FYDOR'S BERRY

There were many people in the plaza

Doing what busy people do in Russia

During the 19th Century at last

There was finality there was closure.

Or so it may have seemed based on the past

For there still was no way to measure that

But enormous history without forecast

Without a precise way to understand

Enters Fydor up to his elbows

Seeking an entrance or a portico

Into the soul of his nation and more

Reaches for Russia but captures the World.

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APACHE INFINITE

 -- Grandfather Grandfather

I lived in time there were no fences

The fences came later so did the gun

It’s no longer as it used to have been

when people were free there were no fences

The fences came later so did the guns.

The wagon, the train, the corporal, the law

the church, the messiah, the rituals

but there was freedom and later fences

The border that’s there didn’t used to be

And the people could travel where they went

It’s no longer as it used to have been

when people were free when freedom was free

It will never be as it was before

but will return to itself forever.

FEB 5.15

When February with its Fiery Green

Sweep across the fingers of a Palm Tree

Spilling they spread bare, flower’s cupolas weave

Blue and yellowed, yellowed its tips proceed

Angled hazardous in degree so free

the bloom in its tumult and precipice

impossibly as a bird sees escape

survival results of fear set fire

and flame just a paint brush its verdure plain

winter of green is summer of orange

where yellow alerts beckons elements

profusely the flame of life burns gently

early in February when fine things

can be wrought from the remnants of evenings

BELLE DE LA TERRE, EARTHBELL

Bell of the earth that rings in my ear.

I hear you. You spin a great and large wheel.

It’s covered with golden dust I can see.

Made of the forces of nature tuned far.

The music as its heard becomes a tear.

as sound it deposits in its chamber.

To listen is to love as love can hear.

The bell of the earth is brown and brick red.

It turns around its center on a rod

the rod is like the chord of a large harp

and at its core is made of purer air

than sound itself can utter all alone

the wavelength of the ringing of the bell

showers over earth the song of the bell

JANUARY MUSIC

--this is that sacred flower, "Yellow Flower" WCW

There is a town called Dayton, Ohio.

where in the month of January   snow

covered the recesses where it came down

and was a beauty freedom bellowed for   

while its music playing blows the notes

as though it were a violin and bow

performing as encroached by a shadow

a sacred song of feather and arrow

The Yellow River's tribute to the shore 

 its waters flows to memories then surface

a spectral color light casts on its course

and washes from its afterglow its ores.

Zenith of the golden fountain harbors

The time for even everything is now.

CUBA APOSTOL

CUBA APOSTOL

Cuba, APostol, Isla, Sagrada.
Le mando mi verso recibenla
Con el mas alto saludo Elegua
Yemaya, guieme, Santa Seren.

Me acompana alabanzas y sed.
Busco su aparencia en palmas
Altas sus contestas no las capte
Las horas pasan se hacen ojas

Sinceramente son suyas mis letras
Llego mi ensayo al instituto
Los ideales abarcan saeta
Guardenmelo cerca del maestro

Cuba Apostol, Isla Sagrada
Le mando mi verse recibenla

EDITH WILFLEUR

Wildflower growing in Memory.

Were they the songs of my Father’s own?

Placed in the veins of my mother’s body

Discovered in grandmother’s poem tomes.

Smaller than anything I ever knew.

The Eyes of the Pansies so detailed.

Pupils of tears spilled in Heaven’s dews of Heaven.

I like that it goes past the Measure See.

I never fell apart though I was broken.

I merely switched feet and toncinued, ounce.

Quantity of my Merciful parent

The poem as a Peony a Book as Home.

Because they TOuched me first I touched them Too.

As Releasing a Century  I Knew