A Journey of a Thousand Miles

Born out of darkness, into light,
tempted to retrace our steps,
we pursue the melody passionately,
compelled to embody the seasons
and rise
……….. to the tug of the moon.

A limitless universe, we travel ever lost,
stretching to attend the incomprehensible,
starving with a hunger no food
has yet assuaged.

It is all mere talk until we take a step.
The right word no more than sleight of hand
until we’ve stumbled and rose up again
richer for the experience, forging the way
for someone
……….to go farther than we’ve been.

Ocean City in October

The blue/gray sea off Ocean City
is an unending sentence.  Today
it is all verbs and adjectives.
Roiled and misty, anticipating storm,
it is too restless to name anything.

The little airplanes with their billowing banners
have gone in.  No need to tout Coppertone
when there is no sun and no tourists
to see them.  It’s October, even the seashells
have buried their heads in the sand.

On the boardwalk, the carousel is still;
the horses are draped in their winter blankets.
They will emerge in May with the music,
tails and manes fluffed with a new brush,
coats sleek.

In Ocean City, this is the Spirit Season.
Wind and soul and stretches of sand
become one.  Even the gulls sense the change.
Their rudeness is gone.  True to their tuxedos,
they are the picture of harmony.

This deserted beach is the perfect place
for peace treaties.  One must remember
to bring pencil and paper.  The tide is rising,
white capped waves are rolling in. Anything
written in sand will soon be gone.

Beneath the Harvest Moon

You gave me lungs
and songs to sing.  September’s  frost
has kissed the pumpkin;  night air
wears a hint of chill.

Soul to soul
we spent the currency of Spring,
Now maples wear their glory’s flame;
too soon the brilliant blaze is done.

I hear the gone sound
of a thousand silver wings;
fireflies, dragon flies,
jet planes,

I watch the sky
with just a tiny twinge,
who could mourn
such a splendid season?