*~~~~*~~~~*~*some more words*~*~~~~*~~~~*

the sea birds scream
their frozen cry
to the silent sands below.
Wind-swept:
born of the breeze
to swoop and dive and
dance with the waves.

in jest they
drop from
the sky
to brave the clutching
fingers of the sea
and then escape on the breeze.

winds rise to blow
fierce upon my back -
the world is alive
with the coming storm.
clouds merge -
women hurry.

the sky grows dark...
all is quiet for a moment.

shadows scurry cross the ground...
a lone bird calls.
the day is dark
with angry clouds as
a few timid drops
fall heavily to earth...

now a multitude rains down
and the leaves bend
under the force of
a thousand tiny droplets.

i see a child braving the fury of the storm.

sometimes people laugh...
a sparklingsilver-crinkly
effervescent sound
that bubbles with such
efficiency that i, too,
stop and sparkle.

sometimes tears must fall...
a shower of mourning dew,
a flood that rends the heart
which causes me to examine life
and maybe stop and cry.

sometimes there is hate...
a dreadful ardent tone,
a wrathful raging thing
that always seems to wreak
such havoc i have to stop
and wonder why.

often there is love...
a gentleness and
tender thing,
so selfless and free
i have to share the good
i have and love those
loving me.

the soft twinkles of far away stars
catch my eyes and jar the memory
deep within my mind to stirring.

a hand, soft, to hold gently
in the silkstream flow of silent hours -
somewhere a saxophone pleads in the night.

from the vapor in my mind
to the hills of New Rochell
with stone and sea and
wax bottle soft hello.
i hear the heavy-load traveled-road
smoked and stroked
folk song blues.

time flings from my fingers
and lingers in the strands
of gold spun soft and true
upon the faces of the innocent and young.

the trees of the wood
are moved with the wind
the waters of Shiloh flow
softly to the sea.
silver trees stand
guard against the shore
and i remember more

once upon a time in a faraway land
there were a joyful people living under the sun
where the air was fresh, the water clean and clear;
the children smiles, and living was fun.

the land was free,
the hills all soft and rolling.
the sky was clear,
the sun all warm and shining.

into this land of life and free
came a boy and a girl;
he strong and smooth, she
of velvet and cream.

their hopes held a vision of happiness,
their life for a dream come true.
with hands held lightly in gentleness
they walked the meadows together
in Light, as one.

deep in the forest of faerie delight,
lace leaves are stirring to elf songs tonight.
sanguine lil' menfolk in circles meet round,
throughout the forest trees carry the sound.

a deliquescent sound so translucent it seems,
an aurora of pale opalescent moonbeams.
these shimmers of sound disperse in their stream
to fetch to the forest all those who dream.

from rich house and poor, from castle, from jail -
the wretched forsaken whose life has gone stale.
even the orphan alone in the night instinctively
knows there's no reason for fright.

to the vagabond searching for somewhere to stay,
both the music and magic show him the way
past the fear of starvation and freezing each day
to a house with four doors and a chimney of clay.

soft sound of sorrow sends sweet song of Sunday
so cast out and sinners can roam free and play.
here brothers and sisters walk arm in arm -
everyone here will never will harm.

stand frozen in the snow
with memories of ivory
and lilac scent

send memories careening
through the corridors
of your mind

trod frozen footed
across crystal snow
with memories

flee into icy glades
reflecting the harsh
sunshine glare

stand blinded by the memories
of soft gentle night
and sweet you

the honeysuckle is crushed
beneath heavy footsteps
and harsh words

i reach across the table past the wine
to take your trembling
hand in mine.

he saw her...
and waved his hello...
and she smiled...
and he felt warm inside...
and they laughed...
and enjoyed together.
as one...
or as two...
maybe both...
and more....
but alone.

and he runs...
and stops to listen...
to laugh...
and then to cry...
for hunger and hurt...
and sorrow.

and he gives...
and takes...
and offers...
and is received.
and he is no longer
as he was
before.

and she...
she lives and wanders...
and she feels...
what isn't real...
and she needs...
but doesnt notice.
and he tries...
and he smiles...
outside...

and he speaks...
but he doesn't...
and she listens...
but does not hear...
and he tries...
and he smiles...
outside...

for he needs...
and she doesn't...
and he smiles...
out...
side...
he smiles....
outside.

i look at my reflection
and notice it's broken;
shattered, as if a mirror.

i reach in my pocket
and withdraw a token
to place in my blind eye.

Area Measure means little now,
it doesn't fit, somehow,
it doesn't seem important.

Ludwig Van Beethoven,
at the age of forty-two,
worked in reflected silence.

he was preserved for us
in a plaster life mask
by a.. a... Franz Klein -

guess that's fine,
but it means little.
more important would be to sit
and twiddle your thumbs.

I
the old codger
turning to go.

thank you so very much
for letting me stay
taking me in
and givin this day
my daily work
to comfort my mind
destroying the sin�

weaving warm words
sharing thoughts
something so precious to find
it cant ever be bought

may the Light shine from above
may the Lord bless you
and keep you with love