Night Fall in a Ghost Town

It’s quite

The last light

Is a crescent blade

Immersed in the crimson

Smoke of a raging conflagration

This town of long gone spirits now sleeps

Gone are the wayward pioneers of the plaines

Disappeared now are the bison and antelope

Gold diggers shed their pans for timber

A community of hermits has grown

Sick of the sounds and lights

They run to the clear air

They find a splendid

Night fall in a

Ghost town

Sleeping

Alone

There Must Be Fire

A Blazing red sky

But half a world away

The world is azure clear

Blue heat and a fiery crimson cold

Brightly warming as I feel a crisp chill

For all the fierce boredom and soft passion

I should know my good friend irony better

Gratefully I live in these complex times

For a dreamer in idyllic simplicity

Has no fantasy to imagine

While I create worlds

That may never

Exist

Thorny

There are days

So dazzling the haze stays

For hours encroaching on my routine

Still those times are entrancingly vague

So I find a path around the thorny patch

Finding a cloud of  fluff to dream on

My life seems ziggy and zaggy

At times yet I thrive on the

Uncertainty and surprise

Daring to glide on the

Chance outcome

I cherish the

Result

Wish He Had Stayed Longer

One last stop

James Dean made as he hurried

To get down the road for another race

Do you wonder if he had stayed a little longer

If I had stayed a little longer  and not rushed off

Would my departure into the cool night be noticed

Somehow I know the answer even without hearing

There is no fame involved and none wanted

Only the assurance I am thought of

When I feel most invisible

And wanted when I

First appear

* James Dean’s Last stop on September 30, 1955 was at Blackwell’s Corner on Route 466 (now 46) where he bought an Apple and a Coke. A few minutes later he was killed in an auto accident. This picture is taken of a billboard at Blakwell’s Corner in the Worlds Largest Parking Lot, at least that’s how it is billed.

No Straight Lines

Everyone knows the adage

The shortest distance between

Two individual points is a straight line

There are no words  that cover life from birth to death

We hear a lot about the straight and narrow but so what

We were never meant to be cookie cutter clones of each other

I prefer to be the unique person I am, organic and always growing

It may be jointed spirals of creative unpredictable  shapes

I’ve no need to be perfect only to be remain curious

About life, experience, knowledge and love

Not always socializing but sociable

I will have no straight lines

But I am loved none

The less

The Sun Inside

Deep within the core

Of a wild and purple dream

Where the sun inside is golden

And the stems are verdant green

Lies a kingdom real and winsome

With a queen whose voice sings

And the wonders on display

Are created by the words

Of an introvert dreamer

Who was never as

He seemed

Handplant

My world

Has turned upside-down

So I plant my hand on solid ground

Kick up my heels and fly skyward slowly

I’ll remember one day to take a deep breath

Hanging loose like a boiled spaghetti

Forget all my fears and foiables

Then just be myself near you

It’s so hard for me to let go

So deadly to stay coiled

In apprehension of

Making myself

A fool

Velvet Intentions

The red sunshine appeared

Coming in my direction over the hill

I froze in my tracks and couldn’t move

Couldn’t talk or actualize my velvet intentions

I let the light travel over my head to the distance

I hide behind nonchalance like a rabbit in the briar

It’s then my mind spins as all the kind thoughts

Return to warm me again knowing  the sun

Will rise again and perhaps I will thaw

In time to touch the sun again

Finding softness well

Deserved

Night and the River

Walking over a bridge at night

The soft breezy air cooling my skin

I just want to stand here forever

And do nothing but imagine

It’s akin to being weightless

It’s taking a first breath

It’s the song of rushing water

My spirit dances to a waltz

Of woven dreams

with fantasy creatures

Who shimmer gracefully

On a silver liquid dance floor

I am standing on the fog of eons

I am wedded to my best dreams

Cradled in the arms of infinite peace

In the ether of night and the river

Openness is a Color

For flowers

The bud is always a

Promise of color and form

To remain closed is that promise unfulfilled

The courage to open is a life complete and future assured

I know this fact to be true yet it is an impossible dream

For me dreaming big is easy but openness is a color

I never seem to completely find beyond fear

Acceptance is easy to give and difficult

Take when I judge myself so hard

Can I hope some color shows

Somewhere between my

Obtuse words