August Blush

Damp stillness in the Hudson Valley
Rocks broken
The cold ground
Swirves so violent and gentle
The Tectonic is avoided
Longer paths are better enjoyed
20 minutes from civilization
But 2 hours from the city
In the studio
Committed and gritty
On a Friday
In the August blush

Contoured Flowers

Studio hours
Layered with contoured flowers
Decisions scoured
Around and over hours
Speakers pushing vibrations
Ears in full salutation
Summed with amps
Knobs awaiting determination
We apply ourselves
Throughout the daytime minutes
-
I hope
For more synchronicity
Pulling together songs
In artistic creation

Edible Recylced Toys

You know I don’t eat that anymore

The smell of processed meats

Leaking through the cracked door

Orange yellow eggs smashed in

Not quite sure if it the slightest smell of plastic

That did me in

Logs of meat hammered out

Full of sodium bicarbonates

The thoughts just frustrates

But on Sunday mornings the family still enjoys

The processed meats

Made from recycled toys

 

 

Over a Cup of Tea

The morning rests soft

Easy speaking and waking slow

The summer breeze rustles

Through the soft flower leaves

Change has its way of breaking me

Lowering my tolerance for what is coming

Arise to life’s challenges yet

One by one

I hope my buffer for new will not come undone

I have heard stories of burn outs

Giving up

I know that the roads we create

Are not easy or clear

But what we do

We do for love

My dear

Sudden change is what we fear most

Life’s swelling waves

In a small fishing boat

Bail out the water

Keeping our heads above the sea

It’s a commitment we made

A long time ago

Over a cup of Darjeeling Tea

 

 

 

The Summer of Farewells

There we were

The last night on the farm

The summer of farewells

Sun setting soft in the clouds

That lie just above the horizon

Air light and easy

Wind calm subtle yet breezy

So many memories made over months

Lived on the farm

Time to move on

No reason to hold on

Holding on too tight

Will only make it difficult to let go

So pack up our bags

And lets hit the road

Here in Front of Me

Everything I need is right here in front of me

My hands, eyes, hope, desire

Everything I can use to bring myself higher

Hard work is the barrier

Constraining my own ethic

I feel that I have now realized this simple truth

What you focus on grows

What you forget about goes away with old

So I must refocus on what is in front of me

All the tools I need

Are surrounding me

Asking me

I will answer

Summers Waning Pace

Summer wanes

Like an early bird song in the morning

Warming and warning

We heed like leaves awaiting the fall

For changes that will come

Our lives will adjust with seasons

Waxing and waning

All the time anticipating the future

Holding dear to the past and present

We are old enough now

To realize if you look too much ahead

You will be left with future regret

Holding hands

Kissing lips

We await this changes with fires now dim lit

Summers waning pace has tapered off with the months

Cooling heads and sending us off

How I hold the present tight

But know that just letting go

Will be alright

The Roaming Misfit

Some details are always secret

Frustrating and deliberate

Held back with animosity

Towards the roaming misfit

Truth is never quite told

Lies sleekly avoided

News spread through lies spun

Then voided

I hope to deal with such grace

That I can overcome dealing with

The real face

Of a roaming misfit

Hold my tongue in place

For when he shows up to my door

Waiting for the embrace

I will hold back the words true and harsh

Hoping for something more contained and smart

But the webs we weave

Some to build

Others to deceive

I know this now more than before

So I will smile with reserve

When this man shows up to my door