my earthly Angel

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and how could it be…
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hearing only her laughter, singing
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the melody of my every dashed Hope, raining
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down in sparks and chords
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from soaring skies so high above my broken life,
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swirling past faceless strangers
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in anonymous rooms. if
.
there were other voices to hear that night
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.
these ears never heard them, and if
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there were other eyes to see,
.
mine never met them. and if
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there is a steady hand
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coloring summer days from despair, the
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perfect cosmic hand was dealt us that night,
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a royal flush of Kings and Queens,
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of hearts and diamonds,
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of fateful serendipitous
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milliseconds
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between the lost..
.
or found.
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to Scout, my earth Angel
Happy 13th Valentine’s Day
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002
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approx, 8″ x 10*’ on vellum paper
pencil, watercolor pencil, white marker
sourced from a b & w selfie of Scout
and my imagination. click to enlarge.

Siren of Shooting Stars

dear friends,
it’s been a long week and a longer winter.
i began daydreaming about the warm weather
and the annual vacation we take each August.
we rent a 5 bedroom houseboat on Holly Lake
in Tennessee and find our favorite cove and
tie up for 10 ten days.

this is a repost, i edited the form. it was written
in one sitting at 3am as i sat as i always do, on the
top deck while family and friends were asleep. this song
was playing in my headphones and this poem was inspired by
the incredible shower of shooting stars that crossed the sky.

please play the song and begin reading…ty and i hope you enjoy.

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.

when

the

S u n

is

busy

elsewhere…..

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.

and

the

night

descends

upon

your

world…

.
.

in

your

S i l e n c e…

.
.

in

the

S e r e n i t y

of

forgiving

S o l i t u d e…

.
.

cast

away

the

fear,
.
.

just

S u r r e n d e r

your

heart

.
.

and

.
.

L i s t e n.

.
.

beg

your

eyes

to

open,

.
.

to

gaze

so

high

above

the

low

horizon.

.
.

there…

beyond

any

doubt

.
.

behind

the

shadow

of

constant

cloud,

.
.

S h e

can

be

seen

each

night

cajoling

every

S t a r

in

your

S k y.

.
.

B e l i e v e,

.
.

embrace

your

F a i t h.

.
.

S h e

is

O m n i p r e s e n t,

.
.

S h e

is

E v e r l a s t i n g.

.
.

S h e

is

a

daughter

of

the

U n i v e r s e,

.
.

a

S i r e n

of

S h o o t i n g

S t a r s.

.
.

her

voice

a

chorus,

.
.

a

H a r m o n y

of

every

melody

devoted

to

.
.

L o v e.

.
.

her

history

our

yearning,

.
.

the

sum

of

our

forgotten

M e m o r y.

.
.

her

shape,

a

C o s m i c

swirling

of

I n f i n i t e

density.

.
.

S h e

talks

to

S t a r s,

.
.

in

the

U n i v e r s a l

language

of

L o v e,

of

.
.

R e a s s u r a n c e.

.
.

a

S i r e n

offering

C o u r a g e

to

erase

their

fear.

.
.

‘my bashful star,
.
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ready yourself for the voyage.

.
.

T i m e

is

N o w.’

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.

‘oh, lovely star
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.
hear my song,
.
.
my Melody of Love as you fly’

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‘go little star!

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blaze a trail
.
.
across the midnight sky’

.
.

and

become

N o w,
.
.
what you were always meant to Be.’
.
.
and show this world
.
.
P e r f e c t i o n,
.
.
in your moment of
.
.
E t e r n i t y.’

.
.

The Bridge of Time and Promise

dear friends.. i felt the need to write some prose while i worked on the co write poems i mentioned in my last post, the song was chosen not for the title or video but for the close your eyes experience.
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The Bridge of Time and Promise
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Chaos was the default setting in my family. The earliest memory of my uncertain future, was me sitting in the sturdy chrome legged high chair that provided a perfect mezzanine level view of the kitchen table. From the relative safety of that private perch sitting plush as a prince behind my oversized formica tray, I could hear and see everything.

It was a cruel foreshadowing of how I would eventually view the world.

Wednesday meant spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and not ’50’s style Americanized Chef Boyardee spaghetti either. No, not in our house. I can remember watching for hours while my mom made the meatballs, prepared the ingredients and slow cooked the deep red fragrant sauce on the stove. With her large spoon disappearing into the open topped aluminum pressure cooker to take a sip then dolloping some into my plastic bowl, I was a red saucy mess by dinnertime

Though I was much too young and preoccupied as curious kids are,
to understand exactly what all the words I heard actually meant, I knew something was amiss that night. Kids learn by repetition and it wasn’t until my personal spaghetti feast was suddenly interrupted by a very loud thwack followed by my father yelling at the top of his lungs, did I realize the words ‘not good enough’ was…uhm, not good.

From what I could gather, his ‘not good enough wife’ had once again tried to cook a ‘not good enough sauce’, not like his mother would make it and said sauce and spaghetti ended up on the ceiling in so furious a motion, my mom and I sat in stunned mouth agape awe.

Lost in my kid reverie of seeing something new for the very first time,
I don’t recall hearing the plate crash down on the table but the white porcelain shards were everywhere. The inevitable commotion and chaos trailed quickly down the hallway without so much as a glance from me, I just couldn’t take my eyes off that Rorschach red splatter on the low ceiling.

So there I sat in our little kitchen alone in my high chair, howling with laughter as one by one a spaghetti strand would peel away from the ceiling only to flutter and plop on the linoleum floor.

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Apparently the spaghetti was cooked to perfection, al dente pasta will cling if you toss a strand on the ceiling; an old school trick I learned from my few years as a chef. The recipe is memorized now I’ve made it so many times though I wish just once, mom could have slow cooked
it for her grandchild. Shining that red saucy face grin, my daughter has been happily wearing that sauce since she was in her own high chair.

Mom deserved to live that memory… the world and our lives are less that she didn’t but the regret has tempered with time, and knowing mom would have been tickled that her recipe was still being savored.

And there is solace in knowing the weight of her life has lifted some,

that the generational abuse in our family finally ended with me…

a promise I whispered in my daughter’s ear

the miracle night she was born.

in whatever I have or may succeed,

I find joy in the vast and

tranquil oceans of her innocence.

and my life’s full reward

witnessing the budding dreams

of clean and open sky…

of song and flights of angels soaring…

of pure… in her adolescent eyes.
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as the Universe intended.
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between day and mystery…..Haiku / Tanka

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a most beautiful song to read by
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between day and mystery
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could it really be…
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these arms spent so many years
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not holding you near,
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without breathing in
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the scent of love in your voice
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when you’re close to me?
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how long did i wish…
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that every cloud would spell
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your name in the sky,
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a heavenly trail
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.
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i would follow faithfully.
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.
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in each dream i dreamt…
.
.
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tumbling through galaxies…
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.
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search imploding stars for
.
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any trace of you.
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how these fingers grieved,
.
.
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without the soft curves of your
.
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.
body next to me.
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tossing and turning as each
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day morphed into loveless night.
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.
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awake….without you…
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living in the void between
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day…. and mystery.
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thCAVN1YTK

The Angel of Redemption

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some magical Icelandic music to read by
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The Angel of Redemption
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high on a mountain
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resting in the Sun washed sky,
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day never meets night,
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and the Stars never die.
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low clouds… they wait suspended in
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a permanent air…
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alone on the peak
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with the Heavens nearby,
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and speaking in tongues
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with her half Sister the Moon,
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an Angel sits there.
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i’ve traveled this jagged path
. .

.
of a difficult life,
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plateau… by plateau,
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reaching… time and… again
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.
.
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climbing this mountain of strife.
.
.

and restless souls
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.

sleep the sleep of despair,
.
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while we stumble…
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stumble blind
.
.
.
.

through the night…
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.

my clear eyed Angel
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beckoned as I reached the peak,
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.

she sat me down… and held my hand.
.
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together… we watched
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our Universe unfold there…
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she spoke softly in
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a tranquil dialect of unconditional Love,
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in the purest syllables of Truth.
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the Truth
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.
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only the Innocent know.
.
.

her words dreamlike swirling in the still air…
.
.

as i became the story in her eyes,
.
.

slowly… the burden of years…
.
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the remnants of wronged perception,
.
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.
and the dead weight of doubt began
.
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.

………………..lifting
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……….floating
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………………..rising
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becoming one with
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the Infinite Memory of Stars.
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amidst the permanent air of the Universe.
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.

a celestial reminder
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the eternal gift of Love given being returned,
.
.

time…and time…and again..
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as our finite days become forever…
.
.

and we become another…
.
.

like imploding Stars morph into matter….
.
.

because Love given…like a Star
.
,

never truly dies.
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.
ngc6357_hubble_960
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.

from NASA.gov
For reasons unknown, NGC 6357 is forming some of the most massive stars ever discovered. One such massive star, near the center of NGC 6357, is framed above carving out its own interstellar castle with its energetic light from surrounding gas and dust.

oh, sweet night!

dear friends, this song is meant to be
played as a soundtrack::::enjoy::::
.

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i walk the streets of my city…

an insignificant spirit refugee,

stranded in shadowed concrete canyons.
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in my hidden anonymity,

blank behind blue shades and

wind whipped hair across this face.
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.
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i search in vain for any spark,

peek for miracles around every corner.

on sidewalks choked, with rustling hordes,

in narrow blackened streets, of rolling steel.
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in shallow lung tentative

breathing of our muck and grime.

an empath’s lament and responsibility,

absorbing each speck in sound and emotion.
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oh low sun…

you’ve…had your day,

blinding these sensitive eyes.
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.
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my shy sister moon…

please…show yourself…

it’s our time to shine now!
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oh million hidden stars…

appear now one by one by one

and light the way to my forgiving solitude.
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lone distant stars, join and sing your song

in ancient melody, erase this day in stale memory,

deliver our world, the dense of black night i crave!
.
.
.
help me, scrub the crust of strangers from my skin,

and flush their anxious aura, from my consciousness.

cleanse a fragile heart, every absorbed anger and cruelty.

free this old soul, from the deadly weight of this world.
.
.
.
strip me innocent again,

bathe me, in your galaxy starlight voices!

sing in glorius chorus, of collective memory,

in universal dialect of wisdom and harmony.
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.
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tender night, calm this restless mind,

cradle a trusting heart in your embrace.

blanket me close, in ethereal spirit mystery

of self reflection and fearless quietude.
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.
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oh sweet night!
.
.
usher in the hushed
.
midnight hours ’til dawn…
.
it’s there… when the world
.
is invisible and asleep…
.
it’s then….

that i can hear
.
the kindness of the Universe,
.
whisper the poetry
.
of sweet emotional release!
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