The Wood is a Stage

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

– William Shakespeare 

The Wood is a Stage

The wood, still, lighted brightly this day

Monochromatic 'cept  the few red bud

Peaceful warm and quiet, 'cept birds at play

Brilliant cerulean backdrop o'er  the wood

A curtain, cloudless; where the eagle soar

Everlasting cheep, does the red bird cheep

Little  blue brook to the Jones River pour

A carpet, rust leaves, for creatures to sweep 

A stage; for willing players: evermore …

– Robert Pennington Price

SUNSET CRUISE…

Once upon a time, I Chuang Tzu, dreamt I was a butterfly,

fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a 

butterfly, and was unconcious of my individuality as a man.

Suddenly I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do 

not know whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly, 

or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

                                                                                          Chuang Tzu

                                   Taoist Philosopher and Chinese Mystic

                                                                                             c. 330 B C.

SUNSET CRUISE

A burnt-orange fiery ball of a sun sizzled as it dipped into an aquamarine Gulf in the distance, as the golden orb of a  harvest moon peeked shyly at the fold of our vast ultramarine Atlantic, the cloud filled sky took on a glow of pastel shades ; same as those painted nine-teen-twenties art-deco hotels on Miami Beach, one-hundred and fifty miles to the north-east. The sixty-five foot catamaran was full of drifting sunburned faces sipping wine and beer which flowed in copious and generous amounts. The first mate, from Wilmington Delaware gave me a nod ; sunset cruise was a success.

Another visit from the Earl of Grey…

Let us consider that we are all partially insane.
It will explain us to each other.

–Mark Twain

Incessant Subjection

The Earl of Grey 

Has come to see me

Soothing My guilt

Never to wilt

For  a moment or two

He speaks aromas

Sights sounds true

Lest in a coma

Nourishing

The common sense

Spun flourishing 

By those of offense

In a soft velvet 

Whisper to me

No time to let

Just time to be

The Earl of Grey 

Has come to see me

Calming the guilt 

I wish he'd kilt

The untold want, of life and land ne'er granted,

Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find. 

– Walt Whitman

The Maggie S. Myers

The Maggie S. Myers

Had two handsome buyers

Captain Thumper and Jean

 Sighted and saw her clean

They saved her; a renaissance feat

From stem stern to cleat

One hundred and twenty years old 

For five thousand she sold

Historic Oyster schooner

Sails the Delaware Bay

Daybreak and sooner

Prevailing winds make her way

Commissioned  in eighteen ninety-three

Fifty feet long and  fifteen feet wide

From the Murderkill to the Bay she is free

Like a fat snow goose to glide

Eight to ten inches of hull

Thick skinned and beefy

Rarely a lull

Breaking bay ice easy

It was love at first sight 

Friend proudly said

Sailing, working all her might

Diligently , many are fed 

Low to the water 

And dredges by hand

Never she falter

Always she's grand

On fourth of July

Food drink and song

She entertains I 

And all who come along

The Maggie S. Myers

Has two handsome owners

Captain Thumper and Jean

A song to be seen

We yearn to be pierced by that

 Occasional void through which the supernatural flows.

–Charles Wright

True Religion

This world is mostly roiling water:

And no matter what land you stride

It is no more than a crumpled bridge

To take you to the other side...

All crossings are negotiable 

You need not live in fear

Open your heart and mind with compassion,

Understanding with love ... near and dear.

Dissidence

Let us consider that we are all partially insane.

It will explain us to each other.

– Mark Twain

Dissidence 

It is six in the morning

You want me to call now

You're asleep and you're snoring

Some way and somehow

Resting for another day

Making another vow

To hear what they say

Then use your common sense

To play what they play

Furthermore and hence

Guiding their sleepwalk

Tearing down their fence

All while they balk

Creeping around

Not hearing you talk

It is six in the morning 

You want me to call now?

Old Age

"Now what I want is, Facts." – Charles Dickens


Old age

After all it is winter

Temperature drops

The woods splinter

Misplacing props

Reflecting warm times

Regressing to sops

Alone in the cold

Family too busy

Many dreams sold

Dreams in a tizzy

Aches and pains

Foreign and dizzy

Foolish  gains

Never to be

Ice cold reigns

None for thee

All gone hinter

Shift to lee

After all it is winter

Chicken Soup

Such stuff as dreams are made on

– Shakespeare

Chicken Soup

Dressed with carrots, corn and peas

So darned delicious; she brings me to my knees

Onions and okra adorn her too

She makes me feel good through and through

Tomatoes and barley bolster her stock

When I'm with her I don't watch the clock

Healing and happy I want her to see

She makes all pleasant as pleasant can be

I made her with heart; solely from scratch

Tasting so good I'm making the next batch

To have her to hold her to keep her around

 Is better than all night, any night, on the town

Her fragrance is rich she saves me a stitch

Her perfume is sweet  with nutritious meat

Embracing and loving and warm through and through

I'll make her forever, I'll make her for you too.

And Still; A Face

I am not I; thou art not he or she;

they are not they.

– Evelyn Waugh

And Still; A Face

Earl Grey and I sit in a bay window

Overlooking the frozen confection

Covering the floor of the wood

Earl wears a necklace of stevia

And a cloak of warm almond milk

I applaud and embrace his perfume

I, I'm dressed in  thin layers of black

As cold as it is, the birds still do sing

The sun shine radiates brightly

A breeze has begun as promised to do

The wood; all is wagging in quiet rhythm 

To be interrupted by the fanning cadence

Of the gas furnace providing our comfort

Peace on this Sunday, peace and plenty to all.

Romantic February

The course of true love never did run smooth

– Shakespeare

Romantic February

A magic carpet of snow has dressed the wood

An iced precipitation continues to sprinkle down

I saw it, I see it, confectionary white were I've stood

Enough, enough to keep me from going to town

I gaze and laze presented to a day of rest

A  delicious dreamy quiet set all around

I embrace this weather with an open breast

Nature reminding of  less difficult times

Remembering… that they be forgot not, lest.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

– Shakespeare

Tropical Persuasion 

The sun is shining, sand is pumping, swells keep rolling in, the clouds are billowing, and erosion has been significant. There is a drone, barely audible above the chords of the surf, in the distance where construction of the Indian River Inlet Bridge continues…. Surfers donned in their seal skin like wet suits passel down the pink packed sand to waddle and careen and duck dive onto and into the oncoming barrage of roiling hills of sea water rallied by Igor. Gulls cheep and wander nearby in hopes of a handout. The tide is waning. A lone biker sits on the bridge investigating the potential. A jackhammer hammers away. The breeze is soft and small ; almost directly out of the east The white and silver-gray gulls scamper, like skinny chickens, squabbling over some morsel found in the rack line. There are no kite surfers today as the lack of wind prohibits their wangle. To the north the puffed up undulating clouds have a violet underbelly, to the south their under carriages are more gray. As the tide recedes the hills and valleys of the saline quaffed sea become deeper and steeper. A father and writer whistles loudly, to his son and daughter, then waves them to shore ; it is time to go ; it is hard for them to leave as it is the high point of the day. Nice, long, juicy rides on fun boards. One pelican beats his wings in search of a meal. Food? Time for walk, stretch, brunch …

When shall we three meet again

– Shakespeare

Rain

Campari effect subsided

Awoke…

Precipitation clamorous

Music of the rain

Tinkling notes

Striking odd elements

An enamel shade

The iron garden table

A tin bucket

Gravel drive

Fieldstone walk

Concrete statuary

Copper roof

Stove pipe

Slate patio

Potted arboretums

Grassy green

Firewood

Indian trail

Flowing gutters

Trees laid bare

Babbling brook

No longer audible

Rain’s orchestration

A tick on old glass

With Buddha

Ore the left shoulder

Draped in multiple

Colored Christmas lights

The rain sings

An elaborate song

Making way

To aquifer and brook

Buddha smiles wanly

Chords chime

The song sings

Making time

The rain wings

From the bed

All fluff with pillow

Under shed

Beyond willow

The song of rain

Will entertain

The mind the soul

And earth

Each melody

For her for me

All and free

Cacophony

Onlooker

Sitting in my living room

Rain rat tat tatting ore my head

Dollops of rain ease down

The front window like melting wax

Another sip from a vente quad soy wet cappuccino

Yet another, a drip drops on a jeans covered knee

From an indistinguishable leak

Another drip, cold

Went on a lame adventure

Performance art, strip poker

In a store front window

By a controversialist

Advocating occupy wall street

As the rain rattles down

Contemplation and a frown

The silver-black asphalt reflects

A silvery shroud

Temperature mild

Financial gridlock

Must put air in tires