Sahara

The setting sun now breaks my drifting dream

and threads that needle to my passion’s flight

resplendent in its dignity, our scene

compels imagination with delight.

The fading sun now cools to lighter air

and calm, our camels rock the dusty swells.

A steamy haze along horizon’s flare

where desert’s dying colors cannot dwell.

Sahara maze, mysterious and stark.

Intrigued, I hasten to his silken tent.

I hurry to my soul in evenings dark.

We coast in caravans of eons spent.

Slow burn and then the quickened, bold desire

as when Sahara sands alight with fire.

Papi and Me

dig
Photo by Carol J. Lee

I like my dog because he looks like me.

He’s patient, kind and has no silly whims.

He is the type we both aspire to be.

I dress myself accommodating him.

His love for me not based upon a selfish yearn.

If I forget to fill his water dish,

he comes to me with silent eyes that burn.

He stares, expectant, with disquiet wish.

His needs are often met with urgent bark

His wagging tail a gracious symphony

Much happiness begins at doggy park 

as both of us are suddenly set free.

He likes to walk; I like to talk.  We find

we’re birds-of-feather with communal mind. 

The Flowers of the Field

Photo by Priceless Times PhotographySiyah with Dad

“The Flowers of the Field”

The reach within your baby hands so sweet

make father want to hold back ticking time

but even you, my child , are forced to meet

a different kind of father in this rhyme.

He’s called old Time and steals your innocence

Allows your golden play be thrown away.

You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.

Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.

For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.

For now, your world is safe within his arms.

Within this moment is the safest place.

A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.

Yet, all the flowers of the field we know

must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.

Changes

Michael storm“Changes”

A summer’s day when all of nature grins
turns vixen when the wind begins to blow.
Then all her shiny leaves fall in a spin
while in her waters lurk bold undertow.

When nature’s beauty turns from sprinkled rain
to monsters of intense, repeated roar
an angry, churning beast may cause us pain
as all our roots upturn from nature’s floor.

 
So slight the sound; that aftermath of storm.
A blanket smothers all the torn terrain
and silent lies the land; a sight forlorn;
and gray as potter’s clay she may remain.

Bold nature cries “No Mercy!” as she reigns
nor words to challenge who made such a change.

“Bang, Bang”

 

She stood outside the window looking in;

Her parents and the colored lights recall

a celebration known as Christmas when

all hearts are light and people’s cares are small.

She stood outside the window looking in

but dare not leave the shadows. There’s a pause;

her hair entwined with twigs; her knee is skinned.

Her lips are bruised ; new boots are scraped with claws.

Four schoolboys offer her a ride that night.

Her devastation comes from shame within; 

she cannot face their laughter and her fright

has frozen her emotions with her sin.

Age fourteen, her naivete now dead;

her girlhood’s over; older life now led.

(Age of this true story: many years.  Yes, she remembers every detail.  Reason for not reporting:  “they would never have believed me against the 4 of them.”  Remembering that time in history, she was probably correct.  Damned if you tell and damned if you don’t.  Is a new age coming? We need to teach our daughters how to better fight back against abuse.  There is an old Nancy Sinatra song, “Bang, Bang” that is so poignant (1966).  Women have been victims too long.  Maybe we can start teaching our young how to fight back and survive without being murdered in a cornfield in the future.)

The Spider Woman’s Waltz

Blue Moon
“The Spider Woman’s Waltz”


She dances in my head as in a dream
and raven are her eyes as onyx blown.
As Autumn steps into her bleaker scene
chill mist is in the air; cold-to-the-bone.

“Oh, waltz with me”, said she; “Our time is brief
and through the hills and valleys, dancing, go!
I’ll bind your webs of old, remembered grief
and in the quiet moonlight’s golden glow.”

The music of the spider woman’s waltz
reminds me of a heart once in your care.
Now wilted, waste-filled memories repulse.
Old love’s forgotten and my branches bare.

Was on a night like this her glancing gloom
did overtake my soul; my heart entomb.

 

Life’s a Beach

Flamingo (2)“Life’s a Beach”
Hello, you hula-skirted palm tree’s sway.
I hear a ukulele’s wistful song.
It’s borne upon the breeze that floats my way
as shiny shells in water roll along.
The scent of seaweed and the cry of gull
beneath the yellow sun that glistens where
the rushing waves of water stir my soul.
My footprints find a soft reception there.
A dram of seaside air _a brew sublime_
a rippled shoreline I cannot resist.
A booming surf, my wanton friend, divine.
My heart is with your windy, sky-blown kiss.
Hello, my love of many youthful days.
Life’s still a beach so many blissful ways.

“Love is Blind on Such a Night”

“Love is Blind on Such a Night”
Was on a summer solstice such as this
when drunk with idleness, old Bottom napped.
Awakened then, his new reflection kissed
two donkey ears, a toothy grin, a sap!
“Hee haw!”_ a screech, as his reflection frowns
but through the eyes of love, Titania sees
our hero, Bottom, with a kingly crown.
So, love may tilt upon the bless`ed breeze
with lofty dreams and sprightly attitude.
Old Oberon’s pretensions give us flight
for all the fairy pleasures in a brew
as comedy of errors fill the night.
That love is blind is surely ecstasy:
old Shakespeare knew of love…and you and me.

“DaVinci’s ‘Mona Lisa'”

MonaIt’s all about her look; a placid guile.
We know her well; that enigmatic glance.
Suggestive are her lips; a warmth of style.
She teases us; her eyes a bit askance.
A reticence enhances lady’s charm.
Anticipation in his mind may leap.
Expectancy has power to disarm.
A popular diversion pastimes keep.
The world still favors subtlety of sex.
DaVinci must have known his buyer’s dream
when he took brush-in-hand.  His Mona’s hex
elusive as her curving lips now seem.
She hesitates, and most agree with me
Time’s still not taken all her mystery.

Botticelli’s ‘Allegory of Spring’

Botticelli’s ‘Allegory of Spring’botticelli-primavera
The painter’s brush gives voice to Greece and Rome:
Poliziano’s poems depict just how
the pagan, Venus, with her loving om
now stands with Cupid’s arrow over brow.
When Zephyrus germinates his girl with air
then gentle Flora has her flowered fling;
inseminates imaginings so fair
that airily her vines awake to spring.
Three graces waltz and turn in harmony
as past and present to the future bow.
As Botticelli paints, sublime and free,
our Mercury fragments the forming cloud.
“‘Humanitarian’, this Venus play”
or, thus, the Pope defines her in his day.