The west coast of FLA. is hot in the summer but there is always a breeze and water to cool off in or so I remember when I was a child.
Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,
Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon
In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,
The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.
In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,
The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down
Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure
There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.
Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…
What inspires me... Hummingbirds buzzing as they land, on nearby flowers. Their amazing wings
Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up
When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old
Thoughts flicker like twinkling lights, ride them across the sky. Embrace your dream,
Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences