Surtout aujourd’hui

Je crois dans tes intentions, meme s’ils ne sont pas biens
Je crois dans tes reves, meme s’ils ne sont pas les miens
On se croisent souvent
jamais sur la meme rue
On se voit toujours
mais plus jamais sur la meme vue

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On free art

Art unavailable for purchase
free for the taking
hand me a Monet
pass me a Cezanne
to admire the essence of artists in their freedoms

The brushes of Van Gogh
in the hands of a few
the publishing of Picasso
on open view

Countless strokes of the hand; a million little workings
it is only right to pay more
when you shall receive no less in true forms of expression

We who

She who has lips
the power of speech
let her sing to me
whisper sweet nothings full of warmth
so I may sleep well tonight
between the burrows of her feet

He who has ears
for the sounds of stunning
let him listen
to the hums of her drizzle
the electricity in her lightning
the rumble in her thunderous ways

We who have each other
our hands tied in hearts
let us indulge ourselves
in the sugars of our spice
as husbands and wives
in the times of our life

Beauty

The beauty observed
the kindness preserved
spent scarcely
but left out in open space for all to admire
neglected too often by bitter routines

Lend me your eyes
so we may reflect together
on the wonders of this world
choked at their source
preventing an embarrassment
…of riches

The clichés of niceties lost, unfulfilled
the banes of beauty swallowed whole to redefine reaction to trend
I return to source
only to find myself alone where we started together

Faces

I search your face for answers
reflecting upon you my personal insight
how the world changes
when I think upon you

You are the enemy
darkening my vision
you are my friend
and I will indulge my eyes in your direction

Envisioned to content
seen through for analysis
I no longer know if I am looking at you
or if I am reflecting upon you

My thoughts, my energies
my aspirations and memories
Carry me from the depths
of the state of my reveries

On Rabbits

I hear the hounds sniffing
I hear them howling
scowling at my scent
resentful of my freedom
surrounding, pounding at my open door

You are too large to enter
I will wait until you leave
but you insist
persist on my grounds
Aliens in my element
invaders of my forest
domesticated to your masters

I only wish not to be captured
burrowing deeper
my resources scarce
my nature unsafe

Let me be wild
free in my forest
Capture me another day
when the trees are logged
when the leaves have fallen
when there is nowhere left for me to hide

On Punishment

Stand in silence in a corner so dark
for bringing shame to light
for open infractions
of devious natures

Unacceptable rhythms in the composition script
your notes, out of key
your actions, unnecessary
your character, out of line

Pay prices to your wall
wiggle not your toes while steeped in a guilty line of sight

Think until you may deal no more
till you seep regret from your pores
…or withstand the punishment inflicted until you may be deemed not guilty
when your passive nature manifests through force

Stopping

Your words empty upon my inner being
resonating in silence
simmering in hopes of achieving their simplest form
examining the implications of complications so profound
from passing phrases, through distant gazes

O, do I not know it all?
Do I not understand?
I reach as far as my sight can take me
only as current as the evolution in my eye

Seizing progress to watch the dust accumulate
letting it settle around
basking in the stagnation
catching up, only to be left behind

by the words you speak
by the stares I meet
from the retreating world
that shall no more pull the rug from under my feet

Ruska II

The winds of autumn bring the tangerine leaves from the trees of my neighborhood tumbling down to earth. A light fog blankets the little light afforded to this day. I must entertain the darkness; refrain from the need for a look back from summer’s lengthy goodbye. The leaves must fall, the weather must cool, and chills of winter shall without doubt float in for a lengthened stay. The wet sands of the parks, caked with drizzle; the thick mud spread across pavements from treading boots.

At great length, I absorb the atmosphere impending. I swallow moistened air, touched by the cold hands of warm farewells. I have awaited these dashes of autumn, similar to how I delight in the various assemblies of spring. A solemn air is now upon us without the assumptions of vigor, without misleading me on the directions on life. The trees growing richer in degeneration, begging the entrance of sober silence while offering futile final breaths of beauty.