The Fifth Season

If I could invent a season that was better than the rest,

I would include the Christmas of winter,

The lillies of spring,

And the picnics of summer.
I would include fireplaces,

Beautiful birds,

Perhaps whipporwills,

Meadowlarks,

And whopping cranes.
The fifth season is the chance to say something we wish we had said.
Or not to say something when we ought not.
It is forgiveness.
It is being on your way to the dentist when your tooth stops hurting.
It is discovering and old friend's address just before Christmas.
It is being remembered on your birthday by a special friend.
It is looking up at the hills near the sea

And seeing ships sailing above the treetops.
It is receiving a dozen lavender roses for no reason at all.
The fifth season is standing at the earth's edge

Looking up in wonderment

As the heavens gracefully acknowledge the order of the universe
And the seagulls circle

In the shape of tomorrow.

Raining in My Heart

Rain can wash away the tears.

How do you know it is raining if you are crying?

Soft rain,dancing on the flowers,

Growing faithfully.

Sun this morning, rain at noon.

Fun this morning, until afternoon.

Raining,raining when we are apart.

It's only raining in my heart.

The Stranger on the Train

I looked for an answer, when I quit crying,

About why you left me, and instead of dying,

I met a stranger on the way to Alaska,

Where I was going

Since I had not been there before.

I'm feeling sad, I said, I've been betrayed.

First time it happened?, he inquired

No, I replied.

Then I stayed by his side for miles

Thinking of when I'd been blue before,

And I'd gotten over it

.When I arrived in Alaska, I remembered his words,

The stranger who detrained in Seattle.

I turned around and thought, instead of crying,

That no matter how sad I'd been yesterday,

I'd been given a gift along the way.

I thought I would find my answer in Alaska

And I found it along the way.

I returned home thinking,

Instead of crying,

I'm really over you.

Thanks to the stranger on the train.

Juliemarie

Juliemarie was new in town,

She was from many places.

She got good grades, wore pretty clothes,

The other kids made faces.

She gave her clothes to some of them,

Thinking they would change.

They took the clothes and laughed at her.

And often called her strange.

When they were grown and graduated,

The other kids were sad,

Juliemarie now owned their homes

While the other kids went mad.

The Crowd

Across bridges.

In airplanes.

Seeing them on television.

Listening to our favorite song.

All the people who have crossed bridges

In airplanes,

Or have seen them.

Listening to each other,

Or looking at each other.

We think of them all,

And remember the song.

Message from the Tower

The tower shines bright,

Our breath stands still.

In the bright light

Through windows above

In the morning mist

From somewhere a dove

Who couldn't resist

Flying toward me

Like a mysterious friend

With a message from Thee

My heart to mend.

The Willow Tree

Lets' each stay in our own garden,

The fence is the willow tree.

Beyond that point is my land,

As far as you can see.

If the tree sprouts roots and grows new trees,

Then perhaps you and I can share.

The birds who nest are yours and mine,

They are so peaceful there.

Heaven

Conversations uncompleted,

Songs to sing for those who wait.

Hymns perhaps, or tunes from childhood

Write themselves beyond the gate.

Friends released from solemn chambers

Decisions rendered by mighty shadows.

Strange shadows,

Strange chambers.

Beautiful songs.

Guest Cabins

The guests arrived dressed in linen so fine.

The musicians rehearsed for those who would dine.

The river was quiet, the mountains so near.

Echoes were heard and the air was clear.
Softly a flute from afar

Joined by a voice, then a guitar,

Seemed to rejoice in each other's delight.

As the guests were amazed on this beautiful night.

Castles in the Air

Castles sailing through the air,

Someone in them who learned to care.

Some of them are green,

Some of them are white.

The castles sail on

Through bright moonlight.

We wave to them

And they are out of sight.

A halo dances quietly,

Then another,

Dissolving into shadows.

The castles keep on sailing.

Welcome Home

The Stairway

Sounds of love that to me are true,

Sounds I like and you like, too.

Seems that I see them every day,

Every day on the stairway.

Stairway in the mornng

In the light sunlight

Shadows n the evening

In the bright moonlight.

Sometimes the moonlight is so bright,

I see the lovelight in your eyes.

The glow continues through the night,

Continues until the morning light.

The light is brighter,

Light is brigher,

Light is brighter

Now that you and I are near.

Through the window I hear the rain,

Soft and warm I hear it again,

The candles glow so soft an stll,

So soft on my wndowsill.

Candles glowing,

Candles glowing,

Candles glowing softly

Through the falling rain.

It is time for friends t say goodbye,

I cannot see the reason why.

The love we thought weould see us through

Was just meant for you and I.

Goodbye I love you,

Bye, I love you,

Bye I love you now,

And guess I always will.

Morning Vision

Death Left a Box

Escaping unspoken promises, the landscape moves on,

Like a dying actor, its mask is gone.

The mask dipped in blood of deep despair

Becomes a mosaic window reflecting life's glare.

Disappearing behind stones and feathers of brilliant hue,

Appearing to rescue while giving revenge its due.

Courting fantasy and fiction,

Juggling notice and mystique,

An honest hypocrite of folly, leaving the landscape bleak.

Death is like a folded box

Containing treasures we hold dear.

Move it gently by the window.

I will look another year.

The Cave

It was autumn when I found the cave.

The door was partly obscured by tumbled boards and a wrecked auto, a '29 Buick, daisies and delphiniums growing around the crankshaft.

Whoever stopped there and for whatever reason apparently moved on and abandoned the iron horse that carried him from West Virginia.

I climbed into the auto through the rusty window, hurried back to my campgrounds for a flashlight, entered into the cave and walked about three feet.

There was no sound except my pounding heart. I cautioned forward and turned off the flashlight.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon.

Through spiders of light, I saw a marble table, thick and of good quality.

Up a stairway beside an outdoor grill that I was afraid might contain bones, I saw light at the top and three small doors, one partly open, one with creaky hinges, and one unmovable.

I pushed open the one with creaky hinges and waited.

No sound except the click of my flashlight.

Out jumped a bat at then then another.

Silence. Who would hear me if I screamed?

The light behind me dashed across grey stones as I stood on the stairway.

It had just rained yesterday and the sweet perfume of flowers welcomed me as I approached a new morning.

I wanted to seek further on and walked slowly down the stairs, saving the mysteries for tomorrow.

The Dove Returns

Nirvana transcends constructions of the mind,

Whether tempest or calm, the ocean is the same.

The heart weeps, the spirit finds.

The bold lose power, seeking blame.

Beauty is in the perception,

The twin of mystical insight.

Although we sometimes seek perfection,

The dove often returns from flight.

Upon Giving Advice

What should I do, don't tell me what, why don't you understand?
Just be my friend, listen, let me hold your hand.

Don't tell me what you think I should do, just let me figure it out.
And don't ask questions, please. You will know what you need to know, if you just listen.

Talk about something interesting, like some movie you saw that you liked, something nice you had for dinner, and bring some pretty flowers.

Bring some hobby along, like a puzzle. We can glue together the situation as we place the pieces side by side.
Mathematics would not be too good of an idea at first. It is better to add than divide.

Add music, something by Mozart, or one of the Beethoven cantatas, Maybe No. 78.
Perhaps some wine, real good quality, chilled somewhat, served with eggs florentine,crusted filet or oysters supreme.

Add a flaming dish desert, like cherries jubilee, and incense in the air,

Something from Singapore.
Preferably, the scene from the window would be high over the sea,

Overlooking a garden of white violets,

White flowers of every description,

And highlights of roses.
As the clouds move swiftly from the southwest to the northwest,

You can see the puzzling situation turning from grey to sunlight.

Taking along our doubts on a silver kite,

And handing you a rainbow of promises wrapped in gold.

If I Were a book, Which Book Would I Be?

If I were a book,

I would be a collection of verses, and hymns.
On the cover would be photographs of butterflies,

Pink butterflies,

And a red carnation,

Blue blossoms,

And lillies of the valley

Outlined with lace.
There would be photographs of my mother and father,

And the Secretary of Space.

There would be photographs of airplanes,

Bavarian castles,

Shakespeare's sonnets,

And of musical instruments.

The pages would be permanently perfumed

And would be textured to the touch.
The book would consist of about 77 pages,

With removable binding

So I could add pages,

Like a diary.

Each page would be hand lettered.
There would be several photographs of gardens,

All in color,

Especially gardens of country farms,

And some trees.
There would be pastel colors,

The kind that please.
I will carry the book around with me

So I will not lose it.
Because it will be so beautiful,

Someone else may choose it.

While Good Men Sleep

One by one, they nod and listen,

Waiting for eternal bliss,

Waiting for the final moment,

Like vultures on the sharp abyss.

Sleeping, dreaming, good men awaken.

Shadows melt the morning sun.

Who was here?, the good men ponder.

Someone touched me, I must run.

Run to fields or find a reason

Why the shadows seem to fall,

Leaving shadows on the doorstep,

Slightly turning when they call.

I'll be back, I whisper softly.

Knowing it is not really true.

In the minds of ghosts and shadows,

It is all that I can do.

Raining in my Heart

Rain can wash away the tears.

How do you know it is raining if you are crying?

Soft rain, dancing on the flowers,

Growing faithfully.

Sun this morning, rain at noon.

Fun this morning, until afternoon.

Raining, raining, when we are apart.

It's only raining in my heart.

Blue Lagoon

Soft wind, cool wind, from a blue lagoon.

Strong wind, friendly wind,

Sings a happy tune.

Wind brings ships home,

Sends them out again.

I see them from a mountaintop

Through misty pine trees.

Some of the ships contain beautiful stairways,

But not more beautiful than mine

To my blue lagoon.

The wind becomes a river,

Becomes a rock,

Becomes a hill.

I am in my blue lagoon,

Blue now, still.

A Saga About Knitting

Some men are charming and very strong,

Others seem weak and unsure.

Some men can never do wrong,

Some women are wise and demure.

Some men are kind and some are persistent,

And if I knew one who was so,

I would probably be somewhat persistent

About which road he would go.

The road takes many turns in life,

And wisdom awaits as we travel.

As the road turns and we leave our strife,

Like a garment, truth will unravel.

So we take the yarn and create something new,

Something exquiste, unique and fine,

If you are near, I will knit for you,

Will create something really divine.

The Dream

The dream welcomes me in pain.

Into its envelope.

I can witness or refrain.

In dreams there is hope.

The dream creates a new dream of its own,

Perceiving I might soon leave,

Like a loved one departing and flown,

Returning shadows, shadows to weave.

Quickly I fold and seal the envelope now,

While friends in dreams are at their best.

I'll dream again, though I don't know how.

The dream will be my welcome guest.

A Night in the Forest

One night quite mysterious and dreary.

While I was lost and followed light,

The moon was rising wearily,

It was within my sight.

The owls were moaning slowly,

Like they do before the rain,

It was something like small groaning,

Some may have been in pain.

My friends took one path,

And I took another.

Somehow, I escaped their wrath

While searching for my brother.

I stood very still and listened,

The light seemed very near.

The tree limbs softly glistened,

There was not a sound to hear.

The pot of gold was waiting

My friends said it was theirs.

I was tired of their hating,

So I walked among the bears.

The owls and bears and other creatures

Looked at me and were amazed.

I could dimply see their features

Though their eyes were ablaze.

I walked among the rocks and leaves

While glancing left and right.

Hoping deeply as one believes

I would be rescued from my plight.

The atmosphere was ghostly,

A lantern moved real slow.

I saw one eye more closely,

It was someone I might know.

A friendly eye, two of them, in fact,

They looked just like my own,

Reminding me of our private pact,

To rescue the other when grown.

I followed, he led the way,

He turned and smiled at me.

His smile and strength welcomed a new day.

Suddenly I could see.

Monk's Morning

The Monk decided to hide in his cave of gray.

He lived in a village and then went away.

He lost his fair love and lived in the hills.

Where he was awakened each morning

By spry whipporwills.

He stared at a far mountain and wished he was there.

Walking and talking with his maiden so fair.

She played a flute to lure him back.

One morning he decided to pack.

And walked several miles toward the tune.

Before he realized it was really a loon.

So he turned around back to his cave.

Yes, indeed, he was very brave.

Have a Nice Blue Day

You said you were sad,

Or so I thought.

I hope you are glad.

At least you ought.

Somewhere I heard,

Perhaps from on high,

To smile at a bird

Perhaps who can't fly.

Birds like to fly,

No need to talk,

Just help them mend.
Look out your window, see, he is blue,

His feathers are indigo,

And various hues.

Enjoy your day,

With a cup of tea.

See the morning bluejay

In the pretty tree.

Winter Cabin

We built our new cabinAmong trees of pine
Where we spent our winters.Our life was divine.

Though winds were furious, we stayed by the fire

Sleeping and dreaming with our heart's desire.

No boats could approach us, the river was ice.

Once someone tried to cross it, but didn't try twice.

We read by candlelight, woke up before noon.

We stayed there all winter and will return there soon.

The Mysterious Path

On a rainy day one morning in June,

I saw a path by a new moon.

As I strolled through my favorite garden,

Suddenly, someone saw me and said "Beg your pardon!"

He said "Where do you come from, and why are you here?

I ignored him for awhile, and then could see clear.

We was blind and afraid because he was lost,

Was in the gazebo away from the frost.

"Whose garden is this?"? I boldly inquired

'It is one I have often greatly admired.

He said to me quietly, "I was just passing through.

"I turned and walked on, the flowers seemed new.

Diamonds in the Sky

I was sad when I lost my ring,

And suddenly decided to sing

"Where are my diamonds, precious and real

Why doesn't someone know how I feel?"

I walked in a garden so new and fine,

If I was wearing my diamonds of which there were nine,

I might have missed the sunlight approaching so near

And would miss the songbirds and baby deer.

I glanced at the sparkling sun

And saw my diamonds, one by one.

I looked at my wrist, which was nearly bare,

And saw that my diamonds had returned there.

The sun was now hidden and birds were all quiet.

There was something strange,

I could not deny it.

As the doves flew away,

Before I could thank them,

I stood very still, heard a lovely anthem.