Hurry your eloquent passion
Time slicing devisor of measures
Breathing’s an act of deliberate intention
Dancers like you touching ground
Leave no trace evidence for eyes
Resting comes soon with practice
A bench to contemplate grace
Warmed by hours in afternoon sunlight
Twilight arrives with patient treasure
Gathered from days of the world
Mother with Child
quiet in this deep wild
She smiles when I come around
Afternoons I bring white rose petals
fallen from my gardens in bloom
Drop my offering slow to soft earth
Then settle awhile
beneath a canopy of peace green
Read one chapter aloud
to anyone gathering here.
So Dylan’s eighty
What message to send his way
Life and life only
You must be shoeless
to feel stepping stones
You must be quiet
to hear songs of ancient bones
You must be ready
to catch a star
when it arrives midday
Here’s to the garden man
raises a sign on country road
hopes some passersby may come
buy vegetables
He digs deep his rich garden dirt
while his dog sniffs up your walking shoes
Here’s to his beaten chair
worn from sun baking
contemplating how long must he wait
for good news
Here’s to hours after midnight
gazing up at silent skies
listening to solace rolling through
still as art on the wall
Here’s to the moon
shining bright like a headlight
take a breath take it in
let down your delicate within
for now everything feels alright
Moon gate
beckons you
step through
Bleak was the day
rain clouds beat the sunlight away
Then a beacon out of the grey
subtle Moonbeam calling my name.
soft shadow possibility
forever lurking inside
hardened walls of ages.
Camera sways
weighty neck
worldview
thru filtered lens
slip between
looking under
veil camouflage
dirt flat silence
rising.
Pencil Notes 