In Winter

Frost cakes the roses,

Snow makes lace upon the glass.

The robin couldn't fly.

Age

When I look in the mirror

My hair is black

(so who is this

gray haired man).

When I peek in a glass

I am sleek and trim

(so who is this

fat old man).

Youth, they say,

Is wasted on the young

And the young has

Much to waste and spare.

First time a tooth

Fell out during brushing

I wept

From the simple fact

that it insulted

whatever slim integrity

I had left.

Age is wasted

On the old,

Like a withered rose

Covered by frost.

Revelation

"...And the name
of the star is called
Wormwood...”

A broken dream
In a hillbilly burg
So depressed
That the rust seeps
Through the water
Leaving grit in the mouth
Until every spoken word
Is bitter and terse.

“...It were a sea of glass
mingled with fire...”

All faith has gone
To the lost and found
Where it wanders like a stray
In the bad part of town

“...And there were stings
in their tails...”

Eden was once
In Ohio, right next
To a Dairy Queen.
All nestled in a valley
Of corn
Like a farm's boy dream
From the combine seat.
Softly whirls the thrasher,
So swiftly twirls the blades.

“...Who is worthy...
to loose the seals thereof?”

There is a silence in the heavens
In which the stars shall dim
And fade.

Once a Girl

Once a child
And once a girl,
Innocence still made
Its claim.
To dream
Like a child,
Like an angel,
Like a fawn.
To see the clouds
And feel the rain.

Each memory is
Like a precious fragment
Of fallen, gilded gold.
You would spread them
As little tokens
Across a fanciful map.
Each marked a place
To dream of,
Each mark a wish,
Each spot a hope.

Young you were
And never young again.
A brief reveille
Before the autumn
Before the chill.
A brief repast
Before the grace.

Cyclic Journey

She takes a lover in the summer
And leaves him in the fall.
In winter, the bedsheets are washed
And dried
And the covers are changed
Every spring.

Next summer, she takes another lover
And he lies between
These sheets.
The fresh wash scent is new
To him
As he mistakes an annual courtesy
For a lasting place to sleep.

Journey's End

Journey's end in lovers' meeting
In shady lanes
Or lonely country roads
Or open plains
Or simply some small
Coffee shop
Where the latte is warmer
Than the heart.

Journey's end in lovers' meeting
Unless it rains
Or shines
Or simply turns into that
Partly cloudy which is
Never really fish nor fowl
But always cool
And indecisive.

Journey's end in lovers' meeting
In paperbacks for sure,
Or occasionally in Dear Abby,
Though she sent the last
Three lonely hearts to smell
The coffee
At the same place where the latte
Is always warmer than the heart.

Journey's end in lovers' meeting
Unless the bus is late
And the car breaks down
And sometimes, simply sometimes,
The effort goes to waste.

Shiva's Dance

It's a gnawing feeling,
The last of one's kind,
At the ending moment
Of ending times,
Where birds fall
Like snow flakes
And the stars begin
To dance
And water turns
To brine.

Most prophets are
Like a broken clock
And most clocks
Are bound to break.
Besides time itself,
Has ceased to tick,
Stopping for a smoke
Beneath a banyan tree
Where a pleasant breeze
Drifts cool and sweet.

From the shores of Allegheny
Across the Pennsylvanian sea
You talked about your life
Among the dunes of old Nebraska
And the sands of Iowa.
You said you once found a fossil
Beneath a banyan tree.

And then you told us tales
About the lost human race.
Strange creatures, you said,
Who fell from grace,
From carelessness,
With little trace.