april, may i?

when i was a little raindrop
cradled in your hands
resting for a little while
above the burning sands

you raised your hands up to your lips
and gently kissed the rain
you threw me back into the air
the question now is plain:

april, may i be your raindrop
when your world is dry
hiding just until you need me
in your diamond sky?

april, may i stay forever?
kiss me once again
springtime showers
my love, to you, sends 

All the Way Back Home

taken by you
living with you
finding a new way home
thinking 'bout you
holding onto
a feeling of two, alone

and in my head
around and round
i've created a new poem
i've been thinking 'bout you
all the way back home

such a surprise
to look in your eyes
and see that the fire still burns
nothing to say
i'm lovin' today
the world had its way, now our turn

i know you won't 
see anything
i haven't already shown
i've been thinking 'bout you
all the way back home

night is warm and my window is down
thoughts are racing 
through my head like cars
racing through this town
and i CAN'T slow them down

angry with you
happy with you
girl, there's no view we haven't seen
boring and blue, laughing and new
soaring with you
man, i mean...

...that in my head
everything's there
that you've always known
and i've been thinking 'bout you
all about me and you
yeah, i been thinking 'bout you
all the way back home

Seamstress's Granddaughter

Carefully touch the unwoven thread
Don't uncover a wound that has bled
So many thoughts run through a young girl's head
That's what a seamstress's granddaughter said

We baste our dreams to the corners of our hearts
but so easily these two can fall apart
so many thoughts go through a young girl's head
that's what a seamstress's granddaughter said

and, oh, she dreams in silent repose
of handmade things, quilted angel wings
and colorful clothes

she wraps them all around her
as she walks through her days
and examines the threads that connect her life
in so many ways 
to the ones she loves

a stitch in time sews up several seams
a bright-eyed girl with material dreams
so many thoughts run through a young girl's head
that's what a seamstress's granddaughter said

'here's a pattern to look pretty on my doll's head'
that's what a seamstress's granddaughter said

The Reason is Simple

Why do I dress 
the way I do?
My polka-dot tie
tucked into my shoe

this cammo shirt 
these striped dress pants
an orchid broach
that I think was my aunt's

socks of many colors
hats of many sizes
are generally of what 
my wardrobe comprises

my belt is bandanas 
and twist tie tops
my shoe strings from
a ukulele that belonged to my pops

my underwear I shall not mention
because when unmentionables
are mentioned there is no prevention
for the lingering tension
that's beyond comprehension:
they're just there for suspension!
(there is the contention 
they get too much attention
at least in Victoria's 
secret dimension)

my gloves don't match
my watch has a scratch
infinity begins
for my scarf never ends

So why do I dress 
the way I do
looking like 
I have no clue?

the fashion police
had no warning
my wife wasn't up 
when I left home this morning.

**********************Angel's Holiday

She came to us in the dark of night

we had never seen such a brilliant light

A cry of life was her first refrain

and her music arrived like a springtime rain

Almond eyes in a diamond frame

so many lives would never be the same

Angels came to us, then went away

and left us their daughter for a holiday

and I sit and I wonder

in the shade of a tree

how fascinating

she found her way to me

and I don't know why

it's so hard to tell her

that my love runs deep

and it goes on forever...

She came to us in the dark of night

we had never seen such a brilliant light

A cry of life was her first refrain

and her music arrived like a springtime rain

Hallelujah, it's a holiday

Hallelujah! she decided to stay

Hallelujah- it's an angel's holiday

Hallelujah! she's decided

she's going to stay!

Fire

You took
my pile of wood
and destroyed it

that woodpile
has dogged my every step
across the yard 
and down to the creek

for years it has gotten taller
wider deeper
wetter greener
bullying me
taunting me

hiding yellow jacket nests
maybe hornets
maybe mice or moles
hiding dark unknown things
my mind reels

getting higher and wider
stressing me out
never thinking about it
but always on my mind
it had to go

my pile of wood now
in one short day
decimated
ashen
gone

fire
a flame from a match
starts tiny, weak
grows into a power
indefensible 
a wonderment
it gives me awe

it takes my woodpile
Yes! I am free!

Mr Rabbit

I was just sitting there

with a cup of dreams in my hand

when everything went blank

and black

and I woke up on a hillside

under a tree

with a rabbit next to me

he sat quietly

while I came to be

on that hillside

we were looking out over a small valley

with a creek running through

you could tell by the line of trees

winding like a lost shoestring

"I used to live down there" said Mr Rabbit

"My warren was near that next little rise 

just beyond the creek."

He smiled at me, or seemed to.

Rabbits aren't good at smiling--

just conveying the feeling of a smile

was good, though

"I love the earth," he said 

cleaning some dirt from his rabbit paw with his other

"I love how it smells when I dig,

how it's a bit damp and soft

how it holds so much life.

And after rain it returns to form.

In our warren it's dry, but the smell of rain on the earth 

is beautiful."

He looked up at me

as I leaned against the tree and said,

"Well, I'm off now. Enjoy your time here."

And as he hopped off

I lost my way again

and I awoke 

cup in hand