This Spring

The two Lilacs I planted with so much love
the cute Cala I rescued from under the shed
the Wisteria that swung gently with the wind
she laughed as I tried to train her into a tree
a piece of soul left behind with the Brugmansia
They all spoke to me in a beautiful language
only flowers could master and I sang with them
but this Spring, they bloom somewhere else
in a garden far away, hidden in foggy memories
I can't even conjure them up in my dreams.

While The World Was Still Asleep

I discovered that human hearts were fragile
Spring brought on the bright orange plumage
there was a lovely, earthy smell of wood fire
a warm home on a rainy morning; happiness!
Perhaps life could have slipped on by quietly
and I never would have known this world.

Watching The Rain Kiss A Coastal Town

As I sat there watching the northern rain gently spraying the beautifully tiled courtyard and the early spring blossoms, I remembered the days of my adolescence. I used to watch the monsoon rain douse the earth and soak the flowers with fresh torrents from heaven. Wind and rain, mischievous players; they stole my heart. They were my world and I adored them. I made love to the masculinity, the force, the strength and the constancy they represented. Nature was mine and I was his. The forces, they belonged to me and I owned them! Oh how foolish! How foolish was I? And then there was my passionate lover, the eternal one, the mighty one; the Ocean. Oh, how he sang to me when no one watched!! How he said the sweetest things; he inspired tender, forbidden dreams! I was scared. I was scared to realize the depths of my heart. Yet, I lost my heart easily and willingly. And do you know what the funny thing was? He never asked to be loved. It doesn't work that way, does it? He simply was and I loved that about him. Time and space; you see, they matter! How many days did I spend spinning up dreams that arrived with the rainy clouds! And the nights, Oh, the nights! I spent watching the moonlight kissing the coconut palms in a silent, sincere admiration! Oh, the nights! They were heavenly and I buried my dreams in the depths of the ocean.

When The Tulip Lost Its Petals

Amidst the flush of delicate pink hue
a little wren spoke in wistful tones
the sky was made of translucent luster
and the moon was but a crystal dream.
Somewhere in Arizona, an evening draws
to a graceful close over deep red earth.
Sometimes there are not any metaphors
there is only the truth; A silver sickle
glinting through the rhythms of heart.
An artist is forbidden from speaking
of their own internal anguish, unfair!