Beyond the clouds
The moon and stars
Are placed
Beyond touch
But always touching
Moving burning blossoming
In the hours of evening and night
But when the stars weep
The trails of light
Into a thick evening night
We feel our hearts
Connected in some way
To the stars above
Us everyday
Beyond the sunset
And before the sunset
In the depths of night
And in the rotund burst of mourning
There is a small place
Where souls
Go to rest
Beyond the mountains
And over the sea
Through the waves and beneath
The sand
Holding the light of day
And each others hand
One minute
Or two
Scroll to the bottom
Swipe through
To the left and the right
Again and again
The words frozen like
A lake in my mind
Slowly becoming motionless
In time
For my fingers are the logs
Filling the river
With the power of
Progress blocked
With this one thought
I am not doing fine
It’s the art of losing time
Crisp
Clicks
Cracks and snap
Of the footsteps left
Behind
In the history
Of time
Echoed into space
Along the way
And captured in the faintest of
Sounds
But drown
In a world obsessed with motions
So we hold on
To those we love
Before our footsteps too
Will be forgotten
In the northern states
There is a river
That runs to the east
And the west
Bending every last drop
To the crest of the edge
To the bottom below
Working its way through
High and low
Country
So yearns the river
For the ocean
That it can flow
In any direction
So as the heart
Yearns for love
We learn from the world
We live in
On a Sunday night
After dinner
But before the week ahead
Will blossom like a wild rose
But first
To start the week fresh as a
Linen thread
With all hope
Goes
Like a water
Through a hole
In the bottom
Of the bowl
The stalemate
Of wasted
To start over is the begin
Again
So air out the troubles
Hold the feeling and be whipped out
Defenestration
Into the thick
Winters
Night
You can feel your fingers release
The cold damp history
With dew on the glass
As you open it fast
And out with the old
And in with
The new
No more
No less
The perfect amount
None the less
To be held with esteem
When one knows when to bow
And when to scheme
The lagom of the day
Is knowing when to rise up
And when to fade away
Words
Sharpened
With stones
And iron
Creating the oar
Of an acerbic assertion
Pierced through the armor
Of ego and confidence
With one small wince
The house of cards
Will fall down
Am I to be propitious
The dedication
To craft
Detail and moment
Will that entail success
Or failure
When a dream is more
Dead than alive
For the majority of the world
Then what is left
Only the chosen few
Get the whole pie
While the rest of us
Settle for just a few
From the lake
Across the street
At 7 AM
The susurrus of water
Lapping the shores
Across from Chicago
Where the Indiana lines stretch
Way into the fresh water oceans
Over the dunes
And through the gentle thicket
I hear the water
Reassuring me
Another day is at hand
A Cup of Songwriting 