For Bede
(2014)
In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos
Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up
Soft gray clouds pass slowly by, Soon they will release a gift of r… Trees are shedding their leaves As they turn red, orange and yello… Signaling the squirrels to collect…
Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and
I lay still While my loved one, Sleeps. His warm hand In my hand,
Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face
Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry
Some days you’re in bliss, Some days you’re in pain. Some days you’re up in the clouds, Some days you’re down in the flame… Some days you get what you want
Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the
Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a
Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle
Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,