Cherry Blossom (unfinished)

it is a scented memory
as blossom on the cherry tree,
that flush of first desire
shy youthfulness afire
though it the briefest
moments sways
as is the blossom making way
for with its dying in the May
comes the sweetest fruit.

Night Flowers

I seek no blooms in daylight
yet sweet gardenia
their open petals, fragrant flowers
in the night,
intoxicate all that grows desire
come the evening hours.

Chanson triste

How many leaves have I seen fall
like pages from a calendar torn away
discarded browning yesterdays
that were once green tomorrows
how many passing glances
forgotten in my mortal dances
with strangers, friends and lovers
have I left unreturned
with that moment’s regret burning
like a cigarette upon my soul?

The Silent God

there is a silence
which precedes my turn to verse
in which I reflect

there is a stillness
before my pen is ready
in which I genuflect

to the silent stillness
that is more than muse
it is deity,

respected.

February 24th 2022

Mars rests no more
his sleep of ignorant dreams
unable to sate the lust
that only waking terrors can
and from his bloody passion’d ends
we poor mortals may ne’er defend

The End Is Nigh

the world will end
though not in flames of revolution
nor epidemic fires and funeral pyres
but slowly, steadily
In entropy rotting
as do faded fast food wrappers
behind the grill shuttered doors
of bankrupt department stores.

Life.

what is life
but the daylight in midwinter
when for but the briefest time
the last songbirds sing
and the low sun
gives us hope
of yet another spring.

INTUITUS ORIENTEM

I observed death
awed by its beauty
on angel’s wings
silhouetted
against a weeping sky
in circles
I could not number
he waited
and watched
until he let cry…..oblivion.

Trains

they made love to the sound of trains
and raindrops of imagination
came together to become one
upon the restless window panes
which travelled silently in tune
to the passions in their room
and breathed as one as did their sighs
lost to trains of thoughts gone by.

Forgotten Seasons

the years slipped by
inside forgotten seasons
numbed and lost by time’s
relentless beatings
when I was a boy
I prayed to angels for the sun
but they and it never shined
well, not for very long
and now the summer’s gone
the angels hear no more
they’re frozen by the coming snows
which only wait before me.