sea dreams

bob boat 3 2016

The breeze, cool and fresh, rises from the cove
spilling across the summer meadow
bringing with it the fragrance
of sweet peas and wild roses.

The morning clouds break opening
to the soon to be sweltering sky-
I watch sunlight sparkle on the placid cove
and dream of the sounds of the ocean.

Even this mornings poem
in my inbox
speaks of the splashing foam and
the sound of crashing waves
white sails in the wind
and salt spray against the skin.

So I dress in the colors of sea and sand,
sparkling gulf stream blue, sail white,
glittering gold, pale seaglass green,
and take my dreams along the Ozark ridge
as I walk the small dog
by the placid waters of the cove
under the soon to be sweltering sky.

sowing and reaping

morning cove Jul 2015

Will you let their voices fill your heart
with anger and fear?
Remember,
peace resides there.
Look inward
and find your place in the world.
Where there is not enough,
sow seeds of peace
and leave knowing that the harvest
will be bountiful.

Wind spills across the morning cove
bringing the scent of water and sun
thru the open window.
Declaring a truce with the world,
I reap peace.

strolling through a museum on a summer afternoon

Monet and I cast our fishing lines
among the pale lavender waterlilies
swimming in jeweled green waters
in the lush garden of Giverny.

VanGogh and I plant golden sunflowers
along the allee of waving green birches
under the swirling deep blue sky
and the starry, starry night.

Chagall and I send the violin player
across the happy sky with the goat
and the veiled bride
dancing into the inky night sky.

Pollock and I spill a bit
of paint here and there
drops and drips falling gray and black
onto heavily waiting canvas.

Warhol and I line up
the tomato soup cans
next to Marilyn as the art pop
pop pops.

astral projection

Twice now this week
I have woken from dreams
Of Chicago.
They are filled with meeting new people and
Sharing meals and conversations,
Airports and brownstone neighborhoods.

But I have no idea why Chicago
Though I do have two beloveds living there.

My nightly adventures could not be more different
Than this quiet life,
Near woods and water
In the back hills of the Missouri Ozarks.
No busy streets with milling folk,
Street lights or traffic noise here.

But the dreams feel so real
It makes me consider astral projection.
And I wonder if I should check my pockets
For L train tickets
Or notes written on the back of receipts
From fine restaurants along the magnificent mile.

dusk and twilight

June evening 2013

dusk saunters up the lane
whistling for his dog
and filling his pipe

leaning against the fence post,
he squints into the setting sun
and waits for twilight to arrive

wrapped in a mantle of early evening stars,
she skips down the lane
her steps light and lovely

tipping his hat,
dusk climbs the western ridge
trailing shadow
and wisps of smoke

as twilight fills the darkling sky
with the smiling crescent moon
and the scent of sweet honeysuckle

yes, the answer is yes

If I met you today,
for the first time
again,
would that first spark
be the same
as that long ago feeling
in a bar
in the foothills of Colorado?

Would I be as bold,
and you as cool
in the midst of another rowdy crowd?

Would our kiss
be that kiss
when the room held its breath
in awe of the lightning
crackling along the ceiling,
sending sparks cascading
into our white hair.