The leaves are blowing away
Up, up, and away they go.
Swish, swoosh, they go.
Like a dancing ballerina
Up, up and away they go
Way up , in the sky.
The trees standing there,
Their branches all bare.
The wind whistling throughout empty branches,
......
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
......
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Are not the trees green,
The earth as green?
Does not the wind blow,
Fire leap and the rivers flow?
Away melancholy.
The ant is busy
......
I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
......
Love is the light of the Almighty,
Rising softly in the heart, greeting the soul,
Flowing like a river in the valley of life,
Bringing hope to life amidst despair.
It is present without form, but felt,
Erasing wounds, stringing together hopes,
Uniting souls that were once separated,
In the arms of love that never tires.
......
warmth floods over me
when blue flowers are climbing
sage red rose timing
sitting on the stairs
in sweet caress of warm winds
gold noon never ends
sitting among scents
under lemon chiffon clouds
......
The wind hears many secrets
As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
He mulls them over and again
But doesn’t repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.
The wind also has many lovers –
Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
......
Fragrance night, spicy
Breeze tangoes near tomorrow
to green world stage raves
Howling blues stir lilac dark
Starlight, whistling in the park
Clouds keep on drifting
in times of vanishing moon
It's nature's wild dance
a sultry summer tango
......
Yesterday I was in the parched, red desert, where it pours only seldom,
Bearing joy for varicolored cacti blooms, a silvery shower, very welcome.
This morning I deluged the green, pathless forest, at the dawn of purple.
Tomorrow, wet footsteps will travel, down the tree-lined street of myrtle.
In wild days of ago, my fervor caused floods, as I danced in dewberries;
Then a soft, yellow sun spun rich gold, making cherries and cranberries!
While there is gladness everywhere I go, my sporadic errors humble me,
Like an errant wind which blows off course, tenacious, golden honeybee!