New Years Eve 1997 IN the KEYS

Separate souls adrift... On a new years bridge in the mangroves

     Crossed from past to future... On a soft kiss at midnight 

Spirits are introduced... With a touch 

     Tangled inside each other... Clear of material extras

Days merge skin and bone into... One sweet smell of the gift

       Two heart in flight... On the sea with it all

Anchored in honesty... Harmony with sharks around 

               Love Finds ...  For a Short Time... 

                     A Comfortable Harbor...

and then the Hurricane came roaring out of the east

            Deep  Lost  Peanuts

We two  lucky peanuts... In a shell... On the sea 

Warring leopard print cotton pants...  A wrap or nothing at all

Painting the radio and TV... While making bread computers

The band plays... Wild sweet music ... That seeps out the hatch

Into the sea... Where we live... With the fish, bugs and birds

Of the mangroves... In a shell

Two peanuts snuggling... Singing tasting experiencing

Ridding the blue coral pink... Wave called life 

Each day an adventure... Of new love

A dance interlude opens... In the moment with poem parts

Flowing opportunities... Find peace near Key West

Anchored in honesty bay... Secrets gone

Long Gone... Long Long gone... By Now 

                      THAW OUT

Miles of frozen air parted and closed behind us... our feet crunched homeward.

A trillion specks of suspended moisture, filled the moonlit night...

The dark-blue mixed with the stars... the trees sparkled in the still wind.

Our skin shivered and sucked at our bones...

Our toes could not have been closer together, without becoming one.

We moved forward... expecting all living things to break off at the stump...

Explode into a million pieces.

We knew if we stopped moving, learning, experiencing...

Death was a few steps behind, waiting, ready to pounce.

The sounds we experienced that night were... together and individually,

Concise, separate, distinct, crisp, and immediate.

Filially a sliver a light... over the snow, from the cabin door

Pulled us in to our simple fire, food, warm water, and each other.

As we melted… our small individual ideas of life... joined together...

In a collective pool of love on the floor.

We were melding, coming together... one people, one planet, one community,

Helping each other,

Thaw Out... with the cosmic, All and All 

           THE GIFT

                   of bad dreams

It came for me again this morning, the dream that comes before the sun.

It comes more often than before, 

It gets closer every time.

It's so real I feel the pain, I know it very well...

It's The Gift... I'm glad to say...

WHEN I AWAKE... I CAN NOT REMEMBER

The LETTER                                                 A Day In the Life

From: My collective soul

To: My babbling brain

Dear, Brain.

What's going on? You make everything so difficult. Your constant dribble of thoughts. Around and around in my mind you go, on and on and on and on.

Can't you hear me! Your ability to pull my soul out of the eternal now, increases with each thought you mix up. Your last message received was carried out with much confusion.

My eternal spirit pleads to you mind, come back. Your traveling on a trip all by yourself. You go places I've never been. You scream delusions of grandeur and self-loathing. I don't understand how we ever got so far apart... so confused.

Don't you remember when we were young, when we were one with the cosmos. Haven't I told you it's all right... to just be... to enjoy the simple things around.

Remember when we talked about shutting you down, permanently. 

Let us be... be quiet now... and  experience the silence between thoughts...

It's only life, another day. Tomorrow has not happened, yesterday has disappeared. 

We can't exist as slave and/or master !!!

Let us work together as one.

That's better, much better, and it feels good too...

     Thanks, 

          ME

        LIFE ASSUMPTIONS about the APPLE and the TREE

To say my friends and his parents were, never very close, is an understatement.

Finding them dead in that run down slumlord room, they stayed, just for a while, last winter.

Consoling guilt and cold days turned into weeks, poking around, reading the books left behind.

They found many sentences and paragraphs, underlined in different colors.

They tried to learn, to know, to feel, the depth of their parents beings.

To know how they thought, to understand their way of life.

What a change they went through, during that year, in that run down slumlord room.

One day in February about noon, my friends left cold and hungry, with a great smile on their faces.

The stove had devoured all the books... as they grew old visiting those silent memories…

 I never told them their parents never read anything… the books came from the dump.

They covered the holes in the walls, and on the floor…

The underlined sentences and paragraphs of blind color

Kept the wind and rain from blowing out the candle of their life.

Writing utensils fluffed the fire of their memory, as it slowly died, alone, without their children.

A few years latter they both moved a mile apart, in different cities.

To run down slumlord rooms, near the dump...

And wondered if their children… would… could… ever visit life assumptions,

About the apple not landing far from the tree.

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