(2013)
As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.
Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…
First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds
Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.
Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,
Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.
Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,
The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles
Embrace that which comes with ease: The twinkling of an eye, The drumbeat of a heart, The blooming of a flower,
Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…
Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,