Brushing my Bed Head Morning Mind

The strings of my mind,

are a tangled mess.

Complicated, irritated,

unsettled, unrest.

Each thought travels its windy way,

on roundabouts and hurricanes.

Knotted bows, knitted tights.

fuss and fluff and fleeting fights.

Come and smooth my thorny thoughts,

with your speckled wide-tooth comb.

 Calm me to my balmy bones.

Each string in linear pairs,

harmonizing together.

Strummed by the hand of God.

Humming with pleasure.

I'll trade my Spaghetti

for

Guitar Strings

Winds of Change

This Febuary has brought strange, warm, foggy weather. This evening, a wind blew in the door that sent shivers down my spine.


Close your eyes and smell the wind,
in the dark the stars descend.


The flattened clouds go racing by,
on the shadowed, navy-sky.
And the mellow, yellow, moon,
...is an unblinking eye


It's almost real tonight,
I can taste the sigh.
Standing on the brink at last,
looking through the flowing glass.


One day, the whisper will be a Shout!
sudden, without warning.
First star on the right and
Straight on till morning.

My Ocean and Me

Clean lines,

Blowing sand.

I love the way

you stand

Washed clean,

in the salty sea

Wild and solid

Warm and free

Bleached by the Sun,

wonderful one...

Your eyes are dragon-green

-glittering-

Let's lie forever,

and soak up the light,

You, me and the

goldfish

You can build the fire,

embers glowing deep

And I will sing

 you

to

Sleep

This Poem was inspired by:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/In+My+Arms/2xxfv8?src=5

and:



January-winter-tears

my cousin Joel is having a winter-spring...
http://thelowercaseblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/of-january-winter-springs.html

but I am having this:


Stinging, frozen, wintertears,
sharply shatter lilyleaves.
White and Old,
Pale and Gold.
my thoughts are far too sharp to hold.

Put them in a classy box,
watch them with your glassy eyes.
Your cloudy castles crystalize.

Oh! That I would softdissolve,
into a bucket that holds a whale.
I'd listen to the sailor's tale,
and help the insects parasail.

Till then, my arms are branches bare,
under the sunlight's chilly stare.
My roots are deep,
the hills are steep,
my heart is still a rebel's keep.



Crystal Trees

Issues....................................

Does is bother anyone else that when ever there is salsa, there are no chips. And whenever there are chips, there is no salsa?

It's the bane of this household.



Mine looks like this every time.
but mostly not.



Winter is a drag these days.

On the back of a whale in the wild seas,
I'm late for a wedding in Hawaii.
My dress is sewn from flowers and turf,
and the vows will be quick so we all can surf.