Time and time again(10/22/2013)Huddled around the table
On the Plane(10/08/09)Brightness and flight
A Peek(5/26/08)Around the track we go
Then(8/29/07)Only a little while past Huddled around the table Commune of the young Forever a sunny day Didn't know you better But your radiance all the same. Twas only a little while past In time memory stands still Then dream and dare the world Now older, but you're not Didn't know you better Yet wiser am I now.
Cycles(7/11/07)To be loved
Time arrests much
Minute by second
Haze unto haze it goes
Yet imperfection always and now
Once a little world
And a perfect window
From my little porch
Powerful swirling confusing twine
Time now is clair water
Brisk and peaceful with luminance
Not a belle fair package
Yet what a world it is
Two Months (6/30/06)
Two months, minus a day.
After May Day.
Magic? But no.
Epic? But no.
But the day was long,
and the road difficult.
Two months, minus a day.
I miss, why?
I regret, no?
Your words were many and sweet.
Nothing, but here, and there.
Just Us (6/02)
So majestic, so quiet
The sleek reddish color, a monument to humanity,
Itís quiet out here, just the bridge and us.
The lyric rhythms, sounding below deck,
Handsome young men and women, swirling around and around.
But up here, on the windy, dark, deck,
Itís just us and the bridge,
Elegant and silent, powerful and mild.
My Room (12/99)
My room, my room,
My things are strewn across the room,
My bed, my bed,
From there I see the world out there.
I look from my little room,
Out the window across the world,
See a vast vast world of green and gray,
From the twenty-ninth floor no less.
Thereís the office building to the left,
So tall, so tall, how high does it go?
I see the mountains and the rest,
Buildings swallowing the jungle, left and right.
Thereís a Buddhist monastery down the middle,
Thereís the villages up and down,
Then there are the high-rises on the right,
A family living out each window, just like mine.
The sky is gray, and they said rainíll come,
But how cheerful it is from my little corner,
Looking out at the world out there,
The world, the world, how big it is.
The Fly (10/1999)
In the dark of night
My lights, shining
Books open, coffee brewing.
Then the fly came.
It drifted in, living as it does.
Then our lives crossed.
Our two different lives.
I looked at him.
And he looked back at me.
I, the paragon of bookishness.
Him, simply looking for food.
We watched each other intently.
He wished for my food.
I wished that he begone.
He turned, I turned,
He left, I continued.
And we were alone.
I look upon my childhood home,
The grass still neatly trimmed,
The front colored in a rustic gray,
The lamp up front rusted but functional.
I walk along this familiar path,
In my unwrinkled dark suit and tie,
The click of my shoes, the clangs of my car key,
Remind me of the present.
Yet, the backyard was the same as before,
the peach tree sticking out as in earlier times,
The sun beating down upon the pavement,
Revealing the same stains and cracks.
I look upon my leather-strapped
Time to leave, better drive home,
Time to find family,
Tell them of the interview.
But I catch a glimpse in the
A shy young boy, dressed in a clean yellow shirt,
Peers out, curiously, at the tall well-dressed man,
I see myself back in my old room in my old house,
Looking out once more.
The wind of love
The warming breeze, exhilarating breath
There is nothing outside,
Nothing but the wind
It wraps around you, engulfing you
Then it stops
Why did it stop?
Wherefore is the wind?
But wind is unpredictable
Stay with the wind
See how far it'll carry you
See if it's fooling you
When you're truly ready, embrace it
Spring Bombs (5/11/99)
Sitting in the sunshine
Basking, warming up,
Birds chirping, trees swaying,
Spring is here.
But there among the trees
Shouts of anger, confusion
Signs, protests, pictures,
War, bombs, death.
Three pictures, three normal people,
Pictures of their bodies,
Deformed, swaying in the wind.
What to say, what to think?
Its the bombs that did it,
In their own embassy,
Swaying now, lifeless.
The marchers march on,
Calling for peace, calling for an end,
Marching under the warm sun and green trees,
Spring is here.
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