On Diamond Rings and Back Porch Swings

I ain’t alone

Blues’ sultry harmonica coos

I’ll get by

Jazz reminds me with razzmatazz

Harmony transcends

Classical croons international

Fear not freedom

Techno brings down walls in tempo

Love’s a tragicomedy

Opera’s o solo mio trills in joy macabra

Feel the beat

Latin keeps my feet movin’ in Manhattan

Everyday danser

Zydeco revs stompin’ into mode turbo

But to secret tunes I sing and dare not admit

Lest I be taken for a complete nitwit

My clandestine crime in terms musical

That makes me uncool in things acoustical

Is how when no one is watching

And the radio’s on

I roll up the car windows

And sing along

To Country

New Jersey Nostalgia

Mourning doves

ooAAH coo cooo coo

as kosher Dunkin’ Donuts bake

sending  sweet clouds to dust dawn

over the Raritan’s Albany Street Bridge

Above rowhouse rooftops, cedar waxwings lisp 

fruity trills, svelte banditos take communion 

holding rosy red berries in their beaks and bellies

exchanging pleasantries between Highland Park

neighbors, a polite migrating masquerade

Roosevelt roosters gargoyle 

on the water tower, a large Lego on stilts

below, elementary school children

hopscotch, tag you’re it

skulking raptors lick their lips

Bauhous bowers cuddle up to Assunpink’s bog

where a white-throated sparrow

Old-Sam-Peabody-Peabody

serenades as Torahs unfurl trusting daylight

Largo al factotum, little bird Figaros

Pine Barrens hushed

in secrets they’ll never tell

a heedless nuthatch mouses

downside up squeaking

like a rubber ducky

A silent skein of geese glides over cars

without honking heading home at dusk

shadows lengthen, fiddler crabs pull sandy blankets

over their heads in a cozy shush

as moonlight flickers over Barnegat Bay

Just another Thursday

For all those tying the knot in 2015 ~

Just another Thursday in December (2013).

Two slugs went to God and asked,

“What is our mission?”

God said, “Make a blue lotus.”

With true love, anything is possible.

Anything.

What's left

Unspeakable truths lie

strewn stones on woodland paths

traces of our lives

prehistories calcified

stopping stones

bathed in late afternoon

sun streams

glistening unconscious

aroused sighs

gods aloud

letting go

we shudder

distracted

Kbal Spean (River of 1000 Lingas) on Phnom Kulen (the Sacred Mountain), Siem Reap, Cambodia.