LOVE

The Place of the Lovers

My love, I have searched for you
in so many shadowed faces
looked through the rags and rich velvet cloth
of so many different places……
that I thought I would die of the thirst of
missing YOU

I Won’t Waste

Life’s not passing any faster
My life won’t last forever
All I have is now
The breath that I’m allowed.

I get disoriented
Confuse the past and the future with the present
Love’s still the open door
True love’s worth working for

Chorus
I won’t waste a single breath
or waste a day that I have left
The air I breathe is free
as winds of fate brought you to me
Love remains the key
Each day I pray… I won’t waste.

Bridge
When I slow down I come around to see
What each breath means to me
Without you life would be… completely empty.

We Ride in the Rain

We Ride in the Rain.

We are happy, we seldom complain.
Something about moving, the quenching,
the drenching, the Softness of Nature’s Hand
on our parched linens.

The Gladness of Man
the moving of the Seasons,
the Ancient Rhythm of commerce,
the Hum of the Marketplace Mantra.

Aromas of Humanity sustain us
as we move sideways, vertically
frantically, erratically, measuring carefully
our pace, our dance, our stance.

We Ride in the Rain.

Love captures us once again.
From old withered hearts,
parades of Color will start;

and who knows the Art?

Sitting in the Saddle
of the Smile of Krishna
the Benediction of Buddha
the Mercy of Christ
the Wisdom of Allah

We live for the Color of Love.

the Season of the Dove.

the Warm soft hand of God

inside our Velvet Glove.

Old Radio — Endless Static

I am listening to Van Morrison
on an old radio.

I am an Old Person.

I am remembering a Long Life;
a life that no longer exists.

I am entering this moment called “Now”,
and I can take nothing with me.

Van Morrison fades, and the Radio is gone –
gone into something Younger,
a voice I hardly know.

A Younger Voice is singing about Love & Sweetness;
these Guitar Chords have been used before.
the Minor makes the Major all-the-more worthwhile.

It’s an Old Guitar and a Young Voice,
and the Afternoon aches for recognition
as Time slips by.

Van Morrison is gone, and I can’t recall his name.
Young Voices have taken over the radio
and I’m dissolving in a Purple Flame.

The Magic of Love is massaging my Heart,
and I just don’t know What To Do.

Perhaps I’ll just be quiet,
And let the Triumphant Armies of Love
Come Marching right on through.

The Fragile Human Way

This is a Central Place
This is a Park of Strangers
This is a Gathering of Fragmented Ego
Seeking to express The Inexpressible
Seeking to know the Unknowable
Seeking to merge with Rivers That Flow
in a Purposeful Direction

This is the Breath given to Life
Given for Packaging, Content & Purpose
Given for Celebration, Communication, Knowledge
Given for the Attention that gives back to Itself
For the furthering of the Infinite Golden Cycle
of Knowing, of Fulfillment, of Joy

This is the Garden of Senior Flowers
a Resting Place in the Timeless Sun
a Watering Hole of Sparkling Luminous Song
Where life renews itself under the Watchful Hand
of the Amazing Avid Gardener
Separating Thorn from Fragile Sprout
The Pulling of Weeds so Love can Breathe
Attention to Details of the Tiniest Need

This is the Central Place
An evening of Life-long Celebration
The gathering of Fragmented Eyes
to form a Single Vision:
We all Find our Way
We all Taste the River of Love
We all Know the Golden Spark of Infinite Day
While we Dance, Romance, and Chance
The Fragile Human Way

Today

Today.

Now.

As I sit & write.

The fine lines of snow collected on the cloud.

Steam of coffee vapor pours from my cup.

Life is Alright because I made it so.

Life tastes good because I followed the innate Recipe.