Summer Dreams

My mother used to tell me a story
when we would sit out in our yard
and look up at the gleaming stars on a
warm summer night, and all around
was quietude, save for the chirping crickets
singing their soft evening melody to the
setting sun that had just left for her bright
western lands on the other side of the earth.
We would sit out on the cooling grass
just getting damp with crystal dew, and I
would nestle close to her as she whispered:

Once upon a time in a fantastical land
far, far away and a long time ago,
there was a beautiful island far out in
the sea, where grew a flourishing forest
all dense with healthy green foliage and vividly
sprouting flowers that grew in all colors of the
world; there were pinks and blues in all sorts
of wondrous shades, deep crimson clovers,
pure white lilies, royal carpets of violets,
and all other blossoms that could ever be named.

And the creatures that lived there! Well! Never was
there such a sight as the island during the budding
spring days, all just thawing out from a snow-laced
winter, everything simply teeming with life and
joy; this joy, you know, derived from the wonderful
happening of new calves, new colts, new piglets,
new lambs, new pups, new cubs, new fledglings, all
scarcely entering this new and strange land that
would become as familiar to them as this house is
to you. To them, now, though, everything was curious
and odd, but not yet dangerous or worthy of their
cautious step. All was soft as their mother's womb,
and nothing could hurt them while their loving
parent yet stood near like a comforting shadow.

But never did anyone see any creature so
majestic and beautiful and glorious as the fabled
fire lizard. the folk of the island, who lived alongside the
many prolific animals there, would say that it was
the very heart of the island, the life force of their home.
As it breathed, so too did the inhabitants, and
as it shifted in its sleep, the ripples would cause the
fields to become ripe, and the creatures and people
to prosper and live in plenty and peace. Everyone
on the island slept in ease with their protector caring
for their every need and want.

And as she would say this, my mother would
wrap me in her soft, floral-scented arms, and carry me
inside to my comforting bed, which was crisply made
with newly washed sheets. My stuffed bear would be
there waiting for me, with his open, fluffy paws,
and I would sleepily snuggle into the comforter and
fall directly to sleep as soon as my head dropped
to the pillow. That night, I would dream of a beautiful
island draped with magnificent foliage and populated
with the most incredible creatures, and I would feel
the deep comfort of the great island lizard.

Neon Lights

There's that feeling when you are driving
home at night, and every silhouetted tree
and bush and hill creates a backdrop for those
thoughts that come at night when the only
sound that can be heard is the muffled wind
rushing by outside your window and the
gentle friction of your tires on the smoothly
paved asphalt. Small golden lights twinkle in the
not-so-far distance of the city down in the valley,
where busy taxis and lightning cars speed past in
a flashing line of neon light through the streets and
avenues and alleyways, an intricate system of
weaving together the fabric of the city.
As you pass by each darkened shadow of daytime
delight, a rather pensive cloud overtakes you,
settles on your mind, takes root, and grows,
sprouts, blooms into a flower of soft, sable color
with velvety petals glistening with a sweet metallic nectar
that sticks to the tongue and dissolves on the roof of
your mouth, diffusing into the inner acid and spreading
throughout the veins, making it all the way to the heart,
the feeling organ that tentatively searches for that right,
perfect calling, that right, perfect person, the one who will
make everything seem as if all the world is blooming with
perpetual springtime roses and violets, daisies and tulips.
And perhaps, for just a moment, you sense something
that is not of your normal constitution, some sort of urge
to do something, to be something that will make
a true difference in the world, and just be that person,
be that go-getter, the one who has traveled, who has been
places outside of your hometown streets and seen amazing things
and tried scary things and done everything under the sun
and the moon as well; the feeling that the life you lead has
not yet reached its peak and the best is yet to come, but you
will pass it by soon if you don't look for it and be spontaneous
and leave the neon lights below and simply go drive
somewhere out there, somewhere that will make for a good story.

Dearest Heart

Dearest heart, how you look in this moonlight,
shining through the lovely windows of our hall,
glancing over each carefully polished marble stone
that glows alike to their originator's gleam,
skipping across the floor in a silver reflection of
her resting greater golden sister, who does bring
the colors and life of the glorious, gilded day.
Dearest heart, how you look in this silken dress,
twirling around in dizzying circles and graceful arcs,
so much like a regal swan barely rippling her pond, or
a lovely doe in her spotted coat leaping through the wood.

Dearest heart, won't you dance with me across this
smoothly polished floor? For I am missing my dear love,
who has not yet taken my hand in his, and led me
'cross the stone of our shared youth and sapling years.
Dearest heart, here, light a candle, or all, and place them
in their burnished sconces, and we shall have our own
ball tonight, with as many guests as we deem fit, and as much
company as we do desire to fill this empty hall with joy.

Dearest heart, call the cooks to their fires, and the bards
to their instruments. For tonight we shall have a dance,
a dance which shall surpass all others in glory and color. We shall
have all our tables heavy laden with plenteous fare, enough for
the entire neighborhood to feast with pleasure, and we shall have
the finest attire worn by our great ladies; none shall be wanting
for a small bouquet or nosegay, or a crown of fresh wildflowers.
And our gentlemen shall each have a red, deep crimson rose
peeking out of their chest pockets like a beating heart.

Dearest heart, how I do love this sight, and all the delight
which I have gleaned from it! Here they all stand, like an array
of the finest meadow flowers, each decked out in the most elegant
fashion! Oh, how my heart raptures in this most glorious vision!

Dearest heart, how you look in your white silken dress
here in the soft light of the warm, glowing candles.
You dance as an angelic creature, for as such do I deem you.
Oh, my dearest heart, I do so love you!

land across the green

in a land across the green
where nothing ever grew
save for the woody, dreary shrubs
and dullish flowers numbered few
in this land across the green
so dark and painted neutral
where all of all blended together
and life was nothing but a funeral
here in this land across the green
there loved but only one
one who did not mind the flatness
nor the never-showing sun
now this land across the green
where this one truly lived
he lived on solitude as sustenance
and loneliness made his crib
in this land across the green
this one loved to go a-walking
walking though the endless waste
and cartwheel like a burdened king
this land across the green
was this one's home so dear
and never would he ever leave it
e'en if the sky struck at his heart with fear
so in this land across the green
there never would be but just the one
and this one would not ever go
for here was he creatively spun
in this land across the green
as child this one had wept
for the tale that would never be
because of secrets that had been kept
out of this land across the green
emerged a champion strong and true
for ever had he vowed to keep
the colors in the brightest hue
but in this land across the green
there were vows that had been broken
and so broken yet beyond repair
that none could make right save for a hero fallen
and now in this land across the green
there no more a hero waits
to rise above and prove himself
to the most fickle changing fates
ever in the land across the green
shall this one be waiting for the day
when a hero shall strike up a bargain
and with the world's destiny play
but now in this land across the green
no one has yet been heard to sing
until the hero shall rise again
and a new life with him bring

Run-on Saturday Morning

When the sun peeks over
the shadowed hilly landscape
and just barely begins to glow
on the walls of your pastel-painted
bedroom and throws lightened
shadows on your softly carpeted
floor and you wake to the smell of
cinnamon and peanut butter
freshly baked from the oven and
retrieved by comfortable, worn
oven mitts in dull silver muffin tins
warm to the touch- so warm that
they could burn your entire hand in
an instant and make it become all
read and flaming and blistering,
so that the only remedy is cold, icy
water and your mother's consoling
hugs and kisses applied with care
as well as bandages to wrap your
hand in so that it looks something like
a mitten that you wore just last winter
during the great snowstorm that
canceled school, when you built that
great snowman and his family and
pet dog named Jordan, and all the
neighborhood kids were so jealous
of your incredible artistic skill-
When you sit down with your sleepy
eyes at the wood table that has
withstood babyhood and major temper
tantrums and you see that your morning
meal has been placed before you and
prepared in just the way you know
your mom knows you like it and you
can almost taste the almond extract
and sweet cinnamon sugar-dusted dessert
that others would call breakfast on
a rushed day, and you can feel the comfortable
heat radiating from the perfectly-sized
pastry in waves of silver steam,
don't forget to thank the one who made it.

Harvest Gold

Here it is, a perfectly finished product

of the finest silks in the kingdom,

perhaps even the world, dyed in the

most glorious shade of harvest gold,

exactly as you had requested and

commissioned us to do, my lady.

And here, you see, are all the crafted

buttons from the finest metals purified

over the hottest furnace that has yet

been built in this modern day and age,

so clear and bright that you can see

your very own image in each little sun

of a mirror, just as you desired, 

and there are twenty-three of them, 

all down the back of the bodice,

and another forty-six down the front,

all the way to the floor, where, as you

can see, the creamy lace blends perfectly 

with the golden threads of the smooth,

ruffled skirt, made entirely by hand,

in only a week of time to create such a

tailored masterpiece as has yet passed 

through my rather experienced hands.

Tonight you shall be simply ravishing,

my lady, for when you rise and enter the

dance hall crowded with all those other

vain and narcissistic so-called nobility

with their feathered fans and enormous

bustles like cattle, those oversized peacocks

stuffed into silk and satin, you shall shine

brighter than any of them, for such a 

simple cut suits your graceful frame with

such perfection and truly compliments your

natural beauties, your glowing skin,

your flowing, wavy, burnished hair, your

finely shaped arms and torso, so that

none of it is lost in gaudiness.

Thank you, dear tailor, for this lovely gift.

No lady of my rank could have asked for

anything more superb and wonderfully

made as this delightful ballgown that has been

put together like a dream. I shall wear my

southern pearls with this, and a net in my hair,

with a few loose ringlets to add a sort of

statement. My sky blue shoes shall be

the perfect compliment to your work, sir, 

and I shall wear a corsage of forget-me-nots

and small white buds in order to add a 

simplistic charm to this wondrous gown.

Again, I thank you, dear tailor.

Hope

Once all the earth was in a glorious summer,
never ceasing to please with trees heavily laden
with sweet fruits, huge fields of ambrosial blossoms
like thick silken carpets, and the golden beams
of sunlight streaming through the interlaced boughs,
signifying a glorious age of serene prosperity.

But then.

Then, with the last crisp, red, juicy apple
plucked from its mother tree came a cold, biting
rush of wind, a gale that swept through the world
so quickly, it caused the bright, verdant green leaves
atop the strong, sturdy trees to wither into reds
and golds and browns and fall, fall so far to the cool,
frosted ground, where the sun's rays had as little
an influence to warm as a single thread to clothe.
And so did the earth fall into autumn.

But the whirlwind was not yet satisfied with its work.

After once surveying all the faded, shrunken glory
of the world that had had previously been the
crown jewel of its kind, the devious gust proceeded
further in its detrimental destruction and stirred up
dark, ominous clouds full to bursting with small,
white, freezing flakes that would melt at warmth and
seep through layers of wool and coat all the rough
branches in a white, crystalline blanket, stiffening
the living giants in a casing of smooth icy shards.
Thus did the earth slip into winter.

But the earth would not be defeated so easily, though
all hope seemed to flee at the bitter cold.

It was then, during the deepest, darkest point of
this dreary season, that a miracle happened.
Out of the landscape of white, gray, and brown, a small,
tiny, minuscule seed took root, and began to sprout forth
into a green leaf gilded, as it seemed, with a silver shadow.
Though the furious wind did its best to destroy this
slight ray of hope with even more terrible storms
and hail and snow and ice, this did avail nothing, but
strengthened the seedling so that it did bloom and flourish,
a burgeoning symbol of life.

Once more did the sun shine gold upon the earth's surface,
and once more did the trees bloom with all their
green finery and sweet-scented blossoms, and once more
did the endless fields come to life with vivid, soft flowers,
all because that a single, brave seed took root.