Welcome to
Summer
Myth-laced lunar light,
infuse long summer days
with magic and romance
a’glee in joyous play.
Wild fantasy takes flight
above earth’s rule-bound maze.
Passionate heat-stirred night
awaits.
Waves of windblown
flowers blooming
Scent enlivens sense to
peak
Warm, warm breeze and
rivers flowing
Endless miles running
free
Let summer magick build
up steam,
simmer into thrills
supreme
‘Tis season raised to
rejuvenate
So play on ...
Be(gin)ing
Soft Summer night.
Far drift of stars; open car-barren
road.
Kicking up bits of stone and
dust.
Remarking:
I could be anyone.
I could start here.
What is beginning?
Aware of the first rays,
conscious aloneness.
Summer is harsh on
fragile skin, newly opened
eyes.
They catch on eager
forays,
studies in mimicry;
simple truth hidden in
proverbs,
squalid temporal cages,
punishing
rewards that bind and
itch.
Beginnings are not the
point.
They are portals, not the
mystic river,
the sand so burning
insubstantial,
the forest enchanted in
eider and lace.
Beginnings never warn of
battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant
possibilities.
A brief eternity before
dawn,
supplicating the night sky
for
solace, this soft moment before,
an unmarked road
to ride along home.
peaceful moment
Like a warm evening on the beach, all
woozy from sunshine.
Tingle of sea breeze, that ocean scent
of the wild.
As the sun recedes, cooling,
refreshing, yet still a lazy summer eve.
Oh that luscious feeling, that overflow
of quiet liberty.
In and out of drowsy reverie, so gently
washing through pools, reservoirs
of elation.
Like languid balmy breath caressing.
We give what we can; we take what we
need.
Marching, in orderly fashion.
Or beatifically skipping to a sacred
beat.
The horizon shifts through daily
duties, nightly prayers.
We take what we can. We give.
Without edict, without rational
equation,
we give each outward breath, and take
in what is given.
Like happy inspiration, song springs
from memory to lip,
moves the fortunate mind into momentary
ecstasy of music.
Moments meant to linger, to haunt as
loving ghostly guardian.
Wrapped in ethereal glow of grace's
reward.
Summoning iridescent spirits to play
joyfully,
ubiquitous harmonies.
Like the words we tell ourselves to
bring us peace.
Joy to the
Season
The Moon is adrift in the wind
above
our sheltering craft in the
sea
and all the world of Summer is
ours
to ride the fire, toast to the
stars
sway with warm desire, open our
hearts
create a Summer of Love
Celebration waves the streets, with
drums,
lucid bells, a call to
play
Carnival cheer brings heat to
flame
Chants blend to sing with drinks and
games
Grand gestures expand, to applaud
such a day
fueled by smiling
Sun
Midsummer
Of course you come to
listen.
Intoned to woo your
fascination,
whispered primal code from lucid
crystal climes.
Warmly floating on cool
jazz,
mellow wine,
intimate, intoxicating garden
party
'midst apparitions of simpler
time.
Back from the rabbit
hole.
Back from New York City,
Boston,
Detroit, LA ...
from yet another
backstabbing
grind everyday.
Rewind, recall.
Fog dense morning walk
along a rocky roadside,
unruly hair, distant
eyes.
Tumble
into
song singing
hallelujahs,
place of play, haunted
by pretty memories
tinged gold in sunshine.
Midsummer twilight,
fairytales brought back from
sleep.
Sprinting across that
abyss,
goblin mouths, hungry
ghosts.
No longer keeper of my brethren's
sorrows,
I don mischievous
costume,
stomp out power, glory,
love gentle as a summer evening's
rain.
Blossoming countryside,
dandelions and clover,
bounty of Earth blooms with elfin
escapades.
Listless children whine.
"Why does no one let us
rise?"
A world of sullen
children
overdue for naps and
coddling,
blueberry jam at
teatime.
Flourishing prophets,
delectable, potent, wise
in the ways of demons,
oracles, gypsy Queens,
ascend into sacred
muse-ways.
Every day a new day,
standing ground against a
grinding
down to profit’s dust.
It can't be a secret
if nobody's listening.
But, listen:
places in your mind
will answer.
Each bounding leap more
distant.
Inviting opulence, opening
vistas
vastly
flowering.
Three Penny Opera and
Grateful Dead:
What They Mean to
Me
I was listening,
under a shadetree on a summer
evening,
to the morals of our time as
displayed
in popular music,
and thinking of the many tiny
travesties
of personal moments all around
me.
The seatide ebbing/flowing of the
music
more than hypnotized
as I watched people flowing
through an inner
newsreel
of pride and misery.
People marching in various
uniforms
to a beat of pride and progress in
the marketplace
and war zones;
people marching or being trampled or
sniping from the
rooftops
all in rhythm.
And a friend said to me
on a starlit evening,
"It's so hard to know anymore what
to do."
A Dog Carrying a Frisbee Is
a Very Nice Thing
Sunny Sunday, summertime
seaside breezes
Bicyclists, joggers, old
men asleep on benches
Rollerskaters, sunbathers,
and sailboaters
A dog carrying a frisbee is
a very nice thing
As are the shade trees and
greenery
and rippling blue river
under a blue and white
sky
overlooking Cambridge,
MA.
I tell you this to let you
know
There sometimes is a
perfect day.
The Longest
Day
Earth of sea and land and
air
ignited into opportunistic
luminance
by her mother star.
Energy for you and me to
burst into bloom
flit fly in
busy devious thievery
cacophonous ramble.
Surging through veils,
storms breathe ice, sand,
the fire of prophecy,
the flood of repentance.
Glacial migration
bequeaths rage, rampage,
rapacious gratuities
boiling beneath.
It's not winter here,
nuclear quiet;
all's right for the longest
of nights.
Not yet.
The eternal balance:
rocks, meteors, dark
inconsistencies with
metaphors of the righteous,
pilgrims past the age of
bowing to scriptures.
Tomorrow, the Sun will
rise.
The Earth will revolve.
Life will adjust,
compromise.
After the workday, we
celebrate
potent
evening light.
Under
Solstice
Swinging
in phase
with natural
rhythms.
Shadow to
light
entrained
with greater
cycles.
Time through
space.
Do ages
collide?
Do stars
expand
into tragic
brilliance?
Do simple little
twists
change worlds and
consciousness?
Very early in the
day,
just beyond the
penumbra
of night, as
magic
clashes with
reason:
That color so
enriches
my palette.
Air giving way to
water.
Arid emptiness
anticipates days filled with
joyful
abundance,
emotional sailing on
vast
turbulent (and/or)
calming seas.
The desert is so
fragrant
exotic, mystically
inviting.
Dusk whirls of wilding
sands,
stoic
creatures,
surprising
discoveries.
The desert in forms,
sculpts,
creates crannies of
secret
delight throughout my
imagination.
A no-man's land where
cognition
can hear
inspiration
blow through,
encompassing
senses.
I will not leave the
desert.
I will merge with its
becoming,
allow imminent
floods
to rise into thirsty
pores
rendering sand squishy,
unsettling
into ocean
floor.
Ride with
me.
Open raft beneath
firmament,
unguided, unplanned,
unafraid.
Changing winds have
always been my home.
Enclosed against
starlight.
Sacrosanct
images
meander,
keep close
their
mystical
meaning.
A touch, a brush,
an
entanglement.
Awake in the
dream,
breathing cool
greens,
intense
shadings,
pregnant
intimacies
bursting into
the magic of
life.
Trail of effervescent
Mercury's abandon.
Charming trickster,
plays upon seasoned
winds -- Quicksilver surf.
Exhale old air’s
detritus.
Inhale and whoosh,
under sea-change brew.
Sentimental, far from
gentle,
whirlwinds gasp;
ambitions,
expected conditions,
wavering memory,
caught up in flying
breeze.
Blown out to wailing
ocean,
forgotten gills respond
--
mer-mind wakes.
City Summer
Let the games begin.
Let the long luxurious summer days
begin.
Let us harken back to
when
our schooldays' end
would send our thoughts adrift
through
dazzling fields
of daisies and
daffodils;
sandlot games & swimming
holes and
endless flights for fantasy's
fulfillment.
And let us not forget the
nights.
The hot & sticky summer city
nights
that send us to the streets in
colorful array
like firefly
lights.
Joking & drinking and starting
sudden fights
'til the thunder rumbles through
and blessed
cooling rain relieves hot-headed
strife.
As the heat-soaked summer skies
once more descend,
let us drift down sleepy
sun-drenched streams
till summer ends . . .
.
*
