calls to beckon

walk for miles
stars glue
to the constructive sky

analyze invert
stride paths
the pathological embrace
to goad the heard
hanging onto their every word

discover the pearl
without a wicked world
to seeth outcast out of reach
seize to capture me
captsize you at sea

exemplary great monarch
butterflies fly free
freezing on a beach in winter
gray day gray overcoat
black cap brimming no sunning
sing soothing songs
rejoice in the camrederie
shine your ability
grit a homily

answer calls to beckon
lessons learned are welcome
pinch of salt expressions
won’t get us to Heaven
unless they come with directions

direct attention to the bread unleavened
we the people
like our Peligrino with lemon
tempt fate read tarot
in the fight to stay alive pursue the dawn
without your love i am gone
gone out of mind forever long

longing for short-cuts
a bandage for a bruise
color me black and blue
in regard to taking it hard
when i lose
paintings poems friends of bluest hue
true friends need hugs
as rivers feel the rapids ever race
to find a waterfall
a flower in a vase

to catch a gush upon a blushing face
enter into a state of grace
as ever was a peace to put in place
children succeed when they are safe

if grownups never grow up
they hurt and cannot heal
in fantasy the dragon slain
the air is fresh and clear

everyone is dear to love
the sun in summer sets
the beauty of it’s timelessness

reality is meant
to pay the rent and earn your debt
a hard hard place to get
to have it all or lose it
whom of us would choose it?

speak words of love like cello music
a flute like a memoir
soft in sweet harmony
marry the magical monastical
moved to tears
fantastical dreams in homage.

on the way

peaceful rivers thaw, fall away for sprig with leave,
buds like jewels, open perfumed
fragrant grasses willowy reeds, time the inevitable
passes entrapped in sap like molasses stems bent on pent up
blends of buttercups peeking through cracks of evening seems would
never end-no more grieving-birds sing sweetly recurring the stirring
moments yearn, caterpillars
turn inside out into butterflies, delicately cross moss marsh
and bog to rest their wings in nettled boughs and fly again to capture
a rose as honey to a bee, looking long for freedom found sees the
world upside down, in rapture little does she want, the air is lovely
this time of year, her wings a collage glide ever taut, as trim as a
sail on the rocks
on the way by the bay for a jaunt.