Cycle of Contentment and Desires 169

With harvest moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

When come the full moon night,
barren trees and worn out dreams
The basket lighter than the wind,
Empty but filled with anxious want.

With new seeds contentment dies
burns a hole in wooden weave,
Weight of unheeded prayers
Leaves behind a desperate stench.

Forgotten are the good and fulfilled,
I launch onto another road,
In shoes made from leftover gold,
Winter gone and Spring arrives.

With grass moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

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Murmur (107)

Do you hear the wind outside?
It knows my heart–
the way it swings like a pendulum
side to side,
eventually breaks a branch
smothers the ground.

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When is Now (106)

When is now?

Tap the watch
it won’t go faster
Dreams are
denials
in the making.
Switch disposition–
still the same,
the edge gets closer,
will you jump
by the end?

Dead ambitions
are frozen dreams,
incarcerated bits
in little jars,
for all the ones
still standing tall,
fear to fail
frozen Hell.

Step out
grass needs mowing
birds need feeding
and the trees–
they need you breathing.
Will you heed
paralyzed by unmarked weight?
Die a tiny creature
loud insignificant babbles of
“ifs” and “buts”

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I Waited For Patience (95)

I waited for Patience…
how silly is that?

the wolf howled all night
and the moon never came down,
not a single kiss did the prince steal
the princess stayed asleep.

How long is too long,
I ask the trees
if Fall never came again,
would you miss the curve of leaves–
the soft touch of gradual death–
do you accept the end when only
a full revival assured?

I’ve been walking the same road,
met Patience many times,
sometimes wishing she’d go away
and let me die
a thousand times,
and feel
a thousand times more.

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Layer after Layer (42)

Smokey icing topped with mist
thicker than the thickest fog,
In the sky a giant cyst
Against the world another clog.

The trees are full, stuffed by air,
Fattened by our dying breaths.
The water russet with despair,
Underwater waves of death.

Clap of thunder shakes the leaves,
We sleep unshaken by its screams
Cannot hear the creatures grieve,
Cannot mend the broken seams.

We breathe the icing topped with mist,
Slowly freeze our lungs to ice,
Our ears resist, we let it persist
In the end we’ll pay the price.

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I like my trees best in Spring (1)

I like my trees best in Spring

Paintings made of dots of green

Little buds scared to bloom

Slowly pushing out the womb.

The trees in summer are too dense,

Invulnerability are their pretense,

Big and tall, buff and strong

Strutting their bark all day long.

At every reunion in the Fall

Those who stood once mighty and tall

Find themselves suddenly turning bald,

Even the king and queen will soon pall.

Dead in winter, dead they are

Withered, twisted, and bizarre,

Laid to rest beneath white grass

To sleep, to dream, till sorrows pass.

Renewed again sweet buds of March,

Free at last from Hade’s watch,

Innocent, docile, such shy thing,

Yes, I like my trees best in Spring.

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