I come from an island whose balmy breezes
caress fragrant ginger along mountain trails
and the warm ocean bathes children
in salty laughter and wondrous joy

constant moments, every day a tropical season

yet I welcome the changing mysteries of seasons
commanding Earth to beat her divine heartbeat
in synchronous obedience to immortality

spring heralds forth dear life
to let it burst through sheaths and shells
with cries and virgin eyes
while tender roots pierce fertile soil

summer summons come hither and thrive
in warm soil exuding the fullness of growth
with bold gestures of play and conquer
that spread seed and life

autumn whispers the preparation for passages
of leaves and skins and breath
to perpetuate eternal legacies
of futures not lived this season

winter beckons the quiet solstice
of shortened days, lives and light
while dreams and hopes hibernate
as time awaits in cold patience

though I can nestle in island comfort
I yield to the voice of seasons

If you promise *

Ohio Christmas

If I come to the window one last time
will you promise to remember me as I was in the spring
when my whispers quickened your heart
and you yearned for my hair across your pillow?

I shall grant you one last glance,
but only if you see me as the lover
you so foolishly abandoned.

 *  In December 2012, a fellow blogger (sethsnap.com) invited us to submit poems on photographs he posted.  This was my contribution.  My original title was “House.”  His photography is quite good.  You will enjoy visiting his site.

Autumnus You Were Named

tc autumn F

Autumnus you were named by the Ancient of Days.
Your smell is of earth in hospice.
Flesh and bones decay to promise renewal.
Your cold breath strips leaves whose time has come
and branches groan, It is time.  It is time.

You paint the earth with a pallet of blood tones.
You prepare the canvas for the white cloak of Winter.
We celebrate you with feasts and goblins.
You must forgive our childish prattle
and tolerate our simpleton gestures.

We call you Fall out of our ignorance.
Your pulse promises resurrection.
It is time.

tc autumn G

A poem from three years ago . . . Happy First Day of Autumn!

Winter, This I Know

???????????????????????????????Winter, though I cringe as you cackle
when you squeeze arboreal arteries
till branches shudder and break

Though I surmise your sinister sneer
when you dupe laurel grasses
that theirs is the color of Sahara sands

And I dread your droll delight
when you convince forest blossoms
that their time on earth had ended

This I know

You are a mere pawn in the dichotomy
of ice and fire, death and breath
verdant and desert, thunder and silence

Ecclesiastes, yin and yang
All balance and everything
beautiful in its own time

And though you will soon be a memory
your will again be summoned to dance
in the circle of death and resurrection

??????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????Photos were taken in February 2015 at the Parker Jordan Centennial Open Space, Englewood, Colorado

Everything Beautiful In Its Time

OEcclesiastes is a good book in a Great Book. The author, presumed by most to be wise Solomon, tries to explain the meaning of life and includes a clear discussion of contrasts.  All good Sunday school children probably know Chapter 3 by heart.  I am not one of them because Catholic churches did not have Sunday school in my day.  We had to sit through Sunday Mass and behave . . . but that is another story.

Nevertheless, us old hippies remember Turn, turn, turn by The Byrds  – To everything, turn, turn, turn. Life is a series of seasons and contrasts. Weep and laugh.  Mourn and dance.  Keep and discard.  War and peace.

Church people use this wisdom to to teach us that, while our present time may suck, the next season will be better.  The old by-and-by sermon.

But I don’t think that’s what the writer meant because just a few lines later, he says that God indeed made everything beautiful in its time.  And God has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.

In other words, all life seasons have beauty. We just don’t know how it all fits into the Big Scheme. We should just trust there is beauty in its time. Everything. In all seasons.

So, my friends, in this time of long dark nights, leafless trees, struggling flowers, mute birds, militant squirrels, treacherously icy roads and scratchy long underwear, look for beauty.  It may very well be time.





All photos are from my backyard here in Trophy Club, Texas. I’d like to be a wee bit warmer, but this is beautiful, is it not?