Lake of the Valley

Together, at a nature park mountain top,
two birds fly by across the same sunrise sky.
Not knowing one about the other, 
they follow each other in an even line,
and if one were to surge into the lake of the valley,
the other would hastily do so too
without sign of panic or restraint.

Both of them fly,
plummeting downwards, like shadows falling,
disappearing, as they dip towards the valley.

Together, at a nature park mountain top,
two birds fly by across the same sunrise sky.
People do not bother to wonder how or why,
they just walk on by,
blinded to ways of the humankind,
when we were born to fly side by side;
this is why nature made us to live long, long lives.

Let us find a way to abide by this,
search for the peace we truly meant to find,
tear down the barriers that break us;
make us a revolution — evolution.
Bend conservative marriage, meld offshore language,
look to Mother Earth for our only source of bliss. 

Let us live as one, equal force
the way two birds spiral, together, off course,
leading the other into new regions of space.
Nature wants us to search the lake of the valley;
this is why she made us in a far, far off place.

Disease

We went screaming in the hazy weather, you and I, 
laughing so hard, I forgot where you were,
but you said, "oh, isn't this better?"

I learned a lesson or two,
to live hard and hide from disease —
that's what you were to me,

what you wanted to be,
but darling, what's worse,
running up or falling behind?

The Diplomats

Diplomats don't know the grass is on fire.
It's burning and who's to blame?
Everyone's on aircraft and ship.
But look here—war is everywhere.
We're drowning.
We're going down.
Everyone knows it but the diplomats.

There's two cents per pocket
just enough to go around.
It's been this way and it will always be.
No one hears us SHOUT.

We die for peace buried beneath us.
Even dogs know better
and roam with their tails up
when we're down.
That's why they smile
with their tongues curled out
laughing at the human race. 

We are the evil eye in focus,
retina, reversed retina. 
We're dizzy for freedom;
everyone's dizzy but the diplomats.

Paradise

I had a beautiful dream.
I saw a road with yellow light
and I took it.

I walked against a sea breeze

where the ocean sparkles
against gold rocks and white sand

where I lied my head for a while

wondering where I'd been

and where you are now.

If there was ever

a time to laugh at illusions

it was this.

I searched for a face

in the cumulus pillows of the sky

but I never found it.

And realized all I see is gone—
one day, here,
the next, forgotten.

I am paralyzed and free

a reincarnated soul.

You were there

in the clouded paradise

with your metallic streams of hair.

You were merely a vision

swept into a fantasy,

of what was lost. 

I saw a flock of seabirds crying

showing me the way home.

They whispered

a slow voice

calling me back.

So I dragged my feet away

with a flaming picture of you. 

When All Fail

We want it
Without question
Or doubt.
To be in love
To find friendship
Closeness.

Where are our eyes
Where are our souls
To love ourselves
To trust ourselves?

When all come together
When we cross city streets
Shoulder to shoulder
Face to face
Breath to breath
We are alone.

And when all asleep
In our beds
With selfish thoughts
And prayers for ourselves
In dark silence
Or screaming abuse
We are alone.

It's strange to say,
But we are alone
For every day.

And when love fails you
When deceit greets you
You are alone
With all you held onto
With all you never lost.

Ambiance of Midnight

On the black walls
it sticks and stays
until you tell it to go. 
In the drone
it hears you and stays
when you tell it not to.

On the telephone pole
it hangs and I stare,
wondering if you stop
like this.

She

struts over cobblestone
as my teapot screams
and shrieks on her first visit
since the rains of March.

The doorbell rings
and I hesitate to break
the silence.
I push my hand

between the blinds just enough
to peek an inch.
I am caught in a long pause
as I crack open the door;

she let's herself in.
The hairs on her head
catch me in the sunlight,
mousey strands of old age,

poorly disguised
by streaks of stringy blonde. 
I want to say something,
but her mouth opens

and condescends again
over a cup of tea by asking.
 
Ready?