Fallen Petals

Are not the fallen petals sacred under
trees, as memories, or leaves in autumn’s
thrall; vernal instability begun, her
tints take to flight in paper-hearts. Like Sodom’s
confetti, cast off bibilots obsessed
with covering the buried roots below
the shade.  Removing lace of spring’s confessed
attraction, for the sake of fruit, let go.
And so we turn from love and plunge as well
in seasoned change regardless of our gender,
despite intent, our feelings pitch pastel
and plummeting, as seeds of coriander,
give up the parsley for a fragrant brown
releasing height, accustomed to the ground.

 Flora on the Surface

Her recollections freckle lavender;
rosemary purples, drift
and dot the scene, mid
pensive pansies with bruised
eyes that bleed
into canary velveteen, 
let sail to bob and weave
with fennel’s eyelash greens;
a feathered flattery
that boats between
the columbine
with spurs obscured in flower,
forsaking other blossoms,
rests with rue,
whose bitter sorrow
contemplates the hour,
chaste daisies chain and violets ensue
and float above the tomb
in buoyant truth; a eulogy
of pollinated wreath.
Ophelia stares through them
from beneath.

Contemplating Love

The space between myself and open sky
is anise-velvet curiosity
It saturates the welkin, wonders why
those pensile moons of pearled monstrosity
were drawn to join the deco-disks of Saturn
while planets spun, pontificating courses.
Did Newton’s laws of force dictate their patterns;
or random fate what heaven reinforces?
Revolving slowly, is my nature turned,
magnetically, incredibly attracted,
unable to decipher or discern
if gravity or chance has me distracted.
Oysters orbit lunar satellites;
I am clasping thoughts of you tonight.

Wilderness

Regards to all those solitary places
where unaccompanied, some fear to stroll,
located in a wasteland that erases,
then redefines and purifies the soul.
A beating muscle somewhere in the middle
of wilderness is sensed before its seen,
there ‘found’ and ‘lost’ united, form a riddle
and pinnacle inverts into ravine.
Where time is only relative to season,
dimensions shared by life and death converge,
recombinant, these patterns beyond reason
adapt spontaneously and emerge.
A frequent misconception that forsaken,
within this void, there wander the forlorn.
Clear glimpses of existence are mistaken
for dirges sung by landscapes left to mourn

Hieroglyph

Unwinding, hissing, passing eons out,
ballooning flapped, elastic: time’s disease.
The years deflated under winter drought,
while oceans were reduced to antifreeze.
Through complicated wars of circumstance,
in heat and dust, a few survived. Though stiff
at first, our body-language did advance
and printed verse became a hieroglyph
and sneezed. Exotic font and serif said
it all, to modern scholars looking back
from Times New Roman, Palatine, instead
of Courier, Papyrus, Copper Black.
The future pouring over poems found
the curvature of letter minus sound.

Once in a While

The scarlet butte of Mexican Hat chokes
on unrelenting seasoned winds, (blew clear
through me). The huge stone sombrero shape, jokes
in sandstone, its humor drew me. Austere
walls rise to mesa’s, somber table tops,
that flatten under the skies, dropping down.
Then stair step to another level, stops,
deposited like silt, this silly town
with tourist prices, gas, deserted bar.
I met a stranded couple, (French) with brittle
nerves exposed, (the woman, nice), their car
was stalled and they just hung around a little.
Gave them a ride and finally a smile
at chance and switching hats once in a while.

Over There Sonnet

Before inhaling minted atmosphere,
or we observed this clotted light through blood,
were we a pucker in the stratosphere,
a sonnet enveloped; a darling bud.
Until our crowning, did we dwell beyond
as equal subjects in normality.
Prepared for berth from voyages; re-spawned
and moored to comprehend mortality.
Perhaps emoting here we are refined
for frequencies we cannot engineer.
Intangibles forgotten, left behind,
will be expanded when we disappear.
When first in love or deep in grief’s despair,
then freed and delicate, we’re over there.