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Ah those melodies of love

Ah those melodies of love
How they are alike

With stories of love

How sweet they are

Even when they hurt

Though always have an end

They keep living there

Somehow, somewhere

Deeper so deeper of hearts
To remain and sigh

Every while and while

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Happier Times

My heart is in search for happier times -
Longer roads; higher mountains must I climb.

Atop the highest mountain, a vision do I see;
The distance I need to travel is inside of me.

To find the length of your road or the height of your climb,
Look inside; unleash freedom hidden in your mind.

Happier times await those not afraid to look....
Inside yourself.....reveals your heart (to God) as an open book.

This book is written as you travel the road of life,
Search your heart, pen your papers as with a surgens knife.

Remove the hate, as you carve your daily plan,
Begin with love, let it show to help your fellow man!

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The Love of Jesus

Love that can never change;
Love, for all men, supreme;
Love unsurpassable;
Love divine, paramount.

Love redeeming all souls;
Love forgiving all sins;
Love that can’t forsake men;
Love that put Him on cross.

Love most insatiable;
Love flowing from His heart;
Love spurting fountain-like;
Love boundless, incessant.

Love proclaiming God’s love;
Love humane yet divine;
Love eternal and free;
Love seeking sinners’ hearts.

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Cherubs

Cyan sky of liquid marble
Dreams rain singing doorways
Walk like vibrant eternity
Some know Egypt is real
They die in blue circles
Rise where love feasts
Hear voices of golden shores
I see the hallways of joy

Intuition preludes surround
Stars sail like strange avenues
We divide the divine signs
Tablature of cryptic Genesis
She stops for the cat on the road
Siamese eyes of mercy
Labyrinths where Apache hunted
Burial grounds of eagle souls

Satyr horses ride the northern tribes
Moving ghosts of buffalo herds

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A Rise And Fall Of Humanity [india's Freedom] A Double Etheree Poem

{INSPIRED TO WRITE IN THIS FORM AFTER READING
KARIN ANDERSON'S 'BUTTERFLY MAGIC'}
[ a poem of ten lines syllable count equating
to line number]

then,
nation
India
got it's freedom
not through violence
it was through ahimsa
no arms and ammunition
a tribute to humanity
a mahatma brought out the human
humanity addressed humanity

after sixty years of independence
the leader addressing the nation
stands behind bullet protection
parade of troops showing strength

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Gray Hands

It is neither end nor beginning, I am
still suspended between punishments, primrose
gives one answer, hollyhock another, I
catch the moon in flight to west and
enter a sand grain to probe the universe

for the sexual selection of a terror bomb,

harbinger of mass destruction, give me some
asparagus to uproot the cancer for the sake
of a humane evolution: bougainvilleas are

not blooming and in twilight I wait for the two
eyes of a panther which start blazing in a dark cave,

she was expecting to deliver her first progeny
of gentle cubs

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Mama I'll Sing One For You

I've sung my songs on dusty roads and dirty city sidewalks
To sweatin' hard eyed brakemen, in the rail yards I rolled through
I've sung in blue wall papered rooms to girls I played at lovin'
Now Mama…I'll sing one song for you
Mama let me tell you that I've never lost the mem'ry
Of the tender things you told me, and the gentle things you'd do
And though I've grown away and other arms reach out to hold me
Mama…I'll sing one song for you
You say you'd like to have me here to help you through the winter
But you say it with a wistful smile like you already knew
That your boy's no good at stayin' still there's no words that need sayin'
And Mama… I'll sing one song for you
Tomorrow I'll be movin' out on them dusty country backroads
Some sweatin' hard eyed brakeman may hear a tune or two
And the girl in the blue wall papered room she'll ask where i been hidin'
And I'll tell 'em I stopped and sang one song for you

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I Can Only Write Like Me

Poet Poe, though 'Raven' mad
His work could all excite
Forever, I'd be mighty glad
If I could Poe-like write

I'd love to write like Shakespeare
With nothing 'much ado'
But, Bard-William, have no fear
I could never write like you

Cole Porter, clever word-king
Your songs are all the rage
My words, though to my liking
Your reign I can't up-stage

The opera Boris Godunov
Has great linguistic string
My lyrics aren't good enough
To have written such a thing

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Mountain Dwellers, Forest Fellers,

Man in his instance of recognition chose solitude above the plains.
We became mountain dwellers, forest fellers, now all that is left
Is for Industry to bellow, scaring with tar a sky once blue has been
Smoked yellow. To know for sure that there lay some truths untold,
It’s all we ask, all we’re asking for is a break from the obscene.
As images flicker un-imaginable rates I search for meaning within the
Signs of the months in their turning. Framed memories arranged in
Chronological orders feed the boundaries of my mind to breed beyond restriction.

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The Tribe is Gathered

Outlaws to the forest swarm
Beside the fire keeping warm
The rules we create are our own.
The earth from birth our home.

Into the lakes we ride, monsters pulsating
Each with our story, each with our histories unfolding
The tribe is gathered and roles are placed.
We gather our wood. The stage is set.
The future ours to face.

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