Modest Beauty

Low slung shoes were dark
brown with the sides open
towards their heels, her pale
skin complimented the brown
covering the rest of her body.

Practical heels were topped
with bows at the toe, and her
foot cleavage was delicately
peeking from beneath
cinnamon colored hose.

She was adorned in a lovely
violet print dress of white, pink,
blue, and yellow flowers. Her
rich black hair was full, thick,
trimmed and prim.

She was in line ahead of me
and I longed for a picture of
her to add to the mental image
that I even now hold dear.

I don’t recall seeing her face
Modest Beauty, a cart ahead
of me. I wondered as she
seemed to shift slightly on
low delicate heels, if she
kicked them off, upon her safe
return home.

I wondered if young hands
with eyes filled with love
reached for Mom – as a
spent and grateful sitter
cashes out for the week.

Perhaps suspicious eyes
keeping past displays in
check, hug Mom, then
quickly volunteer to help
unload, gather and put
away the purchases – from
a by now, equally suspicious

Ah, here it comes;

before asking to go to the
latest released movie with
friends for the evening.

A grateful Mom, of course,
down time – Mom time, get
it while you can. Yes. Have
fun, I know where you are at
all times – okay. MoM. Good.

Perhaps you work indoors for
a very professional group, or
were you seeking work – dressing
to keep your interview in the mind
of the management.

I know not for them, but you
have cemented your impression
Modest Beauty upon my heart.

The Dream That Is You

The Dream That Is You

I have waited too for you to
embrace me my friend.

I have visited you, every
evening and covered you
with my love.

I have opened doors for
your friends and to my
chagrin also enemies that
use me to do their nefarious

Twilight, while neither friend
nor enemy does witness their
actions and have overheard their
plans, plots, and even treachery;
as they seek only profit or pleasure.

I do not believe any of them has right
to mock you, or raise a hand against
you in any way.

Think on the bee, who while bearing
a formidable weapon, his or her task
is to faithfully serve their queen.

What manner of love, dedication,
and faith does one carry in mind
and heart. Who but for the
passionate few will risk all and
remain in loves stead for
years over years.

Why is this singleness of
purpose not marked in the
pages of a great book.
Is it because, it is marked on
the ribbon of time that stands
as a silent testimony to reason.

For no other than this, often
the enemies are bewildered
and frustrated in their attempts
to castigate or stifle what they
themselves do not really control.

I move rapidly upon them to
thwart and stymie their most
detailed plans.

Look upon them quietly and intently
seeing them stumble about and lose
coordinated time for their deeds,
is sometimes pleasurable to
witness–mind, I do not wish the
innocent ill, and I go out of my way
to see that help is not hampered
nor denied.

But, those who have plotted
and I have witnessed them at
your door and they do well to
not make you unhappy, cause
should they do so and to them
I say only this:

Fear not my love, they will pay,
least they raise a hand against you,
because —

My love for you will not falter…ever.

Signed: The Night

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

Retreating Clouds

Passing Squall

As the clouds pass, gone for a time; in the value of love, one finds that true love does not.

i see the the dawn breaking with scattered low clouds
having discharged the rain upon land and city–
cleansing the air,
giving even the dusty corners a renewed purity as does
the street washer, as it goes about its task like a mindless juggernaut without feeling or compassion;
when even the birds sought shelter from the cleansing
moisture, now do they enjoy the comfort that the healing waters have delivered freely to them,
having brought a new life, a new opportunity, does chance renew, invigorate, and supply us with a wonderful sense of being;
there is a new hope in the air, a freshness smelled, a new awareness, a fabulous hope and expectancy racing into the hearts, minds, and bodies of all living things,
when breathed in we find the expectancy exhilarating seemingly where nothing can touch within ourselves this joy this passion this savoring of the moment which we might lock within ourselves forever;
this is ours to share or keep secretly locked away or captured for the future in a picture, ours to trade as a fascinating story or the gift of a poem, secreted as a valuable treasure or left to despair without a second glance as we are some times too busy to experience or savor such a joyous moment;
we often find ourselves gazing at retreating clouds more often grateful they are departing not and realizing the most precious of gifts were placed before our feet or chanced to fall upon our shoulders.