.
.
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.
.
Song of Sun and Earth
Driving beat of nature’s grand
choreography
*
Beautiful child, enrapt in
wonder
cradles a ball of ladybug colors
swaying to music, smiling to
play
growing through summer’s most perfect
day
.
.
.
Summer Again
.
.
… movin’ into summer
Wind plays in cloud formation.
Drift into deep elation.
Sun rise
blossoms to a
rhythmic peak
sending out, sending out, sending
out
radiant vibration
reflected through summer skies.
.
New esprit conjures a story.
Fantasy and careless
fling into tall grass,
fruit full trees, languid leaves.
Ebullient sunshine warms
soporific
melting melodies.
The tale unwinds in brightly
colored ribbons,
high jinxed gypsy comedies
of breezy, dimpled romance.
In silken perfumes bathed,
flagrantly scandalous.
Deign o dainty smile.
Laughter bubbles out,
bursts. Minstrel raucous flames
fill summer eves’
glistening fairy light
.
Tell a rollicking tale,
we demand of the piper.
We have paid all the long
seasons of darkness.
It is time to reap an early harvest
of rapture dancing to dawn.
.
.
.
.
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.
.
.
.
Singing to the Chorus
.
.
Getting warmer.
Days numbered by barbarians.
Travelers rush in to conquer.
Taken to a longer view,
tumbling through the ages ~
Sundials exchange for
binary spiders click-clock,
tabulating the enormous summary,
what has gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving
creatures
pull upward from bootie straps,
scrambling for a place in the
pile
near enough to top
that derision, pouring downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of
Lords.
Merry tots spend fallen pocket-change
of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big
top.
Solemn children throw glass stones from circus
stands,
bet on which clown will full face as
disaster.
Speak in tongues of evil, o’ my
children.
Church Fathers swear to the blackened
sky;
cold, withered Mums hope for a
crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of Satan,
cloven-hoofed, prancing in the
circle’s
centerpoint, playing the pipes of
Pan.
Oceans of blood boil.
Leading edges swelter, crisp into
conflagration.
.
In Summerland children play, frolic
to
rollicking drums and reeds.
Naked under beaming Moon and starlight
laughter,
merrily we act out tales well-loved by
All.
.
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 . . .
.
