First Violet Series
                     Numbers Sixty-Six to One Hundred and Twenty-Seven 

  No. 65 Summonings

From the place of unspoke needings that excise the mind and soul.
Flow the pulsing of our nature with one course a single goal.

From the drives that speak continuance; from the drought of hungry skin
From the unfulfilled adventures of a life both parched and thin.
From the languor and the luster and the longings of the heart
Are the unfound places anchored; sealed in, locked on, and marked.  

From the place that owns and tells me of the worlds I'll never see
Come the memory of nowhere that both incarcerate and free. 

The end and the beginning; the truth and sullied lies
Are the first sure course of nature for which we hunger but despise.  

You the symbol and the surety; the course of nature won
The valley now forsaken that is still the surest sum.  

So remember in the darkness. so deep with promised death
That one alone is only the surest sign of death.

No. 66 Friends: to Sidney 

The timelessness of touching speaks of forces still unseen 
and the soul found press of living both questions and redeems.

Friends relieve our grieving and friends give ease to days

Friends melt frozen wounds that both condemn and can delay

Friends, the best of loving and the truth of well lived lives.

Friends that love and succor when hopes all turn to lies.

No. 67 Closing Cycles, Autumn Sighs

Within the mite of moment when the shadows draw out long
The closing days of autumn pull me in to other songs.
In those first dark days of winter growing wide and long and strong
I see the mask of memory slip to tell me I belong.  

I am held within the covenant of what is yet to be.
Reminded of the fragile hopes that bind all destiny
Decisive intervention marks the scope of ranges tried
While untouched and unmentioned remain oncoming tides.  

The shadows come unbidden by the conscious minds of day
While the unseen, unmade, intention brooks no more delay
And so my soul is settled on the fate it once embraced
While Will tests time and mettle to temper and efface.  

In the faceless shores of shadow where life and truth are one
In the restless shoals of anguish is the race of living done
As the one sure goal remembered recedes before our eyes
The first and last lock fingers in a union once despised.  

For the race was won in planning every point in metered time
And the sure outcome of living remains both triumph and a crime.  

No. 68 Unspoken Thoughts

Do you feel my lips remember courses tasted in disguise
Do your thoughts converse and echo all denial couched in lies?
Are your nights enriched and haunted by the fantasy denied?
And do your thoughts most errant find realities unwise?

If so, you touch my memories not yet lived out in truth
And your fantasies remember all the touches that I rue.
For I wake to reremember how often I am in need
Of the presence and fulfillment you have taught my soul to crave.  

You the touch and taste of glories
You the misspoke core of life
You the spelled and discoursed meaning that 
Brings end to misspoke strife.

You the magnitude of touching that affirms what is not seen
You the shallowed taste of futures that lie beyond the dream.  
So kiss and fondle, love me, from the silence never broke
And so remember longings that mind alone invokes.

I love and then reject you from the past too close to heart
For the time is sore and shallow and you, my truth, must still hold doubt.

In the night that holds our honor do not fail to need me first
And know that all is famine what is not me your foremost thirst.  

In the untold place of silence where the breath will cease to pulse.
Begins and ends assumptions that though fragile still control.
Where the source of human strivings is dimmed to distant light.
Are the truths of life encountered, beyond the caul of sight.  
No expectations realized, no postulations proved
No sublimated hungers exist then to reprove.

Is continuance in spirit the fate of human life?
Or does the force that moves us die as ended strife?  

No. 69 To Stephen

In a name evoking anguish that incises love most true
Is hidden all the comfort of the truth I thought I knew.
From the sullied voice of loving
From the coils that spell death
Is the first and last removal of the time that steals our breath.
From incumbents and from fascists
From the simple and the drool
From the intimates of passion come the same unspoken tolls
That evoke the misspoke longing that provide the souls own soil.

I remember words that nurture and that comfort in their truth
I remember grieving moments that spent bring all relief.
I thank a Lord most Holy for the Gift of ears to understand
And I see that need and anguish is a part of larger plans.  

Stephen hears the anguish and speaks words true and right
Stephen is the comfort in the depth of endless night
In the last and first communion with a place of unfound grief
Is intelligence and purging of the shadowed time relieved.  

Kisses cling and linger.
Breath revokes our fear
When Stephen is the answer
The future grows more dear.  

No. 70 A Point Well Taken

In laughter scented silence is the future drawn and spoke
And in that first incising was the vision first evoked.  
The plans concise and sterile wrote the lies and all the truth
As forward thought emoted untold tellings now most rued.  

I touched the source of living and I tallied up your lies
I spelled out those remitted lessons your life has since denied
I grieved for all the melodies that died within my dreams
Shattered, rended, futile, outside the fortress life esteems. 

Fractured follies feint, deny, remove the place of lies
Untold needs that pulse and course, mute their true reply.

My breasts that tingle, need and hunger for the touch of skin
Kindle couraged comings that rely on all amends.  

You inculcate the teaching that mute our unspoken dreams
You anguish and defeat me, retract, misspeak and scheme.
You alloy all the anguish that repeats all follied lies
While my first course of learning recants what loves denies.  

You, the words that slumber in the sands that kiss the seas.
You that echo instances when time most truly frees.  
You the first and last among the arrogant and bad.
You the only evil my soul has ever had.  

When the one last silence echoes
Within the staunched release.
When tidings of the Savior breed the one true peace.
When the last and first remember the only savored right.
Then the best is graven on the cup of night.  

So come to me in silence,
Relieve my lonely hour
Reform the chaste and numbered
With the first and last of power.  

No. 71 Prayer for Christmas

In this time of seasoned gladness give us moments of reflection
When we are alone but not lonely.  

Grant us laughter in large doses 
And grief in small measures 

You, who gave us life
Give us the courage to amend our own wrongdoings.  

 Let us hear those in need, 
Even when those in need are not our friends.

Let us see truth 
Even when it is not our truth. 

Let us reach out to others 
As we reach into our own souls

Give us the strength to be weak 
And the tenderness to be gentle.

Give us magnitudes of hope 
And enough days to do Your will.

In this season where the promise of renewed life 
was affirmed through our Savior’s birth 

Instill in us a new determination to live rightly.

As we face a long winter of human uncertainty 
Let us remember Peace and Your most Perfect Gift

No. 72 Measures

I welcome in a grieving that reminds me that I breathe
Excising and excusing I remember burning embers and believe

For the race is hot for running and the will forgets to die
As the forward speed of summings corrects my course to kill its lies.  

Fine the incrementals that define all choice and hope
Sublime the incidentals that bore in as I delope.

Long the seconds stretch out to subsume a universe of voids
The sound of my heart beating is the metronome employed.  

Alone in every season, in every place outside of mind
I consider all the facets of the plan inside design.

I trace each edge and pattern, consider and devise
Reconsider choices and wonder if they’re wise.  

In reremembered echoes of a place more real than now
I retrace the coiled anguish that still cuts me with its vow.  

For Love may hold its questions as life its coils run
The Master that we served then is still the only One.  

No. 73 Remindings
Graven on the stones of time
Opined inside my Palmed friend
I thank you kindly for this remind
Look forward to seeing you once, again. 

No. 74 Silver Silence 

In the unplumbed void of silence where the depths of self reside
I touch the unfound achings where the core of hope has died.  
Through memory and moment, through the clouds of hate released
I glimpse the chasmed nothing that defies outpourings of all grief.  

In the wage filled pall of patience with its store of dusted days
Is the tidy toll of duty paid with life’s own wage.
And the untoward edge of honor warps the vision I once owned
As the cost of unbled anguish remembers other tones.  

In a moment unremembered, through lives most truly seen
Was this spare and temporary harbor marked out in first degree.
But sanctuaried fastness even sweet with Jasmined air
Cannot cancel out the desperation that meets soul drowned in despair.  

As I breathe the air eternal in the place that never sleeps
I curl in anguished hungers that bore on without relief.

Was this the price once promised, was this the toll to pay?
Was this sight that greeted me when Love was child’s play?  

No. 75 Misspoke Magic

When the tides of misspoke magic lend the nuance to degrees
And when the melding and the moment
Remind me of the uncoursed thoughts that defy griefs.  
I rediscover promises that cancel out beliefs.  

I reremember lips most speaking
And I linger and devise
Delusions first and cherished
Cancel out illusions and contrive to make me wise.  

In the moments misremembered
Are the hopes that love is true
In the electric and the moonlit
Are the coursing passions new.

But the truth of sallow intellect
Reminds us hopes are thin
And the retrospect of honesty
Admits the view most grim.  

So the Himbo is a taker
And the passion was a lie
I was credulous and naked
To the needs that love denies.  

I blush to see the human me.
While still the rapture summons needs. 

I pray to see the death of love
So work most true can find its gloves.  

No. 76 Divided Hopes


Bursting globes of haunting death
That torch and crisp and rape the day.

Bombs incinerate our hope for peace 
And turn the face of God away.


Eruptions shake the Earth with fire
Destroy all life within their wake

Ignore all conscience, all desire
Injustice speaks for vengeance sake.


From places far removed from sight
Death comes in angel curving flight

To remind us all of endless night
A hell-searing promise given light.  


Denying life its forward scope. 
And children place to even breathe 

Bombs we aim at those unseen
Still kill the hopes of we who dream.  


Curdled screams cut off by death
End lives that matter as our own breath.  

Bombs that rupture, bombs that seek
Bombs that muster us to grieve.

Bombs divide our worlds and make
Infernos all for profit’s sake.  


No justice lends this violence right
Or leads us back from Death’s own night.  

No. 77 Flowers

Velvet folds of color, purple, gold and perfect blue
Awake the eyes to wonder, hear testaments in dew.

In the spring of year new minted are the colors bright and true
And the hopes of human shaping assemble and renew.

Flowers burst and burgeon, ripple on in tidal waves
Faces turned to heaven, the sun glazed pedals praise
The one sure hope of living; the renewal and the life
The onward march of being, in all its toiled strife.  

Flowers mottle hillsides in panoply of joy
Eyes that see reflect it; beauty life employs
Continuance is the issue from a flower and a child
No guarantees are issued ‘til the outcomes end is filed.

Rare time of beautied madness that designs our forward thrust
Flowers, insects, human, each must live, devise, adjust.
To the winnowing of ages and the plucking out of time
Savor every moment, every instant; every line.

The forward thrust of living leaves us in the dust alone
The onward march of living is gift, illusion; Loan.
Touch and savor color, feast eyes and nose and ears 
The turn of Year to springtime is renewal; hope and fear.  

No. 78 Sought Oblivion

Soaked in sorrow; gasping needs; time of turmoil that might free
A soul in forward flight through time
To pay the cost of unseen crimes.

The rapture promised; a soul much tried; as acts oncoming live – and die.  
Within the stealth-born pause of need
Was first devised the tool of greed.

Markets speak the truth of summings
Giving Mankind a truth less numbing.

A visual and imaged model
Consequences violence throttle.
So that fine tuning truths with need
Fewer will be left to bleed.

A lovely vision born to teach
The futures place we ache to reach.  

No. 79 In Sleep 

In the deepest place of slumber where the hidden mind resides
Are images unnumbered that refute our fiercest lies.
In that place of unspoke shadows loom our sharpest hopes and needs
And abide there aching chasms filled with what most truly please.  

Touches smooth, ecstatic, that consume the source of pain
Caresses without number, beyond all loss and gain.
The lingering of lips that spell eternities consumed
Dispelling mortal anguish and the looming threat of doom.

In the deepest place of slumber is that image truly writ.
Captured by the passion of a mind that clings to it.  
For the truth of all our actions speaks the soul-deep song we sing
The magnitudes of passion light the truth all souls can bring.

So remember when you’re sinking into sheets and waxen light.
In the untoned place of slumber does your soul have clearest sight.

No. 80 Venus Rising

Rising up on far horizons, like the shadow of a dream
Venus, in her glory, fires powers yet unseen.
Her glowing orb is ancient but in me its echo screams
The time has come for waking, and for retaking all she means.

Venus Rising, 
Sun’s reflection, speaks now in ancient language that She sings from new born tongues.  
Venus Rising

From the moment of conception, still hidden in the womb
Our power is protection of the gift we got from Her.
Our souls may gasp with anguish through lives that speak the tomb
But her promise is election to a future long since overdue..

Venus Rising
The radiance of power that now finds its own full hour
Venus Rising

Our voices join in volume and they spread around the globe
They rise in joy and knowledge, and reject what they were told
For the hurt exacted from us is the yesterday of time.
Now comes the birth-cry of a future, both human and divine.  

Venus Rising
Peace in commence, speech and action that cancel out our doubts.
Venus Rising

Peace that grows electric ripped from the pangs of fear and death
To birth new life in justice as we draw in strength and breath.
Our peace spreads arms of knowledge, rejecting war and greed
Our peace is born in commerce and from trade that meets our need. 

Venus Rising
Sisterhood grown strong with the joy inside of song 
Venus Rising

From home and citied center, from the place most deep within
We find our common vision and our choices say amen
Let it be now our first stridings towards the dream that will not die
Let it cancel out our anger at the past and all its lies.

Venus Rising
God revising
Venus Rising.

As woman speaks to woman in tongues rejecting hate
I find my power growing towards a better human fate
I sing the song electric with my sisters who are true
We reject the ugly grasping and forge the world anew.

Venus Rising
Wise women born for smiling
Venus Rising.  

Sister’s eyes lock smiles on faces young and old
The future of all people is the story to be told
Fingers touch the promise as eyes see into soul
Emancipated heroes, women with one perfect goal.

Venus Rising

Venus Rising
Venus Rising
Venus Rising

No. 81 Touching Sadness

In the echoes of dementia where the light is thin and low
I find the core of injuries that carved out what I know
My breath is caught; I anguish
My mind rejects the lies
Wishing it were different
Accepting what I denied.

The friends I thought were kindly
The people who I loved
The cherished, happy moments
Were a curious kind of drug

Their blandishments were hollow
And their substance was unreal
Their needing and their grasping
Were all that they could feel.

So I move on a little hollowed
From the losses that amend
My life an errored fortress
Without the leavenings of friends.  

No. 82 Sunlight on Sand 

The taste of blue, the scent of time
The magnitudes of ancient crimes.
The faded nuance of Chanel
Woven threads of human tales.  

The rhapsody of edge honed thought
Knowing now beyond all doubt.  

Ineffable, not logic based
But true enough for life's embrace.

Entoning sounds of faded life
Enclosing raptures - and our strife.

The journeys bound by mind alone
Have no limits we must own. 
So dance down sands to quiet seas
And find your future memories.  

No. 83 Legacy

In bone and flesh and mind borne grace
Their increased spirit binds a race
Through generations unaware
Their deity breeds past despair. 

Eyes that saw past pain and death
To worlds of light in seared caress.  
Promised children given life
That DNA might cancel strife. 

From one blessed act of human love
A conscious gift of soul made trust
To see us through the time between
The death of One and life redeemed.  

A man and woman, clothed in flesh
One night’s love; a world to bless.  

No. 84 Christmas Gift

A joyous noise that fills the ears, directs our longings, stills our fears
Reminds the soul it cannot die
That graves and mourning both are lies.  

The Gift sends echoes down the spine
Gravid with the pulse divine.  

A Gift, once given, present tense
Through time perfecting soul-borne sense.

Redeeming Love that sundered death
And summoned souls to forward quest.

Repairing ruptures ages deep
That humankind might see and weep. 

Ablution, cleansing, reborn hope
To help us use One life's true scope.  

No. 85 Disappointed Hopes

When the edge of hope is tarnished by the sludge of daily life
I retreat to bed and bathos to rebuild what cannot die.  
I sip tea and sigh for chocolate, that one unreasoned friend
Whose taste and pleasures, truly, can any sadness mend.  

I consider disappointment and retrench my chosen goals
I devise the new connections that affirm where energies must go.
I replay conversations and consider what went wrong
Rewrite poetic argument to render it most strong.  

I stroke the fur of Cat and stir the cup of thought
My hands turn pages known and worn, reconsidering things taught.  
As time ebbs into darkness, or light seeps into room
I rise to do what must be done, rejecting threats of doom.  

No matter how impossible the pilings of life.
I know that bed and bathos cancels out dejection, grief and strife. 

No. 86 Pause in Night

Obliged by long made promises, abiding by what's true.
The flux and flow of living wends, redeems, renews.
From the angst of wishful thinking and the repost of elder days
We pause in ruts of habits that frustrate and dismay.

We sweat from anguished strivings determined to go on
While cramped by all we carry; the fruit of right and wrong
 Time passed extends its lecture, if we listen to the theme
We clutch at finished chapters that learned could each redeem.

The slow sure peel of person continues as we climb
The cliffs of inner knowledge that give us every sign.
The warts and nicks of passage are smoothed and rubbed away
As new discovered shackles, unlocked just slip away.

The pauses are most pleasant when flavored with our friends
Life remembers essence: in endings all begins.  

No. 87 Earth Thought

Through the loom of living woven by the fingers of all time
The Mother Globe still shimmers ever changing Her design.
The unseen threads unnumbered, unknown and barely seen
Bind life potential and now sundered in the pause inside the dream.

The rapture of redemption pulses strong and fast
Through the variations summoned through the forge's fiercest blast.
Gone are species winnowed from their place in the design.
The Maker reconfigures when space and need inclines.  

Survival is a moment in the long slow life of Earth
Intelligence emerging sets a course of renewed birth
The integrating nuance that enlarges grasp of time
Is sign of future coming, variation closely mined.  

Birth of echoed coming that none will live to see
Inborn promise forming to set potential free.  

No. 88 Suckling

The soft, sweet taste of mother is milk drunk skin to skin.
It speaks of love unmeasured before we think of sin.  
Communing ‘til we're sated with the first and best of feasts
We learn what love can teach us before we need to reach.

We hear the distant heartbeat, no longer quite so near
The world that now surrounds us is colder and holds fear.
But arms enfold and snuggle and breast brings quick relief
We melt in perfect measure, our needs our sole beliefs.  

Those moments new discovered lay foundations in our minds.
The hot, sweet taste of mother's milk cannot fail to bind.  
We suck our fill of pleasure and learn to fill our needs
We touch and glance to catch an eye and so we learn to please.  

The first and best of lessons will never leave our minds
Mother the first measure of the lives that humans find.  

No. 89 Fear - Written for Dave Lincoln.  

The turning towards the unheard sound that summons me to dread
The anguish of that oncoming makes me sure my hopes are dead
The words that call unsettled images to the brain inside my head
The shreds of light now vanished that show where my footsteps lead.  

Uncertainties revoking the earth I thought to walk .
The acts that rearrange the facts and forward progress balk.  
The final death of promise that illuminates the lies
That succored painful baby steps away from all my smallest tries.  

The eating of the unborn and the final anguished scream
The quenching of the beauty that I find inside a dream
The absolute and ruthless that deceive, condemn and take
Those unveiling, human horrors make the heart within me break.  


The final coming nothing that defeats all inward light
The final intervention of a world I still deny
The small and meannest taking that delights in every slight.
These, uncordial hatings that rebut my fiercest try.  


When the ugly and the anguish all have bottomed out and so revealed.
The end of our illusions then the truth we face is real
Then the fear that effervesces from our feet to fill our brain.
Is the final soul born gifting that at last reveals us sane.

No. 90 Endorphined Destiny

The drug of choice elected to maintain the flow of life
Endorphins preselect us to tolerate all strife.  
The woman side of human will do anything to keep
The lives her life has nourished from the maws that end in grief.  

From flutterings of presence deep inside the womb
To blood soaked babe emerging to suckle and consume.
Allegiance of the mother is to the forwarding of young
From endorphins founding loving does that loyalty first come.  

Foundation of all strivings, all culture and all art
Religions and all nations had the same prenatal start.
The bond of eye locked loving from the birthing place of time
Is the overlooked long locking, mother child, it’s design.  

All of weavings of the ages that incorporate and change
Still depend of that first staging of the love to old to name.
All else extrapolation from original success.
Mothering is Human, its source most truly Blessed.  

The drug rewards the struggle with waves of perfect joy
No less real for so existing as Nature's surest ploy.  

No. 91 Hetch Hetchy Rising

Beneath the gathered waters of a lake that should not be
Its hidden meadows slumber, waiting to be freed.  
Its majesties unforgotten, there oaks still wait to sprout.
The cliffs look down still patient for the waters must drain out.  

Hetch Hetchy calls to humankind, please free me to live on
Tear down the dam that drown me, its years have grown too long
Rabbits wait to scamper and bears to peer through grass
This is a place to contemplate, of futures and the past.  

Tear down the dam that drown me, my cliffs still need to breathe
Drain the flood that bound me, my meadows need to breed.
The animals that lived here remember their abode.
The seedlings want to root themselves in soil drown and cold.

Tear down the dam at Hetchy, its truths are there to see.  
Release this hold on Nature so its beauty may be free.

No. 92 Human Love  

The nuanced mind of Woman drove the chords of human need
The suckling coos of child laid foundations that most please.  
For the ancient place of knowledge said that babies must survive
The focus of the Woman was the need to best provide.  

The man was son and hazard when hunger grew too long.
Mother kept him in his place, gave place so he'd belong.
His loyalty directed turned the threat of other men.
His ascendancy projected became a threat again.  

From the spirit place internal came the forms of sacred thought
Women borne renewal was the value learned and taught.  
The death accepting cycle seen within her body turned
These absolute reminders that need never be relearned.  

The love of man and woman was created to affirm
Foundations of the Mother on which all loving turned.  
So Mother is the element from which all life has come
Love, the fuel, drives Her to dote on all her sons.  

The Man may misremember where human life began 
But forgetting changes nothing; it was Woman who made man.  

No. 93 Shadowed Weavings  

The long, slow sleep of consciousness is flowing to its end.  
Awaking is upon us, marking what will now begin.  
Childhood was lonely; distance intervened.
The opened age invites us to take up its new-fledged themes.  

The majesty of knowledge; the power to affirm
Autonomy and unity united in one word.  
Down to the core of magna that flows beneath our feet
Into the distant orbs of light that tempt our minds to meet.  

The world between is waking, we’re work enough to do.
We leave behind the fakings, embracing what is true.  
Like fingers interlacing across a great divide.
The work of humans takes us to the cusp of the divine.  

The operating system must wake to fill a void.
Our minds; the tools summoned, about to be employed.  


No. 94 Covenant

The longest gift oncoming from a place inside a dream
Portents show the outline, never glimpsed, yet to be seen.
The face of God is ancient and still awaits its birth
The face of God is forming as Her people learn their worth. 
Through storms of generations that redeem the prick of death
Through tortures long and anguished do we catch our promised breath.

As the forward flow of consequence remakes worlds still unseen.
So we squint to see those features and wonder what they mean.  
To force immense and awesome we ascribe our tiny truths.
We puzzle and debate them revealing thus our youth.
The forces, God assembling, continue on through time.
The winnowing of wonders that breeds a place divine.  
The motes within the churning will wonder what it means
Until the waking sunders them from life inside a dream. 

No. 95 Shifting through Time

Again, again, the tumblers click and send me forth to act.
The flesh and spirit coalesce in recombining fact.
Time in forward motion, the illusion and the tool.
All within the mote of Earth obey its founding rules.  
The hand slips in to glove of flesh, awareness slowly comes.
The flush of life retaken makes all pasts still and dumb.
I flex my hands, forgetting the woven threads now past.
The forward moments beckon, sensations scream and flash.

Ontaken flesh is hungry for the needs inside its plan.
The spirit waits and listens. All fate is in its hands.  
I dance the coming movements, all planned out long ago.
Life is tool, hammer, that soul might make it so.  

The lovely, fated weavings of the place inside the mind.
Reflections of a shadowed dream born from His design.  

No. 96 Blue Dusted Morning

The dusty blue of midnight recedes with touch of light
Oncoming morning's color reminds me of delight
The greens of verdant foliage and the gentle touch of pink
Beckon me to savor and consider what I think.  

The cycle of Earth's turning, the metronome of life
The heartbeat heard eternal, both peace and endless strife.  
Awakens senses muted to the need to dull our pain.  
And after healing quiet releases us to gains.  

From introspected failings and from consequence unseen
From ravaging and railings our wits grow lean and keen.
The rising light incites us to see the colored scope.
Of cycles that remind us that mornings come with hope.  

With intellect and passion and from places deep within.
We find the onward motion that whispers we're all kin.

No. 97 Women Born Freedoms - written and dedicated this morning to 
Matilda. April 30, 2004 10:39 am PST

The word still aches with promise unfulfilled in truth of time.  
Generations spent in struggle leave a wake of pain sublime.  
Our bodies still are bartered through the statutes men elect.
No matter how we struggle Women's Rights aren't equal yet.  

The reasons glare with ugliness; who can stand to see? 
Those who eat the work of slaves will never set slaves free.
Through law and through our children, through justifications writ
Through Bible and pseudoscience, men's greeds force us to fit.  

In the orderings for commerce begun so long ago.
Women used their skills and crafts that children survive and grow.  
From minds of women desperate came innovations that devised
The world wherein we live today in elemental guise.  

But the men whose craft was killing in the hunt and making war.
Applied their craft with cunning, using God to own the store.  
Reduced to slaves the women remained the source of wealth
Control of them continued, overtly and with stealth.  

Through theologic summings and philosophies retold
Men sourced with pompous thrummings the lies their fathers sold.  
Through countless generations some men have seen through lies.
Liberty, the first sweet truth, evoked in every guise. 

The sons of mothers struggled to remake what greed had done.
The liberty of sacred love, the song those heroes sung.  
Too few and n
ever cautious of those who followed in their wake.
Their work was never finished when the Greedy began to take.  

When America was newly pledged, its liberty just won.
Greed considered slavery and honor was undone.  
The South used State for taking from women, poor and blacks.
It justified its actions with Bible and with distorted facts.  

The War that killed one evil then bred others with us still.
The State in all its cloakings is always used to kill.
That ugliest of pairing, State combined with Greed, 
Allows unwilling sharings, the worst of men then feed.

And so the pattern, set through time
Allows the worst of human crimes.  

No. 98 Choices

The speaking part of human life, the truth that seeps through time.
Actions, choices that we make, both honored and our crimes.
We choose and life adjusts itself, exacting unseen tolls.
We choose and others see themselves in unexpected roles.

From choice, the sacred speaking, from us to unseen ear.
Our lives are weighed and measured beyond the void of fear.

We choose and others perish. We choose and others live.
We choose and life is tarnished with what we cannot give.

The choice within reminds us of connections barely known.
Deciding and excising redeems what we most own.


The painting of our portrait, the things most true and just.
We place our marks on living, deceiving and in trust.

The only end of living is the place inside the tomb.
And choice determines endings, most intimate of runes.


We walk our path through shadows, we stumble on alone.
We choose and others question us in angry, frigid tones.

We choose and others praise us and we choose and others sneer.
Choice still creates the only thing that we will take from here.

No. 99 Worlds Unseen

Through a magnitude of choices is the future honed and wrought
The flutter of the winding wind engraves our every thought.
On Worlds unseen within an echo and through our misspent dreams
Will the future be determined by both sacrifice and greed.

Our souls search voids of vacuum as chasms gap and grasp
Souls the point of contact for our bodies cannot last.
How we struggle with evasion and with lies refuse to see
We dodge past all the problems that faced would set us free.

Through houred disillusions that circumference what we know.
The fruit of copulation forget what its been shown.
And the echoes of the forest, of savanna and the cave
Express the forge unchanging that shackled the first slave.

The manacles that bind us beyond the maw of grave.
Exist in minds that see the light but shrug and turn away.

No. 100 The Misho – To Jacqueline Misho, a woman whose methods defame the law

Lurking like a ghoul who consumes the nearly dead
She feeds on flesh a quiver with the eminence of dread.
She sates her hungers slowly to enhance her bottom line
She’s a lawyer and her practice makes Dracula seem refined.

The Misho

Her specialty is families, she dissolves with acid greed
The bonds of honor, cancelled, enhance her grasping fees.
She teaches all her clients to lie and cheat and steal.
Starve the wife her motto, her aim to rape and kill.

The Misho

No honor in her practice, her ethics bottom fed
Sharks flee at her coming with instinct touched with dread.
Her peers avoid and fear her, wishing her disbarred
She shrugs at their avoidance, her conscience caked in lard.

The Misho.

The mother who once birthed her is sorry for the act.
Some evils once admitted remain defining fact.
She clumps across the courtroom, extruding all her charm.
She is damned by every action and all that she has harmed.

No. 101 The Naked Truth

The naked truth is ugly, no compromise; no lies
Stark and hard the colors when illusions finally die.
We sang a song of freedom, extolling freedom's wealth
While others stole the Party, with lies and greedy stealth.

We sang a song of freedom, we postured righteously
While others lived in anguish and died in agony.
We glowed with misspent credit, talked the nights away
While nothing really happened we had a lot to say.

We sang a song of freedom, emoted, trilled and glowed
Mistaking words for action - the truth that time has showed.
We sang, we speeched, we scribbled our reams of ageless 'rights.'
Never risking life or fortune we filled up empty nights.

We sang a song of freedom, inviting in with lies
The people of a Nation that lived what laws denied.
The freedoms bought and paid for with lives and living hope
Exist to fill a purpose; they emancipate our scope.

The tones should choke our breathing if we continue to repeat
The songs of freedom borning, misused, bring our defeat.
Give up your illusions, they cripple and they maim.
Freedom is the golden song that makes our living sane.

A new song comes from mulching the old and misspent lies.
A song of right and honor brings rapture long denied.
Each of us is free because our nature made us so.
The State is just a tool and that we need to know.

Raise voices in a chorus that all might understand.
Our freedoms are the sacred truth uniting us as Man.
Local is the action plan that works to make us free.
That's the song of freedom that all can hear and see.

No. 102 To Ronald Reagan

The walls of complex making came down because you spoke
Ignoring all convention you knew what words evoke.
You saw what others doubted, you knew what could be done
You, the one appointed, made sure it had begun.

You spoke, and walls were sundered, remaking all the earth
Because of words considered freedom found new birth
Your laughter and your anger, spoke a truth immense
Life is lived for hoping, and life must be intense.

The walls of complex making, defined what we then knew
But your words revised them and made the world anew.
The honor and the logic of every single fact
Combined to speak the vision in that single, spoken, act.

Beyond the place of doubting, beyond the fear of death
Each of us is waiting, for some things will never rest.

No. 102 Passion

The words that speak and linger in ears attuned to hear
Evoke the flames within the embers, inciting true and clear
The touching of remembrance from a place once lost in time.
A joining sure and raptured, beyond all thought of crime.

In the words that wax and wander through ordinary acts
I find reminders of the permanence that underlies all facts
Intimate the nuance and great the need to touch
Close the souls in memory, forged in thought and lust.

The tragic and the tender both reside within the mind
While the memories of long ago weave in their design
The laughter and the loving and the summoning of tears
Remakes the place now coming and cancels out our fears.

Within the folds of honor and beyond the tides of life
Love, the gift in union, makes me glad we both survive.

No. 103 To Dawn

Cycles transverse time
Devising echoed beauty
Both divine and true.
---Melinda Pillsbury-Foster

No. 104 Touch of words

The touch of words unspoken from the mind through pen or key
Releases all my sorrows but also leaves me free.
Released from my devisings and from the loneliness of time
I find the first revisings that finish our design.

The rapture of recognition, the seeing beyond the eyes
Completes the first intention and makes my actions wise.
The touch of lips that carry the promise long since made
Excite the mind to tarry and taste of perfect praise.

I live the life of wording and I weave the words intense.
Layering the echoes in, the journey was immense.
No sign posts at the cross roads to ease my growing fear
The trip through time compelled me though You were always near.

And now the journeys ending just the way we planned
The time apart is ending and all is in Your hands.

No. 105 Reflecting time

Behind the arch of hammering the peace of time begins
Inside the flex of emptiness all troubled moments end.
In spaces small and measured are the shadows lightly seen
For intellect and emotion both elect the human dream.

Divided and united through prisms barely known
The two incite devotion, differentiated tones.
The melodies of living within the caul of time.
We struggle on to find them, both wrought from the divine.

Inside the tune of freedom and programmed by our fears
Are symphonies unheard as yet, to be written down in tears.
The song of life is pulsing with instruments unmade.
The price of living nothing that remains as yet unpaid.

So laugh and rise up bidden to the one most perfect goal.
The last and first united inside one perfect Soul.

No. 106 The Gift of Pain

From the reremembered moments
that bewildered and then maimed
I have harvested the memories
that helped to ease my pain

Fearsome were the takings
That divided me from truth
Grim were all the lessons
That formulate anew.

I touch the scabs of wounding
And I thank God for release
My mind has harbored sorrows
And now that pain has ceased.

Within the harbored calling of a place that spirit made
I waited for the courage to read the text delayed.

And now I understand them
And now I can forgive
Because the life now beating
Is the one I’ve still to live.

The walls of lies have shattered
On the hammer of the truth
And rapture is the harvest
That shows a world made new.

No. 107 Hope Cannot Die

To My Dearest
The touch of hope reminds me of the bonded pledge of time.
Caress of fine intention it spoke of God’s design.
Outside the course of anger and without the sear of grief
The touch of hope reminded me to hold tight my best belief.

In the light of good intention and inside the cusp of truth
The touch of hope refined me through experiences of youth.
From the anguish of all partings and through grief that racks and kills.
The touch of hope sustained me and trained my deepest will.

The touch of hope remembers our laughter and delights
The warmth and glow of loving that lit those endless nights.
You, who were beside me and made all living good.
Remain, sustain and bind me for you told me that I could.

The touch of hope, unfading, will carry me through time
You, the source of all my passion, are the hope who touched my mind.

No. 108 Moment

The panoply of trumpets gives majesty its voice
The sheer exulting magic that coveys the fates first choice.
Within the course of legend it relives the might have beens
Within that first election lives the vision that amends.

When the tumult and the triumph are faded and forgot
The truth of its first waking will remain the truth we sought.
Not the echo but the source code for the origin of thought
These, the pageant that excited and a future from it wrought.

From the secret place internal, the DNA of time.
Come the ripples that externalize the sordid and sublime.
Excising and devising what the future holds as true.
And so evoking kernels of the lives we live anew.

Spells, supine invoking that continue on past time
Repeat past all revoking the future we enshrine.

No. 109 Tides

The tides and twains emoted from the unseen place inside
Convection waves evoking when their source has lived and died.
Remain the first and last of visions that exact all future plans
Unseen, the past controls us, weaving in what life demands.

Iconic memes incite us to repeat unproven dreams
The murmuring of heroes reframes all future scenes.
The unseen and unremembered, the echoes ages old
Instill the steps untaken because it was foretold.

The struggle unremitting inside the soul of Man
Redeems the unrelenting, the One who surely can.
See beyond the sea of echoes that fill up human ears
To the place beyond tomorrow that cancels out our fears.

With eyes and ears and courage do minds course on through life.
No other course will save us than the one we have not tried.

No. 110 Point of Change

Eddies in the currents of emotions that reprove
The still point, long awaited, is reached, its planes most true.
I heard the silence filling the place inside my mind
A prediction set and numbered through the avenue of time.

Relaxing into gladness that the flow of pain shall cease
I touched the source of knowing and drank in perfect peace.
Within the pulse of passion, the throbbing blood sings lies
But the still point in the action releases what’s denied.

Did I tarry in the foyer as the turning time came in?
Did I look to see the visage of a well loved former friend?
Did I laugh at the illusion that time can pass away?
Did it matter that the flowing now has something real to say?

Will I walk the path now settled though I see its every part?
No, although I know its shaping, still it holds my mind and heart.

No. 111 Nadir

When the traveled time remembers all the places we have seen
And the lip of untold living is nothing but obscene.
When the Ides of misspent moments can never be redeemed.
Then the pulsing of all passions do not exalt our distant dreams.

In the intersect of anguish that excises and delays
All the intellect of silence that endlessly replays
The cacophony of memories that distaste might pass away.
The first lost form of innocence that lives beyond display.

In that moment of renewal my soul bends down to weep
And its moments of accrual recall the minded griefs.
As the lies that slumber fools revise of harvest done.
The first and last of jewels sees all beneath its suns.

As they tremble to remember what intaken breath redeems.
The touch of it is cruel and rejects what is not seen.
So when living life internal from the breast to graven place
Remind your mind to first consider the place inside God’s Grace.

No. 112 A Perfect Love

The raptured life now pulsing through billions every day
Throbs with His intentions, as Grace knows well the way.

So I listen to the Message that courses through my veins.
Because the Gift once Given was sharply tinged with pain.

Inside each pause of moment, unnumbered in each breath
Lies the rapture not forgotten, that tells me each is blessed.

I remember His compassion and I weep with joy in heart.
He, the One who knows us all, gave Truth its natal start.

Each touch of life's intentions, is seen by He with eyes
Each impulse that extends us affirms that we grow wise.

His Gift the one insurance that we'll be gathered in
To know the One perfection, the sequel to Amen.

Closer than my organs, more intimate than skin.
The memories exhorting me - render Truth to Him.

The memories exhorting me - render Truth to Him.

No. 113 A Perfect Peace

Internalized commitment that defeats the cause of tears
The Peace of human making rescinds our deepest fears.
Eternal Yes to spirit that meet in time and place
Infinite renewal that completes our course towards grace.

The Peace stills angry echoes from histories now forgot
Remaking pain and anguish it reveals the truths we sought.
In still point of our needing for which we strain to see
Peace, the distant rapture, reminds us what should be.

A vision, dim but glowing with promises divine
It draws us to the capture of a future far more kind.
It leads us out from shadows to a place still yet to be
Implanting in our consciousness the hope we may be free.
Peace renews forgiveness and trains the mind and soul
Peace accepts our imperfections, granting ancient goals.

The first and last remembered from the natal place of time
Find peace within the portal and a home in the design.

No. 114 One Earth

The pulsing wind and water are like blood within our veins.
The magma core the beating heart that stills the cries of pain.
Soaking in the energy from Sun whose life shall end
The Earth breeds life’s renewal, womb of mind, with distant kin.

From eons old election has our birthright not be spurned.
Its ink still damp erection that a godhood be confirmed.
From the place of mind wrought bringing to the moment now in play
Are all the lives decided so that Mind might have its way.

Determined to its entry though the cost was dear indeed.
The suffering of the innocent was rivers left to bleed
In fear and anguish stolen from the simple side of life
The intruders took embodiment and gave the Earth new strife.

So we remade the bodies stolen from the simple minds who bred.
And we remade the World eternal so its future life was dead.
The rhapsody extended past this time now carved and honed.
We trod its shores external, our own future gravely owned.

We made do with shores and forests and undid the mind of man.
We tapped the world internal just because we can.
And we live with choices graven in the future yet unseen
Because the choice external must secure what is redeemed.

With the license of the maker we took what is not owned
And Earth allowed intrusion if we promised to atone.

No. 116 Slow Leavings

From the temporary harbor of a place that is not home
The force of future choices sheer what is only loan.
And I summon up the courage to move on to the unseen
While grief still weeps for moments that I still fear to see.

Uncouraged by the forces that exhaust my hopes and dreams
I anguish over choices that divide our destinies.
For familiar places succor me with still points that ease pain.
And forward motion ruptures all the healing I have gained.

Please, please I beg the torrent, please let me bide and rest
But the storm of sodden history builds to higher crests.
To crash and rage and ravage the sorry little place
Where I had hoped to linger for a moment in His grace.

The tides of turning bear me on
And thrust me cross the Rubicon.

No. 117 Incidental Insight

From the first best glance of longing lit with words that ease my pain
I knew the cost of living and the anguish of disdain.
From the fractures that divide the mind from spirit ready known
I breathed in echoed summings of a past I must disown.

I touched the jasmined flavors of the moments that delight
And dwell inside the slumbers that ease my clearest sight.
Constructing careful places that have not touched my nearest part
Rejecting grief that grants me sleep I pray my dearest heart.

I trace the lines of friendship born from minds without a form.
And love the pause in lives undone beneath the glaze of storm
Accepting all within the plan
I take on the flesh of anguished Man.

And so the debt we’ve so long owed.
Is paid in breath and future sowed.

No. 118 Rainy Morning – dedicated to a chance lost friend

The place, appointed harbor that holds my hopes and dreams
Reminding me of magnitudes that aren’t just what they seem.
The rain holds songs of yesterday reminding me to hope
Its cadence and its promises reach beyond my scope.

A rainy morning rising intoned with winter’s cold.
A place that knows the bindings of days I have not told.
From mind redeemed from sorrow to touch the pulse of time
I found the shape of futures, distant and divine.

The rain continues falling through the eaves and leaves without
I hear the drops still dunning me, each carrying its small doubts
While surety is growing inside my heart and soul.
The rain speaks music borning the best of chance found goals.

Inside the mist of morning, descending from the sky
I see the stark deceptions, giving light to lies.
I breathe in strength and courage, renewing what was lost
I remember to cry softly for all that sight has cost.

The rain rings in the future bringing life and hope
Its cadence fills and frees me, bringing greater scope.

No. 119 Absent Touch

Your absent touch remembered breeds the follies of my days
The long slow stroke of loving sears the truth that made me stay
The echoes of your silent voice reminds me what is lost
Remembered rapture curses me for all that time has cost.

In the Coventry of chaos that redeems the slightest hope
My mind forgives the nuance and rejects what harmed it most.
I grieve and gloat together for the skin remembers all
Reliving heat and rapture both beyond my living caul.

I need, devise and anguish for the touches life withholds
I see the cost remembered and learn to grown more bold.
I wish the thoughts evoking all the magic born of love.
And reject the first revoking of a future hard and rough.

The magic of your loving still redeems what I must pay
I count the cost a minor thing and live with the delays.

No. 120 Pop Tarts

They come with oozing hormones that enact the forward rush
Designs born from biology, their oils ooze and gush
Impregnate me, their subtext spoken in the dialog unheard
They live the life eternal that exists outside of words.

The throbbing of the hormones dictating forward needs
To fill all wombs of emptiness all parts of them must bleed.
The ripples of their skin and the place inside the mind
All resonate in unison with the deepest part of life’s design.

So fornicate and fondle, live the life intense
Excite the forward thrust of nurture that the future be immense.
Remember all the ecstasies that touch the skin and mind
And pleasure in the filling that completes the first design.

I love the cadence speaking, generations to be born.
They build the superstructure of a world that won’t be bored.

No. 121 Lost Illusions

From a romance never uttered, never spoken, never seen.
I recover slowly from the shattered loss of dreams.
I remember jasmine and a spring of sweetened air.
My skin has wish for fingers that smooth away despair.

I remember words that fashioned a harboring of hope
To plumb the depth of reason extending depth and scope.
A distance of tomorrows reached by journeys through the mind.
All of this, my sharpest pleasure, was for that moment mine.

Incising edged unwindings, all the tools ever thought
Within the touch and grasp unbinding futures to be sought.
So I grieve for love unspoken, for lips that will not speak.
And a harbor, lost forever, in a memory too brief.

Better this, the place remembered, unsullied and still sweet
Than the spoilage of that moment broken on the rocks of grief.

No. 122 Wedding Wish – Valentine’s Day 2005

Bouquets of bright flowers,
seasons of joy,
all the gladness and sadness
that life will deploy.

Rapture and riches,
magnificent days,
all of the echoes
that love can display.

Borne by the senses
and held in our minds
as part of the largest and greatest design.

Wishes I send through the ethered reaches of space
too touch and to hold you in my best embrace.

With love and hope for your perfect happiness today, Mom.

No. 123 Balance Point

In a place of challenged anguish with the ground cut from my feet
I refuse to still my voice or acknowledge a defeat
For the final score still tallies and the final outcome waits
And my mind both reels and rallies as my spirit has its say.

Beyond the far horizon lies a future forged in mind
The first and last connection of Man to the Design
And I know the work before me will excise the wrongs I’ve done.
The life that ticks and drains from me, both gift and measured `sum.

Because the past still owns me though acts and haunted dreams
I take up burdens new to me and struggle to redeem.
Arrogance and blindness the cost I now must pay.
I bow my head, submissive, and grant there’ll be no stay.

But the beauty of a morning glazed with gold and silver sheens
Still makes the Earth, the pulsing core, a hope to be esteemed.
The flow of gladness fills me and cleanses all my grief.
I cut the cords connecting me to all my false beliefs.

So come and cherish moments that exist beyond our scope
Taste the future borning us to unseen worlds of hope.

No. 124 False Love

The needs that drive our actions carry falsity and right
Discerning what divides them carves the day from place of night
The offering of love that comes with shades of grasping needs
Defines the nature of the spirit who chooses which to heed.

The predator and taker comes with smiles, bringing lies
No matter how evoking there ugliness resides.
Remember when apologies, so heart-felt flow and ooze
The truth is in the actions and its up to you to choose.

So, daughter, you have taken a path away from me.
From this day remember that truth is all you’ll see.

No. 125 Wind and Water

Through the pulsing and the currents where wind and water join
Through generations living in the eddies Earth deploys
In the intersect of ripples that merge river with the sea
And the flow of sand returning to the magma yet to be.

Each is part and promise that is swallowed and consumed
Each Earth made joint and weaving exists and so it true.

The flow of life remembered and forgotten still defines
The forces that extend us and so united are divine.
The fragile life of flower and cells that never change
Each is part and present of a past of ancient pain.

The Earth the One existing through time that is Her breath
We, the children coddled from a place beyond all death.
Remember and exalt Her, the Mother of all time.
The original of living that preceded the Design.

The first and last of anguish that became our destiny
Was intelligence and knowledge, making Mankind free.
The soul defining anguish that amends all past made sins
Leads us on to glory, redeeming us as nearest kin.

So remember when the ripples of time consume and lie.
This is the future we have chosen, the place illusion dies.

No. 126 Hope of Love

The love of body festers and the hope of soul defines
The rhapsody remembered lends force to future times.
The first and last among us who speak in tones of peace
Still emote the journey’s ending in the deepest place of grief.

This, the home of hallowed inquiry where innocence is quenched
And the first and last of appetites consumes the finest sense.
This, the moment in the longest walk towards intellect and guile
Remind the nascent spirit that time can be defiled.

So walk with me a moment that stretches eons long
And know the source of intellect that measures right from wrong.

No. 127 A Moment of Pause

In the darkest deep of evening when the phone is still and dead
And my memories of loving have returned from where they bred.
And the skin I stroke outside me screams for need to touch and feel
And my lips can taste the passion in the memories most real

I ache for untasted moments and I grieve for live unlived.
I cherish and I wonder at the love I've still to give.
And my skin is parched and hungry for blendings of the soul
Those moments, unremembered, are my pure and aching goal.

In these moments wrapped in evening when voices still and die
Now, my heart remembers needing and my hopes know dreams can lie.
And I harbor what is meaningless when He still hold my life
And the promises of loving are the cost I first denied.

Now the time is ending when I acknowledge all I need.
And You the rapture promised fulfill the call I heed.

No. 127 New Beginnings

The intersect of memory, an age now filled and gone.
Elected this summation that caps the last full wrong.
The needs that drove the dyings and the blood that dried uncleansed
We drank of these full knowing how short our time to live.

Designed in flesh and future this juncture of despair.
The worst and least of Mankind is past the best repair.
That the flow of human telling might shift away from hate
We chose this point of balanced wrong and sealed the flow of fate.

The balance and the bornings and the generations gone.
Each of these we measured as we dwelt within that song.
The Seven danced the mime of mind
and wove from anguish this Design.

You drink this anguish stricken from mind to bone and cell
No! the message given, your spirit raped and so compelled
To see the contradictions that lift both mind and soul
Now the moment of selection that sees the soul forged goal.

Beyond the edge of custom is freedom of the mind.
This, the vision calls to you, the end of Our Design.
The Christ is present in you to speak the word of light
Your mind consents to listen in loving and delight.

The past is death and grasping and its time to start anew.
The Soul of Christ is in you speaking what is true.

126. Doors – written because of a quote from Cynthia

The doors providing egress that divide but also bind
Are the questions we must answer linking us to the Design
For the steps that trace our living and the words that speak our needs
Enunciate distinctions that remake the course of creeds.

I have lingered in the living and I've tasted of desire
The skin commends the anguish extinguished in that fire.
And still on my agenda is the forward pull of soul
The first and last commandment giving life its finest goal.

The doors stay closed or open; the doors divide and bind
The doors beckon us to open and release the core of Mind
The doors exist within us although we look outside
And the doors can also promise that homes beyond abide.

I open doors in trepidation and I open doors in haste
But all the doors are homeward bound; uniting us in Grace.

127. A Rioting of Flowers - written for the picture from Ray

The panoply of living will announcing life's renewal
Flings its glories on the ground for future's hoped accrual.
In gold and green mosaic, in purple tides of sun made joy
The flowers on the arching hills; a statement God employs.

A lecture on the moments of time that ticks away
Perfection in the making, if Earth can have her way.
Incitement to endurance, and balm of vanished will.
The flowers speak survival to men who listen still.

Inside the mind thats thinking beyond the moments need
Are lessons for the learning that we should take and heed.
The majesty of ancient cliffs, the rioting of flowers
Enduring things of moment that count up human hours.

Inside the womb of living, by Earth and past well worn
The mind of man is learning from a lesson inward borne.