Poetry

Obsession (for men)   Like Jasmine Cast Upon the wind The scent of you Fills My breath My heart My soul And lifts me Far above The common man, Or King Who cannot know Your touch.

I’ve found a narrow Slice of time, A pause that steals A beating heart.   When untold wonders Flood my mind As breath And sight Grow far apart.   And reaching for The Light, I find The end of life Is but the start.

REMEMBER In the Grandfather days When we were the many And Man the few The Herd was so large The sun took three tries Crossing the skies As we passed by you. Some died to feed you then. We remember.   We were so many Our backs covered the land, Like a forest Of moving hair and skin. Some died to clothe you then. We remember.   The continuous sound As our hooves struck the ground Was almost as loud As “Thunder in Cloud” Some died to shelter you then. We remember.   And now, Man, that you Are the many And we the few What will you  In wisdom do? Will you remember?

MARY’S RIDE THOSE DAYS SHE CAN PARTY SHE’S SITTING ASTRIDE A FAT BOY HARLEY WITH A SOFT TAIL RIDE.   WITH 88 HORSES BETWEEN HER KNEES SHE’S QUEEN OF THE ROAD AND FREE AS A BREEZE.   NO THOUGHTS OF TOMORROW NO WORRIES OF THE PAST   JUST A HIGHWAY TO FOLLOW AND A THROTTLE TO GRASP.   SHE’LL THUNDER RIGHT BY YOU WITH A GUTTERAL ROAR   HER SPIRITS LIFTED HIGHER THAN EAGLES CAN SOAR.   CHROME SHINING LIKE SILVER BODY POLISHED LIKE GOLD   MARY’S RIDE IS THE GIVER OF LOVE TO HER SOUL.

DREAM GARDEN From chaos Now your garden grows Around a path That no one knows. It, too, is new And frames your home In symmetry Of perfect form. Stones placed with stones Polished by streams That tumbled down To feed your dreams. Placed here between A rose and tree, A wishing well For all to see. New trees reach limbs Toward the sky Framed by flowers To please your eye. And, here, a swing For children’s play Or idle time You’ll while away, As gently swaying To and fro, You plot to make Your garden grow.

MOUNTAIN MORNING The grass has been Gently kissed By morning’s early Rising mist.   The sparkling dew Shines like a crown Atop each blade Upon the ground.   The morning sun With piercing rays Reflects the light, Blue mountain haze.   In the air, Sweet smells of Spring Another beautiful Mountain morning.

I count each Spring by the weeping willow that stands by the side of the road.   Like an hour glass of green that empties and fills Like a tide that ebbs and flows.   All season come and all seasons go, but I only count the Springs.   In the cold heart of winter surrounded by snow I long for my green weeping willow.

So, we’ve gathered up our riches And we’ve put them into bags Then we’ve transferred them to boxes And we’ve named them all with tags. For the gift that is a blessingOf the giver to the oneBe it Monther, Sister, Daughter,Be it Father, Brother, Son Comes with joy that such a loved oneHas a life that we can shareComes with love that can’t be measuredBy the many ways we care. As we place our boxed-up treasures‘Round this gaily festive treeLet us pause in quiet reflectionWhile we’re here on bended knee. Let this tree become an altar,One of millions shining brightAs we offer up our prayersOn this special Christmas night. For the Gift that is a BlessingOf the Giver to the oneCame when God, our Holy FatherGave us Jesus as his Son.