Seedlings placed by chance or hand,

burst to thrust from loam and sand.

Their journey skyward a jagged path,

intertwining askew betwixt slatted lath.


With thorny fingers, not meant to reveal,

oft misread yet intensions are real.

Twisting and weaving through space and time,

trellis clung for their treacherous climb.


They’ve hands of green to catch the rays,

holding the light for cloudy days.

Or drenches, droughts and starless nights,

all’s risen anew to new morning heights.


Weathering a diverse world of adversity,

timely teachings taught of tolerance and tenacity.

Evolving resolve for dependence together,

blooms beckon bees and birds of a feather.


Golden treasure’s deep to entice and please,

fragrant allure’s cast to the breeze.

Sights and scents sensed by all.

Colors await next seasons call.


Days grow shorter, stems grow long,

primed for pruning though nothing wrong.

Bunched and bundled, arrayed and displayed,

till petals drop there a table laid.


Brushed in hand returned to land,

budding foundation where others may stand.

Cohesive nature’s expressive of art,

cycles revolve all back to start.


And this rose but a metaphor for all that’s living,

words remind literally of what life’s giving.




Twilight Stroll


At an English peak and the new lost

a short turn’s taken at the gambrels cross.

Trees tall to recall centuries of the past

from carriage path to autos passing fast.


Reminiscent a lane with styles to fade

hillside perched and often made.

With a gentle rise to never waiver

our walks through time long to savor.



Viscous Visceral Visions


Poet’s pen words as painters paint hues,

each exploring infinite shades of the blues.

Whether a canvas large or ragged scrap small,

quills and brushes cover them all.


Syllables shade the sentence with shadow,

of portraits deep and seascapes shallow.

While watercolors will always wash away,

ink and oils shimmer for another day.


Surreal or real really anything goes,

whether rhyming verse, freeform or prose.

Maybe some Shakespeare or dogs playing cards,

velvet backs drape to both blind and bards.


Ropes of velvet secure master pieces.

A sandwich of glass will smooth out the creases.

Though nothing’s smooth in a perfect sense,

waves perpetually bristle from light to dense.


Mirrors project light already seen.

Reflection occurs on the matted screen.

Largeness lingers, all mediums fade,

little’s lost when something is made.


What’s unmade forever unknown,

forever unseen and can never be grown.

Whatever’s not lost will be our gains.

And when tears dry an image remains.





Stairs climbed to a heavenly lair

Each step reluctant of the riser’s dare

The falls grow closer the higher I go

The ground grows distant with hell below


This tug-of-war is fought within

Pushing and pulling each a twin

When a journey’s long, all’s to win

With stich and glue all can grin


Time’s not direction with a start or end

There’s no give or take, none’s to defend

To counter clock’s never wise

It’s works concealed by the faces disguise


Incased to shield and hands that wind

Hands to watch to lose one’s mind

Minds lost seldom found

Seconds ticking to find sacred ground


With no end in sight, sight has no end

Starts at viewer, depths depend

Colors attract and shades divert

See the light or life’s inert


The stairs again beckon, to darkness they rise

Yet tread must I to rest sleepy eyes.