REFUGE

 

We take refuge each in the other,

safely there enfolded,

where nothing may harm us,

no cruelty of man,

no prejudice of thought,

no base illusion may penetrate

the force that surrounds us,

that guards our hearts, our souls,

our energies as we seek our ancient union.

Storms may howl, discord may swirl,

but that which is part of the same

is safe within itself.

No force of fear, no barriers, no

haunting whispers of danger,

will survive the vortex, the refuge,

where wind and light are one.

 

 

 

 

 

Sister to the Birds

 

 

 

In a time when fantasy ruled the world

my soul jangled like morning bells

and I roamed through crystal hills and drank sparkling waters.

I laughed with the brown-eyed deer,

played tag with a big black bear,

shook hands with mountain lions

and fed my love to the creatures of the air.

I was a sister to the birds,

a feather flying in the sun.

I danced through the world on a wing

and floated through the breeze on a song.

When reality ruled the world

my soul shrank with fear.

They said I was no good,

they told me what to do, what to think, who to be.

I learned hatred, frustration and the weight of aloneness.

I longed to fly and-sat in chains,

but in my heart I remembered.

I was a sister to the birds,

A feather flying in the sun.

Once I danced through the world on a wing

and floated through the breeze on a song.

When hope ruled the world

I no longer listened to hate.

I looked in the mirror and saw the birth of my own beauty.

I heard the morning bells again,

and searched for my crystal hills.

I journeyed long and I journeyed hard.

I found my hills again, I drank my sparkling water.

I was a sister to the birds,

a feather flying in the sun.

I danced through the world on a wing

and floated through the breeze on a song.

I roamed my hills in peace,

my soul again rang with joy

but I sang in solitude until the day

I saw a boy feeding my brown-eyed deer,

hugging my big black bear,

running with my mountain lion

and feeding his love to the creatures of the air.

 

 He was a brother to the flowers

a gentle lover of the light.

He drifted through the world on a rainbow

and walked through the sky on a cloud.

 

When love ruled the world,

I kissed his tears with my eyes.

He ended my aloneness with his heart.

We walked together through the dawn,

and slept together through the dusk.

I brushed his hair with my mind

and he clothed my gentle body with his soul.

 

We were brothers to the flowers, sisters to the birds,

feathers flying in the sun, gentle lovers of light.

We drifted through the world on rainbows,

danced through the world on wings.

We walked through the sky on clouds, and floated through the

breeze on sweet, sweet songs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Still As Gentle, Still As Fair

 

Early Summer's first wind drifted through her hair

like strands of light bringing illumination

to my heart; bringing beauty where there was care,

bringing airy warmth to heavy rumination,

bringing thoughts of beauty to that terrain

nurtured silently within my breast.

I kept counsel with that wind through pleasure and pain,

knowing that silence, for now, would be best.

And finally, when this passion I did confess,

I learned that it lit my life alone;

for her it meant far, far, less.

Strangely, the light within me still shone,

and though Autumn now braces my hair,

her beauty is still as gentle, still as fair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Timeless, Tender Love

 

Time and the illusion of time will pass

before I again look on my love's countenance

in the warmth of the Florida noon sun,

before I see her light blue eyes sparkle golden,

smell her peach-fresh skin, and swim in her,

waves cascading like a howling typhoon surge.

But time's illusion is neither enemy nor worthy opponent.

Can the soul's tender timelessness be affected

by seasons, or miles, or age, or any man-made distraction?

I think not. For what is real is not bound to earth,

but flows from realms outside our narrow view.

As we sit apart, so we draw together, part of the same.

Truth stands alone, no illusion stands above,

or can stand between, a timeless tender love.

 

 

The White Tiger

Stalking the shore, a wave foams

and kisses the sand. The white tiger,

sublime, vigilant, stalks while she roams

her domain, hungry, strangely bright with vigor.

Along the shore she muses over shells

and plays with small birds and sea-creatures

so gently the sand is undisturbed, the wind dwells,

dancing across her white fur; sun highlighted features,

overtures of the afternoon, flash against the leaves,

undulating among the dunes and sea, always the sea.

Roaming alone, she seems fierce, fiery, untamed. Who perceives

innocence in her tears and understands her frightful desire to be free?

A small bird perches on her shoulder, companion for a time,

not her prey. She stalks only her shadow, she stalks the sublime.

 

  LADIES OF THE NETS

 

The yellow fuzz

of the tennis balls

dances on end

like

the frightened hair

of "nigger" Farina

in

an old "Our Gang", comedy.

Iím afraid too,

but prefer the music to the dance.

The tanned

and

veiny legs

of

Middle Aged Miami Beach Matrons

tense

and

strain

as they bend their frames

and pound

the little yellow balls.

They are afraid,

but prefer the dance to the music.

Love----fifteen, love- thirty, love-forty, Game.

The mating call

of

this regal court.

The points are

recorded

the dayís

"pas de deux"

counted.

The

Ladies of the Nets

take

their choreography away

and

I take

my music.

Recorded

while the waves of Biscayne Bay suck at the shore,

and lap at the nippled cement walls.