Spanish Moss

Live Oak draped
in Spanish Moss,
wilting with it
as if weeping
in the sweltering sun.

Autumn never comes here,
only peripatetic monsoons
which bring heavy, soggy freshness.
While through the rain, shivering still,
remains this mossy tree in a breeze
(like sultry girls shimmying
on bars late at night).

After the storm’s passing
the sun dies
an inexorable death, leaving a
saturnine penumbra of tropical magic.
Yet, there remains the dance of
this figure swaying to
quiet, secret music-
jape of the lives we live.

Sonnet for M

Some impressions you have formed of me
tell you I wear the mantle of a snob,
(since I seem proud, opinionated and free)
and given the public successes in my job.
Yet I’m more fragile than it seems.
Lacking wit, I’m vulnerable to pain
especially when my heart with love does beam.
Dwelling in paradox, I am target for disdain.
You are a puzzle waiting to be solved,
though fear keeps you from letting love evolve.
But I’ve no key and your heart remains locked
So I feel I intrude where I ought not.
Your face is blank emotion. Do I belong?
I only wish to please you with my song.

Technorati tags- sonnet, love sonnet

Inspire Beauty

I’m off to visit Platinum Glamor (my mother) out east. See you in the New Year! Garnet

I love the word inspire, whish literally means to breathe in. May you breathe in beauty, love, peace and joy.

May the light in your heart burn clear and long.

Thank you for the rich tapestry of your comments this first nine months. I look forward to longer days, more yang energy. May the heat in your heart warm you in the cold times.

Garnet

Beauty calls and yearns for your attention,
it gives rise and demension to your soul,
a reflection of your truest goals.

Lest we forget, our hearts are fueled
by a love enduring beyond our lives.
And beauty is its chaperone,
a spark through the dark nights
on the long walk
to the light of the mountain top.

All we have is each other.

May the comfort of love be with you.

Sacrificial Tree

Here are two poems about Christmas Trees. I’ve always been torn about having cut trees. I’ve reconciled my guilt by thanking the tree for giving me the soulful pleasure of its wonderful smell and living presence in my life.

I keep my trees as long as possible, usually until my birthday in mid January. This year I haven’t yet gotten a tree. I’ve just been too dissipated physically and emotionally, plus winter came on early, hard and strong. Who knows, maybe I’ll still get inspired.

Sacrificial Tree

Darkness descends upon afternoon’s glow
And pulls day’s light to down below.
As fickle air courts heavy chill
Feeble warmth flees up,
Conceding defeat
To weighty still.

I then illuminate the sacrificial tree
To lift the void which leadens me.
Her scintillating glitter
Enshrouds my fears
Enveloping my heart in glamorous sight.

This starry gift is infinitely old
yet ripe with richness
as time’s birth of soul.
Such sweet ritual!
Such mundane skill!
Giving root to such lofty thrill!

We need only open our hearts,
Our senses, our doubts, our souls to Her allure.
The myth of the season is born again.

Our Christmas Tree

Our Christmas tree stands before me,
evergreen through the seasons,
glowing with light
through darkness and freezing.
My soul is warmed by its
shimmering spirit,
all crystal and glimmering,
giving life to love needed.

I’m able to hope
by such burning glory
for peace where there’s strife
and love for those, lonely.
My heart aches with sadness
that you can’t be here near me
but life must go on, then
for Beauty’s Eternity.

technorati tags- christmas tree poems, Christmas poems, solstice poems, Christmas tree

Partition; Condom Use and Common Sense

Today is World AIDS Day, to remind us that AIDS is very much with us all. I would like to remind you that religious dogma is effectively discouraging and preventing condom use in the name of “encouraging abstinence”. Millions are dying while that kind of thinking still persists. I think it’s about time our karma ran over that dogma!

Partition

Shadow puppets
undress arms and legs
from under false skin.
Gestures sweep the sky,
pointing to roiling suns beyond
the flat life of black and white.
A disembodied voice
asks about private rooms.
The shadows frolic on, innocent.