Keeping with Wallace Steven's structure and theme of beauty in the barren winter of life, I find myself contemplating the transitions in life; the autumns of life - not quite summer, not quite fall, and never permanent.
One must have a mind of autumn To regard trembling aspen memories Of honey gold leaves quaking in the wind whisped path; And have lived many times in between seasons To behold the fleeting and ever passing illustrious fire colors, The wilting land in the September sun Of the shifting winds; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wavering breeze In the sound of those last dangling memories Which is the sound of the living Full of reverence of the dying That is blowing us through one season into the next For the listener, who listens to the inevitable  October air, And, beholds everything, beholds Everything that is not there and everything that is.

crayon dreams

dreaming in color wide purple days silver skies cover our jaded mistakes all is good here only one blue Caribbean hues calling my sun tanned toes sunk in white sand watch the waves rolling in only to sweep the lies back to the salty sea again peripheral vision Mediterranean days cover the silent tides between […]