for you made room for me

in my notebook scribed between here and there us

stopping to rest after our night of debauchery the Milky Way

at the drugstore— beauty for sale on a counter ten-percent discount

I long for spring while still enjoying winter’s wonderland

forgotten and loved and forgotten again a life cycle

I write of shadows and feel them on my bed draining my life’s force

another stab—being the martyr

no fifteen minutes left

you snap the whip wanting submission— not today, love

no hands needed today after many years—we hold each other with our eyes

no journey scheduled— at least not for today—while you’re in my arms

Another Day—Counting

transcending into the Jing and Jang the id awakens

your smile has changed my mode of travel into depression

after the storm the two of us still dry under an umbrella

in fields of wheat we dance like small tornadoes around each other

even mirrors can’t hide the truth of us—

narcissus

misplaced love keeps me on a path from you two roads …

echoes sing gently on my mind—keeping me sure of my life’s path …

in the corner sits an omnivorous reader devouring knowledge

the saddest sight in this world of wonder is a book unread

no iron gate nor walls can keep my thoughts from traveling to your side …

a fine kimono made of silk flowers, gems— a feminine soul

a haiku, like a woman—glorious in simplicity

chasing butterflies through my garden—dragonflies sit on a lotus

my stomach full a friend up close—now exchanging smiles

applying more water to paint—an artist controls the ocean waves

long abandoned, the one-room school house sits in the roaring wind

cherry blossoms rain down, like Chinese rice over a wedding path

the guitarist plays his steel guitar, hotter than a flock of flamingos

across my windowsill shadows of geese returning home again

each night at midnight I relive our words tears fall …

unfinished haiku

winter ed too fast into an early spring

recounting your touch my heart flares out of control as you depart …

the smell of mothballs still on your clothes in the attic

her birthday came and went no more tears …

A Thursday Study on a Monday

some snow has stayed keeping spring at bay but not the crocus

the naked willow— sits silent this winter no sight of frogs

eyes closed in silent prayer hummingbirds fly by

darkness fell as the full moon dripped— below the horizon

a Japanese store haiku books, cherry blossoms

in a small window …

Japanese noodles— udon, somen, hiyamugi a crossword puzzle

the bride and the groom in their joyful moment white chrysanthemums

even after waking from a winter’s dream rainbows

Haiku modern or traditional have many cousins

in my retirement I write of many wonders that could have been …

the moonflower fell late last night without a sound

a geisha reads a letter by the koi pond tears produce ripples

Helianthus fields and fields of flowers a serving of sun

between stormy clouds flickers of moonbeams a sign of hope

mirrors face-to-face on any night— capture eternity

refuge from a storm— in a church—a dove and I stay dry

the lizard lying peacefully in the summer sun falls prey

at the top of the stairs a broken lightbulb like the rest of me

I write to appear more than who I am— a monumental lie

I write in search of who I truly am

Halloween décor— spiders decorate windows

silvery webs

starry, starry sky moonbeams travel far and wide let’s make a wish …

a winter wind stipes the trees bear—the robin’s house foreclosed

jasmine fills the garden with soft exotic fragrances— wedding bells

Yet to Come …

let it gently flow under the dawning’s waning light on gossamer wings— love’s warming sigh.

as we wake to an early morning found in the searching of a childhood dream ready to mature into the future us.

take my hand and let us guide each other into the awaiting mist silent yet cool to the touch …

where we’ll take our first steps reassured of our purpose still not knowing

what may happen next.

but willing to journey forward accepting the promises that are yet to come …

Enough …

Gossamer winds flow gently and silent, undistinguished from the air surrounding its core. Beautiful in its feel, but just another entity looking for the touch of you,

and like me can’t get enough …

I’m Going to Die

I’m going to die— not a subject I often think about or of my blood flowing down big city’s gutter ways searching for Flanders field …

and in the middle of a winter’s storm winds blow colder, as night beginning to fall silently, behind obscure melancholy clouds memories of the way we were keep popping up.

no, I always think of me— just being me a vagabond straddling the Milky Way on my way to who-knows-where.

famished—I run to feast upon your wonderous continent and fill all of the desires of the day

in youthful contemplation.

never ending will I go— on a jolly-rump through golden fields of everlasting love and find complete fulfillment.

yes, I am going to die, but it’s not one of my desires— I rather dance the night away on a long extended tango.

Becoming Who

and there I was, thinking on the edge of a steel blade—sharp

blood drawing thoughts trying to understand the essences of coming events

but first, who was I in this world of Homo sapiens sitting in that discrete corner?

by the side of a cornfield between a scarecrow and the asphalt searching for my footsteps to take hold.

still trying to reason why here and now

and getting nowhere—

becoming who and why …

The Road That Waits …

a road that travels into the depths of silent night cold to the chill in its calling.

Unforgiving in its belief—curdles the sounds of evening into a state of melancholy and despair.

finds me in my loneliness without the will to fight its pull caresses the dim-gloomy parts of me …

as thoughts continue on their journey await the specter standing at the altar with infinity—the doorway, lying at its feet.

and I, finding no reason to refuse the translucent light

that calls beyond the veil, through

into the beauty of a paradise awesome beyond belief with a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors—

presents a feast a communion of the dead before a blissful sleep.

Dried Mistletoe

something was out of place— the morning was silent the day gray

and I sat there in my kitchen drinking the morning coffee and looking out the window

wondering the why there was no snow yet— snowflakes nor tinsel

then saw the mistletoe lying dry on the tile floor where it fell just yesterday

after your gift of a good-bye on Christmas Eve—

said it all.