5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-sixty-two : plea)

birth me with a rhyme
breathe me into poetry
stain me with your ink.

The Leth in Early Spring

There’s cherry blossoms in the snow
riding on the wind that blows
the eastern winter back into the spring
and on each bloom a spirit plays
seeking to banish these dark days
with sunlit ballad songs they try to sing.

so flakes of snow and blooms entwine
into a frosted mist sublime
sensations heightened with each breath imbibed
and there among the torrents flow
I drink deep of these spirit’s glow
discarded troubled dreams I set aside

Schlagzeug

my thoughts are snared
by unsteady beats
drumming in my brain
bad freeform jazz
the rhythm is lost
and only the blues remain

aesthesis

this bloom of heaven’s sweet bouquet
knew only beauty for a day
and in that moment’s memory
it holds more than mere history
for with its scent my soul reminds
of all the worlds it left behind

Illuminated (notes for a poem)

I write my joy in silent candles
each capital in burnished gold
my ink stained heart left on each page
like manuscripts of old.

Winzerfalle

I watched lord Bacchus try to sing
discordant sad and long laments
of eternal thirsts unquenched
that to his blood red eyes did bring
a tear for all those sorry souls
who to his world of vineyard’s old
gave all their dreams so cheaply spent
in trade for those his kisses lent

Birdsong

little birdie on a rock
a singing in the sun
accompanied this poetry
and made of it a song
we sat together wistfully
composed each line or two
and set it out into the sky
to wing a way to you.

I think he was a sparrow
or something of that kind
he chirped out loud a chorus
and I would set my mind
to illustrate libretto
and bring words into play
before his song was ended
and he had to fly away.

Little Rhyme

I cannot paint
nor music make
I have no songs to sing
to let you know
I love you so
this rhyme is all I bring.

5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-sixty-one : note)

as I lay dreaming
she placed a note next to me
morning never came

The Background Noise

this constant murmered noise behind
my thoughts, an echo beyond rhyme
that fell between the cracks in time
which call to me from their eternal nights
where reason holds no true domain
never to be spoke again
and makes from beauty only pain
then all the physic laws descend from light
but still heard deep inside my head
the breath of galaxies long dead
upon which my dreams soft tread
and hide from them and so from their dark sights
explosions faded from their wake
like ripples on a silvered lake
the purest mirror they forsake
and find their way into the words I write