The Last Note

Winded in the shallow breathing,
awaiting closure the last note in life's melody will bring,

Wondering whether it will hold a sustained resonance,
unchecked by the reflexive shadow thought
of a possible time signature ascribing a curt ending.

Regardless

Departing privately with an assurance
that a soul's  thirst is scantly quenched,
rings in the abyss.

It is late autrumn in America
Human kindness has fallen with the leaves
Wind of change blusters to ride atop promises of Winter
Bringing a bitterness that won't melt with snow
Lingering through seasons yet to come

A Dollop

In the stillness of private reflections are filtered desires
secretly spun and woven into pure longing
a fabric earnestly crafted into the simplest form of sincerity
held until it is at least nearly presentable to you.

You, a carton of never ending ice cream
wherein a dollop satisfies so fully
in different flavors of the same love
covered and shared by many
so complete that a spoonful's measure
lasts forever.

Smiles

Interludes of intermittent smiles spot the cloudy skies like sun rays
They often weaken quickly,
 unsustainable, as they all are.
We dare not discount them on such grounds,
especially the involuntary ones
recognized as genuine by grateful onlookers.

Sudden ones splash faces
with a flash of teeth,
while others slowly widen corners of mouths,
so easily discerned in their uniform spontaneity.

I saw one aloft a windswept dress,
uncovered by  breeze-blown strands of long hair
streaming from the jubilant pace of its host;
it was a delightful sight.

Self Absorbed

Heartbeats throb,
Echoing off the walls of my insularity
Bouncing back
on ME!

The ONE
all encompassing,
self-edifying
soul.

Hands and Eyes

Hands  resting on the table
Faces locked with eyes
Seized in a moment flashed
with the quickness of flies
A bold and darting move
to test a grasping clasp
resulting in a gently broken flee
revealing what the eyes had sought
but not prepared to see
Awkward hands rescind in what a set mistook
A retreat lapsed from a gesture made,
Eyes not knowing where to look.
 

The Game! The Game!

The Game! The Game!
What is there BUT the game?
The fields and courts house the eternal imbalance
where ambitions aggress
among lines, posts, and nets.

Where sighs express
the murmur of a tie
deflecting the tally mark
from the face of sudden death

like an ir regular heartbeat.

The Game! The Game!
What is there BUT the game,
where dreams are chased
holding only a thread
of that last endeavor as merit?