THE CAMPFIRE...

The Campfire

 

Pine scented smoke wafts over me

and floats into the surrounding woods

I would stop it if I could

just to have it keep me company

 

As the flickering campfire light shimmers

windblown sparks rise into the darkness

they scatter quickly in their aloneness

while the nearby gurgling stream whispers

Red ember eyes focus my gaze

and vanish in the cool evening

The smoke filled air lingers on water flowing

hanging there like a heavy bluish haze

 

The silent ebony coolness of night

surrounds my secluded campsite

Pine cones ablaze flare bright

and crackle with all their might

 

My complete attention is focused on nothing

as my imagination fears coming days

when passion extinguished comes and stays

and exists only as a cold offering

 

Sounds drip from the whispering stream

    gurgled words splash from its wet lips

It beckons me to take small sips

to quench and prolong my fading dreams

My physical presence is sustained by the fire

on this crimson painted night

a small comfort that stirs my heart

while it's absorbed in the fires' mirror

 

My consciousness now lighter than air

floats towards heavenly stairs

and is embraced by love angels from everywhere

as I leave behind life's senseless despair

 

Looking down at deep whirlpools licking dark rocks

I see reflected embers in glassy swirls

and my substance spirals upwards

Time has stopped...my campfire has no clock

 

 

 

WORD RAZZMATAZZ.....

Word Razzmatazz

 

Fancy words like thrown rocks make a splash

then, they quickly sink below

the crystal waves that flash

and mix with tears of disbelief that follow

Untruths spoken fill the ears and soul

with mysterious cold lies

cast on listening electorate eager to behold

while transfixed by the aura of spoken might

 

Candidates with heavy hearts like stones

will never float on National sparkling waters

they will never be like rose petals blown

that gently color National behavior

 

They can only bring about a long winter

where hope has been subdued

where National purpose begins to wander

Then, a land where greatness is no longer pursued

 

The razzmatazz of words and money

that feed the power of authority

are both evil, I say

and can only lead the Nation into atrophy

Gold Leaf down.....

GOLD LEAF DOWN

 

The colors of maples tall

glow with beauty in the fall

the woods are on fire

and sleep is their only desire

 

The sight of burning leaves

capture awareness with casual ease

just as spicy doughnuts and hot coffee

sustain the soul and identity

 

We savor the forests golden sea

of yellow painted flowing trees

Their priceless cover on high

freely displayed against a cerulean sky

 

Golden leaves battle blustery weather

wanting to live a little longer

but are suddenly torn and freed

wrenched from their summer host indeed

 

The tall branches shake and send

their many summer friends

spinning and soaring in frosty air

while those watching just stand and stare

 

Red brown and gold yellow

fill eyes and minds mellow

as the cold winds scatter beauty

that once was a maple tree

 

Gold flashes on the ground

and those leaves seem to frown

as they silently scream without a sound

GOLD LEAF DOWN

A feast for human eyes

descending from the blue skies

that covers the sleeping brown earth

with a golden blanket for naked dirt

 

 

 

 

 

NOSTALGIA....

Nostalgia

 

Youth once said, remember me

when I'm gone and have forsaken my identity

gone and relegated to the past

to the land of memories historically cast

Think of me as vibrant and glad

Remember me and don't be sad

 

For youth is that house in the past

where we spent days lived too fast

A house that sheltered our mindless debacles

A place with crystal doorknobs that sparkled

A home with elongated windows tall and thin

that magically let the sun peek in

letting the midday light that lingered

shine on our tiny fingers

while warmth enveloped our body

We played with the shadows

displayed on hardwood floors and tiny toes

 

The charm of youth, nevertheless

wrapped our lives in tenderness

during times full of innocence and curiosity

that now resides in our memory

 

'Tis a blessing that  curiosity

has not been satisfied in me

while innocence has long ago

expired and ceased to grow

 

NOSTALGIA THRIVES IN THE OLD SOME SAY