On starlit night
of silver moon
I dance
But
I dance
only for those
who chance to stray
into the mystery of moon-mist way
He fled
The bounds mundane of Earth
To follow lustrous stars
October nights
Strange and wild
And roam in Arnheim
Are there watchers in the sky?
Do they see us, wake us from dreams
and mark with hope the wonder
that we might now remember
time-travelers of the past?
Wait! they somehow seem to say.
Wait! we will come back someday.
April themes elude me
My thoughts are all away
I know that April’s greening
And blue light tints the sky
Waiting now impatient
May is already preening
Across the stage she flaunts
Her flowers for all to see
Then June, upstaging, will appear
Thus it goes, on and on each year
Yet I find it quite enchanting
This April in greening time
Summer’s song is silent
Its music waits
Although this show
Goes on each year
It’s great to see
Each month appear
Miles and miles
Of rock and dried ashes
Roll across the desert floor
Far away the rounded cone
Testifies to a hot, boiling past
The thought
That fountained
Northern lights
Into the mind
From some far realm
(I tried to snare
With a net of fragile words)
Vanished in a shower of iridescence.
Dimension-denying
Like a crystal rainbow
Dissolving into glass rain
The colors fell,
Tone-splintering at earth’s touch,
Fragmentize a million million times.
Silken rivers ran
In silver white streams
Slender ribbons fjording
The flower-fired banks
Truth stands beside them
Clothed in robe of revealing light
But fear drags
At their hungry eyes
And their heads are turned away
Mournful, tragic figures
Gazing into emptiness
Silken rivers
In silver white streams
Slender ribbons fjording
The flower-fired banks
Safari into the Soul Country
The path of power answers all the call
The path is oh so short
Of certain death
The self-deceived desire to lead
Lures righteous men
from honored goals
To a corrupted end
For within its core
Glory hides the tainted seed
The world laments slowly
That deep grave where
Conquerors all must sleep.
In my memory
There’s a place at river’s bend
Where willows bow low
Over deep, bright cold water’s edge
Why it’s there, I do not know.