Precious Angel

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA    Precious angel, whose words fall like rain from above,
is gracious beyond measure with words of pure love;

though perhaps in this life when all seems for naught,
your words are a tender reminder that for love have
men fought;

not given to anger or malicious intent, your patience
is gentle, your friendship intense;

through the days of this life which are often fraught
with alarm – love is an ever present reminder that will
do no harm;

people sometimes hurt people as was recently easy to see,
common sense and attitudes must change because the impact
on lives is sordid when there is no place to flee;

I savor your words spoken and can feel your heart through
the keys, as your press out your passions degree by degree;

tender dove whose words drop as rain from on high, those
tender sentiments and heartfelt experiences shared will
not dry like your eyes.


Wishing and Taste Her Name: Andrea


that sleep will gather like your hair
falling over your eyes and make you
drowsy drowsy…

feel the boat rocking on a warm
summers day…rocking gently rocking…

feel your lovers tender touch body
warmth as that of a gentle spring sun…

kissing you gently like the light
touch of a butterfly…

here there on your eyes, cheeks,
caressing your nose, chin, ears…

soft lips brushing slowly, tenderly
across your face carefully to slowly
grant you the truth of self…

your desire ebbs and builds with the
boat gently bobbing on the water…

still air allowing the sounds of nature
and distant play of children to add to
the serenity of the body…

your mind seems to be adrift on a sea
of motion…

floating, warm, secure and at peace
for the time with life, nature, self.

I love you.


T. H. E. Sun


Taste Her Name: Andrea

Wine has ever enriched the lives of
those that partake of its delicious
quality. The struggle continues to
put a name to its wondrous appeal.

Andrea – her name softly vocalized
conjures a vision of trees shedding
the willowy down of spring.

Just as the grape plants are tended,
nurtured, and appreciated; so are
the vines that will bear the precious
fruit are prepared for growth.

Inspired by trees that release new
growth the arboriculturist is lovingly
there when a vine needs attention.

Andrea has hair that tangles, and
eyes of serenity where a soul might
find peace.

Skin that identifies a life lived,
not patronizing; she is totally
unapologetic and honest for she
is the gift.

Gives not ground, asks not for relief.
Passionate and understanding as she
knows fully that one day does not a
lifetime make.

She is tender, strong, gentle and
merciful where it is required. Yet,
valiant and ruthless when threatened;
but loving.

Like a Merlot, smooth when mature,
yet, crisp and haughty when young.

All accepted with equal measure, while
understanding that life may not always
have happy endings; it is the journey
from here to there that is most memorable.

Captured Beauty: Hair

Captured Beauty: Hair

Trembling, cascades as fierce as
falling water as swiftly surging as
a roiling stream.

As straight, as woven together as
though by design brought forth by
as passionate a task lends its origin
to a higher harmony.

Still and elegant, regal as royalty.
Firm and demure with finely textured
curls, do in fact complete the dream.

Straight firm, relaxed or stiff, folded
as overlapping ingredients to build
an angel food cake. Softly softly.

Tiny spikes would make one hesitate
before planting face within those
deliciously treacherous spines,
break suddenly; mind shouts mistake.

Except these spines – spikes that look
harsh and frightening to the
touch are surprisingly tender and delicate
to the touch while emitting  a rich aroma
of shampoo, conditioner, or setting gels.

Perhaps worn haphazardly, without
attention being paid to the fashion
deities whom abound in magazines or
haunt the television airwaves – twenty
four seven by 365 as the market will bear.

Wonderfully askew, there is beauty
there too, to be tamed or lovingly
harnessed, losing self with in folds,
frill, waves or masses of tresses.

Falling beauty cascading upon chest
to envelope face with beauty and grace;
as finely textured hair like soft tiny
springs enjoyment do bring  like tiny
virgin forest each hair curl to its place.

Silky masses of strand upon strand
lie by its neighbor as molecule strings
one beside others; form chains of
unbroken desire.

Touching the cascades do suddenly
disappear and like a skydiver plunging
through clouds resistance seems,
but is not there.

Matted not, but upon tightly coiled
springs each when touched yields,
then like life tightens to resist.

Curls so small and delicate too, did
nature not create such wondrous
intricate details of beauty may my
hand enlist.

Touch tenderly, caress gently,
loosing my senses to absorb all
textures, all descriptors of hair.

Yielding such beauty, matters not if
hair is long or short – strands  or curls
a woman’s hair does not define her.

Bald is beautiful and in cases
necessary as a temporary
receipt paid for fighting to survive.

A standing ovation for all who have
entered that fight and fought to win;
whose baldness marks a new
beginning from velvet down, soft
buzz to crown fully or majestically
rise – hair can orchestrate or send
a message to all.

Hair is a part of a persons gift to
what is seen or desire to project to

There she is again, pulls up to the
stop sign, braking causes her hair
to fall across her face – just like a
moment frozen in time; she is
beautiful and just as quickly tosses
it out of the way to safely proceed on
her way.

It matters not if by natures gift or
a persons skill is one blessed with
a head of bouncing beauty;
matters not if hair is there at all – it
is the persona of a woman that
makes her a cutie.

Poetry Thursday.

Tidal Merger: Wind

Tidal Merger: Wind

Swirls of hair evidence winds intensity,
motion claims the buzz cut, or like
closely knitted thatch or mats tremble
creating an individual loose extremity.

Mindless at winds mercy, strands
dance or resemble the beautiful
boughs of the great willows that
hug faithfully the waterways.

Rising falling twisting turning the
wind owns all. With buildings the
effect is increased where the cities
decay may fill one corner of an alley
leaving clean the other side.

Hair waves majestically, while upon
another shakes sporadically.

Hair strands clash sometimes
violently, always sensually;
remarkably wonderfully tantalizingly
adept at leaving the owner beautiful.

Hair as lovers embrace becomes a
fluid or comforting focus for face
fingers nose eyes ears arms tongue
lips combining every sense to
heighten the awareness of
interaction between lover and loved.

Hair wind-borne as it kisses
your face, and to your beloved, enjoy
the power as hair chased by the air
movements tickle, blind, and enhance
passions experience.

Wind creeps around the collar or
openings of the shirt, blouse or
sweater; powerful enough to
pierce the bones when wearing
materials like leather.

Wind waves flags, banners or
bunting, it shakes the houses, barns
and concrete buildings; our very
wallets or purses have fallen prey
emptied – often leaving one wanting.

Wind cleanses our air in valleys, in
cities, in towns. Some times leaving
some  with relief or dread or sorrow.

While we read or speak or as time
passes, the nature of wind will
always impact the masses.

You define winds beauty perfectly,
your hair shifts with subtle abandon
or streams like underwater grasses
while the invisible powers caress,
stroke, and manipulate your beauty
as I watch, grateful to be as close as
I am while watching nature’s
environs do that which I desire to do
but, am limited to sonnets, poetry or

Not the Bard’s words

“would not you have carried away this ones heart into flights of fancy, whereby he would.

nay – he must find fault within himself for the desire of the heart;

whereby as upon a birds wing does soar.”

Towards Slumber

Towards Slumber

Ah, to gather ones self towards the
welcome relief of slumber, matters
not if the day is still present or
one hears the approaching dusk by
the softening of days activity.

Even the birds commence with
sometimes a furious din, as though
arguing for spaces owned before
night becomes inn; thus spaced and
balanced by families do preen before
bed and cry “nini” to new found

What of the creatures that walk up
on the ground, is nightly peace of
any be found. Where may a gentle place
act as safe haven, while enemies
search and scour the night to devour
even friend Raven.

Ah, fear not for them for clustering
in numbers when alarmed sends
lurkers scurrying for safer plunders
as through the inn; pecks and
buffeting upon them rain from
stranger and friend.

Safely away our lurker is safe to
contend with a drink of milk from a
doorway tin.

Then what of the people who work
the night, no rest for them as they
slumbered by day; many by choice
per se would likely choose nights
stabilized din than daytime’s bray.

Rush rush hustle bustle not a
moment to share, time is money
money the seduction is there
breath to spare.

Dizzy delirium added drama, what
say you on the wheel as you run,
employment is sluggish, sequester is
booming, summer used to be about

Look at the young humans living in
their beautiful worlds, while all about
life tumbles headlong as the endless
cycle continues of boys chasing

When tired both sexes stop and rest
as they feel the riptide of summer;
lay upon the grass lose not the
sweet lass who lay beside you for
this would be a bummer.

Don’t forget the chores whether
outside or indoors – so much in
so short a time; Pop then Mom
would scream (at least in my mind
they did) which was not a positive
thing for day passed to night and
look still not finished, you’re
grounded – sure fine.