Why my friend, would you poop in a tree?
No consideration for furred, feathered… or even baldy me
Why did you choose here to do your deed
another would have passed, or maybe just peed

Little Bandito, with fuzzy mask
why do I even bother to ask.
maybe at night, this tree is your home
but now, in the sunshine, I do Roam

If it were only possible
to tell you of the sky,
the purple-black ink jet Gotham night sky,
a comic book of plot
painted, in my sky –

It it were only posssible to
show you the clouds,
racing past
the moon
off to a dream.
a dream,
in the ear
of a raccoon –

If it were possible to say
that the river was still…
deep
still
boiling
and swirling…
you know,
still.

If it were possible to explain
how the crispness of the cool
fall air warms me
more than
the august sun-

If it were possible to say
that this is the time
before darkness sets,
to grab your friends
embrace and make fêtes
because tomorrow
is night,
cold
dark night.
so now we live
YES
WE LIVE!

if it were possible to say all this to you
I would need no words
No,
I would just smile
and say
hello.

“Go West Young man”
Apollo whispers weakly from behind
“future, horizon…. future….
“West!” he exclaims, in the shadow of a cough
His once mighty voice,
now a timorous plea
gentle and soft.
“Why do you come to me,
only to run back to her?
Follow your path, my lad
and she will follow you.
as surely
as
she follows me”

With mournful sigh
boy bid night goodbye.
to his chaotic mistress
he threw one last kiss
and followed his heart
to a road apart
to claim his gold
through action bold

And as he took those
first fateful steps
the boy smiled..
no, …
the boy grinned
and.. yes,
he
twinkled his eye.
why?
for he glanced back once
and Her pale smile
was already there-
to follow him, wherever and where
he may dare to go.
“OK, here I come”
a thin silhouette
etched
in phoenix flame.

oooooooooooooohhhhhh
ocean waves in pure contentment
admiring you admiring them
singing a chorus, and jubilant.
a thousand 9-year-old school girls
out for recess on a nice spring day
the 9-year-old boys sail above
in choreographed aerobatics
impresarios and little machismos,
youth.

Up above, the moon smiles,
she smiles her sweet little smile
she knows I came for her brother
but is glad anyway, for the company.

the wind purrs gently in my ear
joining the watery chorus
constant chanting, floating in the air
in tongues long forgotten, except to my soul.

songs that used to belong to you
songs that still belong to me.
If only we would look, we would find
songs of joy

Gaia reclaims her lost prodigal
who comes to her now
empty and open
thirsty and yearning…
who comes to witness the performance of a lifetime

of countless lifetimes.
yet each one,
each and every single one
unique.
delicate.
pure.

for whatever ails you
this be the cure.

thank you my child
for coming to see.
for I am you,
and you,
you are
me.

There is a silence in the woods after a rain… or perhaps it only comes in between rains… but it is an overbearing, overwhelming, and quite intimidating silence.  It actually pushes down on you.  Pushes all thoughts down out through your toes, until you can consider nothing, but the silence.  There is no rustling of the leaves, they are all wet and heavy.  The various creepings, and shufflings of the creatures are muted.  The air itself is heavy, pregnant with the imaginings of discontented poets, and sad painters.  In this great silence, one can only look inside for something, some sign that there is something alive in this forest.

And that is when it happens,

that is when I see that there is life in this forest, in this world around me.

I feel it growing.

I move inside

I am no longer alone.