A Flower like a Circle

the flower is a circle made of truth

woven in the leaf parchment alphabet

by an abstract expression of its worth

when beauty was ineffable at first

and stood as itself the pattern of earth

spun from the same light fiber loom like wool

but softer far softer than soft can touch

drawn from liquid crystal dewdrops of dew

and sifted through the wooden green iris

with which light sees itself in its image

beauty is an after-thought adage

the flower is the answer in the dark

when nothing can be seen but the darkness.

SOUL MYSTERY

string of the moment and pearl of the past

these are the beautiful things that I have

signs of the letters brought to inhabit

the power, the patent, the attachment

linked across two objects of their beauty

which has for its purpose design and joy

movement that is tranquil and rests at will

along the outlines of the roses

invisible to themselves to behold

of lovely form for everybody else

alone in the absence of the other

yet the River of Time that traverses

the shore of my greatest mystery, soul,

destined before the winds begin to blow.

SUNNY PARTIAL SHADE

I walk to the corner for aspirin

crossing the sidewalk as it bisects me

the people all occupied with being

careful and cautious afraid to be seen.

I, too, wish I were more invisible

that the plunge in the maelstrom fingers

like a violin that becomes myself

played by a sound wave along a quiver

Silent orchestra, hour of stillness,

a vessel as celestial as a star

brimming in a whole and part mystery

the sacred noon hour has passed and filled

Taking two drops from a symptom of pain

to answer the pressure of life again.

HANDSOME ROSE

The petal-shaped hand, its dichodral leaf

remembers so well that it panics to speak

and with words of upturned blossoms it says

the answering of love is beautiful

part of the hand and from the open palm

is the litmus of a flower blessed truth

to love is to love by every value worth

beauty at once is beauty forever

the world is a rose pined in the hour

when it first broke through ether to descend

from the birth of its origin’s bower

through the rose with its form as its power

circling with the eye of the crown of thorns

piercing yellow pollen horn for the world

VIOLET PURPLE BLUE

The pastel tint warmed in milk of the moon

woven from astros from oceans the loom

that it fulfills in its culmination

body to soul to everything fathom

the eggshell existence carapace home

as extends to its free freedom free form

and for that pure reason the purple blooms

like a bubble between waves of fusion

the unanswered question is an answer

absolutely anything appears One

as it nurtures a mirror opened Poem

sheer celestial heather heaven on Earth

flowering in the gifts of its Glory  

SUN BLOOM SKY PETALS

The sun blooms a petal blue elixir

seeing for itself the visible sky

looks along inside eye of the eagle

over the distance as vast it reveals

or races on the features of vision

The lens of a wing a the power pulls

and silence awakes a season of sound

past the past tense and into the lion

that crosses the mountain into its own

and roars of time eternal from hours

the flame as it venerates the fire

the living tree trunk of viscous bower

Lava that melts like the wax of the moon

distilled into starlight draped in the Sun.

A GOOD DAY

A good day begins like everyday does.

Expecting the daylight to give us love.

We want good for others and through ourselves.

We hope to return by our force alone

To a New Dawn where suffering lessens.

It sparks a desire for more wakens

In the answers where mystery blossoms

An Echo of the sound of the sovereign

Who cultivates a sacred message song

This is a Good Day when Good Days are Gone.

Holy at Once is Holier Again.

The Pestle-Hearted stem of the Flower

Grows to the Earth against the Mouth of the Sun

And the Earth becomes a  Bulb of Absynthe.