So How Was Your Week?

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What a Fine Weekend


Puzzle had an idea she was a picture,

Made a muse my elation, a ghost?

Prayer thanked mine eyes for finding her

Falling for pieces each fit her innermost

Treasure is buried, close my eyes now to remember.

You look away the moment of bloom

Because we cannot behold love’s face

Inside fairy tales’ giants marching in costume

Guarding hearts from steps we might retrace

Sweet night’s fragrance, jasmine your perfume.


Waking in a world with this secret

Exploding in journeys retaking the sky

Proclaiming hearts bursting they scream it

Do you see? You gave me the key,

It burns in my chest my heart can’t conceal it.

Enchanted our candle, two flames burning blue

Breathless and tingles you lend me your care

So we burn down the night our incense for two

We take to the rail with you I can dare

Break the spell, hot wax seals us brand new

My desert daydream magic the mountain

Do I thank you enough for the eternal you share?

Was it real or just spray from the fountain?

Got me wet I can feel it still there

Waiting and aching my bones can’t contain.

This mystery of thought we live in just now

Could it be we don’t want it to stop?

Or deeper meaning our Makers endow?

Don’t solve it just yet, please once more from the top,

Any clue, any sign, let me know.

When time makes us small one day dream of me please

Tell me tonight was real, dreaming of you

Our nature shared freely its joyous embrace

In this verse dances magic for two

A toast to our hearts, till the next glass we raise.

Finer Still As We Wake the Next Day


still seeing lights new

imagining still now you

joy out of the blue


With These Memories Tickling Still


A sip?

Please a drop?

That I might know once again.

Your taste.

In my tears.

tears and loss

Almost Like Waiting for the Call After an


Thank you for your time yesterday,

Your interview style was a nice touch,

Spontaneity is my favorite way,

I just hope I didn’t talk too much?

Hoping to hear from you to learn,

Meanwhile I keep counting my blessing,

Patience is indeed it’s own return.

That’s what we all say on succeeding,

Perhaps you’ll say I’m overqualified?

But I need training more than the masses,

Besides there is no substitute for delight,

Or passion in the pursuit of happiness!

If you decide on another, maybe you’re right?

That drink? My answer will still be yes.

I’d rather though you told me that I might,

And let me savor again your voice’s caress.

Meanwhile Odd Memories of Conversations About Trees?

peaches for you

The Old Sumac

Beautiful ancient darkness came before the roots

And after, light remained still so obscure

Is there any magic to give me, a cure?

Meanwhile I share old pictures of me in suits.

 You see I am unwell, it seems the sunrise stays all day

Now for me all time is gone into the wind

Like a butterfly seeking what it must find

In this twilight, an inspired place to play.

 Imagining the sumac so sweet in mild winter

Wrestling it’s wild from our suburban strife

We’re soft, so taming is beyond our life

Rather, might we enjoy its steady gift of shelter?

 Plant another tree, lots of future’s friend

Stonefruit make for sweet companions

Teasing changes through our imagined seasons

Together we might share peaches without end.

 So you can. You can have it all!

Nurse your sumac, respect his longevity

Find him companions fill his days with levity

We can rock in his shade feel him hold us in his thrall.

 What might we learn from such a rest?

Surprised as each we are by this new gift.

Did we expect a shooting star to have so much lift?

Hold on tight, enjoy it, make it last.

 Respecting time’s produce, all that can ever be

More than we have wishes for, and that’s a lot

Falling gently into our lap, love’s sweet honey

A good long life, we can learn from our old sumac stock.

Springtime desert heat gifts us with its dew so sweet

Imagine how our old sumac loves this season

So many memories the rings encircle now long gone

This old man may surprise us and become a loveseat?

Got Me to Thinking About the Gift of a Muse (and magic glasses)


And so now after Seven days, I rest with your poetry, thank you.

Attractions arrest,

Some need to count their number?

Always, seventeen.

Cheers and to all, the best, best dreams.

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