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The four Seasons of the Year.

Spring.
Another four I've left yet to bring on,
Of four times four the last Quaternion,
The Winter, Summer, Autumn & the Spring,
In season all these Seasons I shall bring:
Sweet Spring like man in his Minority,
At present claim'd, and had priority.
With smiling face and garments somewhat green,
She trim'd her locks, which late had frosted been,
Nor hot nor cold, she spake, but with a breath,
Fit to revive, the nummed earth from death.
Three months (quoth she) are 'lotted to my share
March, April, May of all the rest most fair.
Tenth of the first, Sol into Aries enters,
And bids defiance to all tedious winters,
Crosseth the Line, and equals night and day,
(Stil adds to th'last til after pleasant May)
And now makes glad the darkned northern wights
Who for some months have seen but starry lights.
Now goes the Plow-man to his merry toyle,

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Tears: '(

they fall out of my eyes
like a waterfall they tear into my heart
oh how i wish it would rain
so no one could see my pain
everyday i think of what we had
and i think of the way we ended
each and every time i cry
it makes me think why oh why?
i could have made it work
you're the one that gave up
now look where we are at
different poles you see
i drive by your house everyday i go to work
everyday i let the tears fall and i whisper i love you
hoping that one day you will see me and stop to whisper..
i love you too will you take me back?

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Patience

Patience unlike imagination
Rushes not wind like only to butt
Against the mountain of senses
That bars the way unwended
And leave me my yearning wonder
How to quit this haunt of brooding dust

And let the real resume life's pilgrimage
But chick like in the egg of desire
Lets Time churn to change shell for soaring wings,
Charmed from changing for homing flight,
Scaling, suffer no failing or falling,
Where the Ultimate calls His exile home.

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John Donne

A Burnt Ship

Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd.

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At The Reunion Party (Grandma's)

to drown my well-kept storm
i purge words
too many like bats driven from
a cave
flying on barbaric sounds
and one of you looks at me
with a stab
but it will not hurt me a bit
i ignore
whatever tries to hurt
whatever skins me out to reveal
a damaged bone

think of me
as a happy bee that is all i can ask for
this moment
i shall like it
for what you think
makes me become
what i am not

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Don't Be The One To Hold Onto This Molding Done

The giving of unlimited patience,
To someone in constant complaint mode...
Grows old.
Like a balding tire that needs to be replaced.
And has run out of valuable tread.
Get real with this!

Don't wait until that tire blows.
To believe it will assist instead...
In the delivery to and from,
With you in safe passage.
Get real with this!
And slow down to examine it for what it is.
Make the necessary change and be on your way!
With a sigh of relief when you leave.

The giving of unlimited patience,
To someone in constant complaint mode...
Grows old.
Like a balding tire that needs to be replaced.

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William Cowper

Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 3.

SCENE I.-- Adam and Eve.

Oh, my beloved companion!
Oh thou of my existence,
The very heart and soul!
Hast thou, with such excess of tender haste,
With ceaseless pilgrimage,
To find again thy Adam,
Thus solitary wandered?
Behold him! Speak! what are thy gentle orders?
Why dost thou pause? what ask of God? what dost thou?

Eve. Adam, my best beloved!
My guardian and my guide!
Thou source of all my comfort, all my joy!
Thee, thee alone I wish,
And in these pleasing shades
Thee only have I sought.

Adam. Since thou hast called thy Adam,

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Crescendo of Existence

what if this is the crescendo of existence?
physique and soul dancing the last on
the privileged floor of logic and emotions
nature peeling away the last grain of pain
before it spirals away into the buddhaland of nirvana

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My Dad's Home

My dad's home
From the hospital
But, he's not happy
Going to the nursing home

It's only for a while
Untils he gets stronger
And can better handle
His basic needs

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Music is the soul

Gifted with a talent for music,
One has nothing to grieve.
His life is full of melody.
He lives long, dissolving in cosmic energy.
24.11.2001, Pakd

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