She stands on the corner, outlined in the rain
Hikes her skirt at passing cars
and tries to hide her shame

Never thought she'd be a whore, sell her body to the night
Now, the need for a fix again
leaves no strength to fight

The yellow headlights of the cars, offer warmth, an easy mark
The motel room smells dirty
but at least it's dark

Feel the golden glow, the push of ecstasy
She looks into the dresser mirror
says; " It's not really me"

there were the bones of us
damp impressions
left wild-eyed on still-warm bedsheets

we lay scattered throughout the
day
and rehearsed four-cornered vows in the
silence of immediacy

we didn't know what to say then
and we don't know now

but the sky is blue today and there
is magic when poems are air-brushed
by unseen hands, heard as falling rain
on cobblestone by some, felt like the
melancholy of dying stars
by others

Yo Yo Ma draws his bow,

Oh what a day,
To live as we are living,
Oh what a day,
To be as we are here,

Oh what a day,
To see what we are seeing,
Oh what a day,
To shed a lonesome tear,

And oh what a day, this day, this day of beauty,
And oh what a day to have it as we do,

Yet nought of my fear, my fear at what I’m doing,
Has ever marred the sight, the sight, my love, that’s you,

And even though I know, my heart is surely aching,
Even though I have, but moments left to spare,

.
opinion speaks loudly
wisdom bites off its tongue

I love you more than moonlight
Shining on a dark night
More than sunlight
Peeking through treetops

I love you more than rain
Falling on a hot day
More than shade
Blocking the heat wave

I love you more
Walking the strand
Smooching by the starlight
This humid summer night

I was born to a family of Arrowak Indians.
My grandfather was the village Chief and a warrior.
I remember,
when I was a young child of about seven years of age..
My grandfather LeLe taught me the ways of the earth,
for he did not know any other God, even though the puritans tried.
He could not recognize a God, he could not see or touch.
He would say to me,
"The earth gives us everything we need to survive, and we in turn
must give back to the earth. because in the end it is to where we return."

It is an amazing story
interlacing and interweaving
every chronicle of every history
into a volume of life
worked to the smallest detail

plots and twists and mini themes
with everyone its hero

What great mind could author this?

A saga over eons
a tome with billions of characters
interacting
each at the centre of its own universe
printing the pages at the forefront of creation
living the words
learning the thoughts

Deconstructing in an attempt to comprehend
a genre of mixed emotion

california offers
no excuses
vanilla scents and
tastes
as if experience
is a first time
i sample it with
no expectations
a surprising occurrence

the entertaining flavor
will have no lasting effect
the sweetest fruit
never do

yet life gains another moment
to savor when days
wait

how sad it becomes
a time line for death
while courage lingers
almost as a ballerina

on nervous toes

another swan dies
in a land of indecision

Share with me your secrets
I hope asking isn't wrong,

I'm just short some words
for a beautiful love song.

I'll fill the song with humor
if you'll share with me your smile;

and we'll end all of your sadness
by laughing all the while.

So, share with me those sad times
and all your lonely sorrows,

and we'll make those sad times go away,
to brighten all your tomorrows.

Then, our tomorrows will be made
because, we focused on truth, and goals;

I made a final trip back there
through July woods and stifling heat,
a trek that used to be a treat
when made with somebody to share,
A type of place that's truly rare.

Remote yet not too far away
huge beaver ponds filled with wild bass
who seldom let any lure pass
especially on a sunny day
when breezes made the cat tails sway.

Legs tripped over logs submerged,
hidden under the translucent surface
causing a slow and careful pace
no matter how the wander lust urged
or what types of snakes emerged.