Song of Summer’s End

A melancholy cry chokes my throat,
a siren’s call of Summer’s turning.
Caramel smells fill my head-
fermented leaves, intoxicating and sweet.
The lime-yellow sky,
radiant dusk infused with aqua
is reiterated by rainbows of
glowing trees,
unfettered joy
surging skyward
burning slowly to sleep.

Moist, mild air balms my body-
a cocoon of coziness
soft and neat,
a temporary reprieve
before setting sun draws down a chill.

Two lovers mosey
while two others repose,
lost in reverie
forever brief.

As crickets whir and click and reel,
throaty squawks of geese
bid farewell, southward bound,
solicitous, free.

This fanfare of Fall
diminishes, somnolent, deep.
I succor its unguent dolor-
lullaby, coda
to summer’s green.

Technorati tags- poem, Autumn, Fall, summer’s end

Airmail Love

Sometimes before sleep late at night, I lie in bed
listening to my cats purr as they lick themselves clean
before curling up in a furball as close as possible to me.
I hear the distant roar of the highway, thousands
of cars swishing in a hurry to get somewhere,
perhaps the moon. Maybe they are lonely,
and sad love follows them as fast as they can drive.
Or maybe they’re rushing for an emergency,
a serious accident, or worse. Or maybe they were
working late, and long to get home
to a warm bed, and peace, if nothing else.
I think of my friends all over the world,
living lives with direction, going forward, or not,
friends past, whom I’ve lost touch with,
friends present but distant, thousands of miles away.
I think of all the sad or happy or tragic people
spinning around the planet as it spins across time,
laughing, crying, or lonely, dying,
or perhaps wondering and grateful, as I am.
And I think of you, with your quiet burning
of life with it’s myriad questions.
And I send you a little message. I open my heart
and give you my nurturing thoughts, my hope, my love.
I wish you well, I wish you peace.
By sending an airmail full of good wishes,
I feel lighter as I prepare for sleep under
a fluffy down comforter and two warm furballs.

Digiart by Veach. I think they’re pretty cool. I hope you do too. If you want to see the original piece, click on the image and there you are.

Incandescent Nectar

Incandescent Nectar of Life,
conscious of Itself through our senses,
breathing our breath; and which,
with our caring awareness of one another,
breathes Life full with Love.

Here only, forever Now is,
which, breaking with by and by
becomes again the Full Emptiness,
where the billows of ruminating Dust
show in relief the shadow of Time,
and a brief glimpse
through Fate’s curtain
into who we are.

This sums up my mystical take on life. It’s a “glimpse” of where we came from, where we are, and where we’re going.

This poem is also featured on my new Zaadz profile: GarnetDavid. Stop by and say hello. Peace.

A Simple Gift

Let it Out!
Let a smile overcome you-
a simple gift
which heals deeply
and welcomes another in return.

Tell a story of
your Life with the meaning you give it.
Let it out!
Open the gushing faucet
and savor the Joyful Child within you.

technorati tags- happy poems, joy, christmas poems, joy poems

Katydid!

Sometimes…
pondering the beauty in life is not enough to feed my spirit. Those times the dark side keeps me sane. This poem is about seeing clearly what is before me, not just rosy hopes. As Richard Bach wrote in his book Illusions, “Perspective. Use it or lose it.” The truth is often not pleasant when looked at closely.

Lost in the crowd of mumbling voices
I barely know what to say, at least out loud.
They all were telling me it was Katy,
“Katy did it, Katy did, Katy…” Katy did what?

I hear what lies beyond those jumbled thoughts.
I know what lies there, beyond the the greasy fields,
beyond the river toward the concrete harnesses,
the asphalt pits and manifold exhaust.
The marks of the tribe are everywhere.
Even the grass can scarsely grow
before it is hacked to look neat and low.
So what if Katy did it, does anyone know?

The glare from the street lights is not from heaven,
though heavenly gas burns within, fed by dancing gnomes.
Traffic roars by in the distance, inevitable, just out of reach
of sleep. Discarded toys of progress choke the blood of brethren kin.
But, Katy did. Katy did it. Katy did it. When?

The seeds of clarity must be there, but not in my breath
gasping beyond the crickets’ pearly sprays of blacks and grays.
A steetlamp’s false light blinks at death
hovering near. It gasps as the darkness
molds itself around the warmth of our day.

The razor’s edge must still be sharp
but it seems hard to know where it begins
amid the din of mountains freezing
before the light of this god’s icy artifice.
These streets do not lead to heaven.
The light there is not golden.
Katy knows it.
Katy knows.
Katy does.

Here’s the sound of a Katydid: PLAY. Here’s a photo and description of a true Katydid.