To a garland maiden

 A poem-a-phrase (paraphrase) of Rev 12

Suwannee re-fall

 Suwannee re-fall

I recall the wondrous fall

When all the golden hues would draw

Me to walk along the crispy trail

Winding along a lazing Suwannee

Magic frame

 The magic frame

We are in our work

Our works in us

We are our work

Our work is us

After shadow

 Alter Shadow

I'm not worthy 

Of my shadow

A much better

Entity than my

Reality 

Taking deep 

Concern for

Leaves of fall

I would let them

I do not care

Bare your branches

To me

I offer no sympathy

But not my

Shadow

Humbly below me

Oh to learn from

My humble companion

I would be such a

Better reality.

With me

 With Me

All day she told me

She could sit and

listen to the poetry

And I had just enough

audacity

to believe her

so I stacked deep

the volumes of

Clare 

Yeats 

Burns 

Stevens 

even

some of my own

and waited to read the one

that began with the line:

Maid of the wilderness,

Sweet in thy rural dress,

Fond thy rich lips I press

Under this tree.

then:

I thought of your beauty, and this arrow

Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.

to:

Come, let me take thee to my breast,

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder, 

And i shall spurn as vilest dust

The world's wealth and grandeur!

finally:

God and all angels sing the world to sleep,

Now that the moon is rising in the heat

And crickets are loud again in the grass. 

The moon burns in the mind of

lost remembrances.

And I would have read them all

Had we but the time

But came the arrow

the vile dust

the heat

and this Robert Frosty 

simply melted away.

New creation

 Redemption deception 

Would the redemption could

open men's eyes

To the finer things

To which they were formerly

Blind

Perhaps in time

Some an eternity

Show me more of the

New creation

Not the continuing

Of shooting moccasins

And white tails

And foxes 

And rattlers

Of continuing in your

Former instinct 

It stinks. I'm perplexed

Why God's elect

Selects 

What purpose is a

Snake

But for target practice

Glad the rest 

Of Gods creation

Doesn't have to abide

By their selection

We'd all be in a frying

Pan

Deer Boy requiem

 Deer Boy Requiem 

John Clare Stokes

I see they finally got

 You deer boy

Oh boy

One-hundred and twenty five

Atta boy

Like a lots

And way to go's

Later 

Hung you for all 

To gawk 

Sorry for all this

deer boy

Granny never wanted

That deer blood 

Transfusion

You were not meant

To live unhunted

You were a deer

Not dear

No longer a little Flag with 

Spots beneath the palmetto.

The touch

 It must have been as in dream...I was there..surrounded by hanging beauty in the gallery...when...upon my right shoulder...a soft touch....as if from the painting...the tender 

hand extended...the gallery walls could no longer contain me...I was drawn... drawn away from the caress....and found myself...upon the banks of a dank lake....where the rays of lingering light...were as your fingers....receding into the memory of a caress.

Who buzzes

 Who buzzes there?

Only the gone hear

And heed the ring

Slowly opening

I enter

Welcome home

What took you

So long?

The lasses

 Do I so compose for the lulled masses?

For fickle fame and fleeting adulation?

Never! But for the fair hair lasses

Imprisoned in towers of their making.

Blue sky

 Last kind deed for a friend

The butterfly who could not fly

Asked the cyclist speeding by

How about a lift my friend

The breeze I’d love to feel again

Hop on said the cyclist kind

Soon the blue sky we shall find

Sanity Fe

 Sanity Fe

There was once upon time

I knew it’s time

When upon politics i’d entwine

To load the kayak 

And sanity soon

Trickled back

Santa Fe