Appearing, disappearing, arriving and then leaving so it goes,

you visit and depart through mind’s long shadowed halls,

and in the doing test my heart for all the feeling long unknown;

reminding me that love can never be denied and always calls.

Those images drawn in sharp and indistinct demand of thought,

and huddled in between the taunts and shapes of grief,

are somehow like you and yet not because they are not caught

in all reality would have you be, no longer here in stark relief.

To touch and feel material and what the senses fully know,

imagination cannot bring what is not here in this material world,

just glimpses, presence, senses and that feeling that was shown,

as you in this world, standing here, your Self in flesh; not just Soul.

In yearning for return of what was once a part of life in form,

desiring that once more the warmth of skin and smile be seen,

is natural and part of all that human life would have be born;

and yet the fates decree it is not so for now; you are just dream.


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The heart holds close to soul’s eternal play,

and weaves with love the sources of our Self,

knows that all is part of something greater;

calls for pure connection, leads the way.

There is within relationship that worthy goal,

of drawing in and knitting tight together,

those people who were born to understand;

so do we keep in touch, though tenuous hold.


The field does spread beyond the body mortal,

embraces all who come within its path,

completes, ensures that two become as one;

keeps open heaven’s doors, reveals the portal.


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Real love


Real love runs deep,

Digs its own course;

Fills hidden aquifers.

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What comforts in this vale of tears,

Are dreams of what might be,

And so religion gains in lure,

When life denies our dreams.

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Love’s leg twisted like an insect broken on the ground,

and truth did squat in waiting by the side of starving heart,

as air grew heavy, screamed for yes, but when no came,

could only laugh, like tinkled music on a radio set loud.


My mind was licking through memories, hunched and ready

like a restless, spongey cat whose weight in gentle wallow ,

settled at the side of hope, rubbed eyes of deepest blue

as the wind blew through trees and Soul held heaven steady.


Time’s pen did draw a picture, lined in shining, polished silver,

and in the corner was the knot of passion, finely set, revealed,

a test of life where small kids dreams could find a settled place;

in that silent Spring of being which rides heart like a river.


Sky fluffed skirts of rust and cream and iridescent blues,

in magic of becoming, the clouds gathered in blossomed party,

to celebrate the morning of deliverance when freedom called;

courage leads the way when mind wails forever what it rues.


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Softened, gnarled, rubbed

loose by years, wrinkled,

worn, revealed; laid bare

in truth once hidden, so

does age make real.

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Crack of time

Crack of time did open,
slick the memories,
lock the day in sadness;
succumb to what has been.

In the thrum of grieving,
hope did irk the pain,
shine a spark immortal;
luck would come again.

Crumble did the moments,
lock in space and time,
optimism was my chum;
friend which did remind.

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