Gold to rust and rush to still,
Title: Our Own Season (or alternate: “Where We Meet”)
[Verse 1]
I come from the South, where the sun always shines,
Olive-skinned children sing rough lullabies.
Even the stones hold the heat of the day,
And the sunset whispers, “it’s time to begin.”
[Verse 2]
You come from the North, where the winter is long,
Snow hushes the voice of the aurora’s song.
You wait in the dark, with a heart full of light,
Longing for stars that dance through the night.
[Chorus]
We meet in the middle, under sky-splitting flame,
When the moon steals the sun, or a meteor came.
We plant our small hopes at the edge of the road—
Berries that bloom in the cold.
Proof that we both still bleed warm.
Proof that we both still belong.
[Verse 3]
We carry the fire from our corners of earth,
Trade southern gold for your northern mirth.
The compass was wild, but it led us true—
To a season not born until me and you.
[Final Chorus / Outro]
We meet in the middle, where the strange things begin,
Not summer, not winter, not where we’ve been.
We go on together, like stars on the run—
Creating a season that’s never been sung.
I come from the South,
where olive-skinned children
sing with rough voices
their love for the sun—
where even the stones are warm,
and sunset signals beginning.
You come from the North,
where snow blankets the voice of the aurora,
whom you long to see
while you wait in the dark
through the long duration of winter.
We meet in the middle,
on the occasion of a celestial event—
an eclipse,
or beneath the thundering fear
of a fallen meteor.
We grow berries
at the edge of the road,
proof that still—
both of us carry warm blood.
And then,
we go on
to create our own season. whom you long to see
while you wait in the dark
through the long duration of winter.
We meet in the middle,
on the occasion of a celestial event—
an eclipse,
or beneath the thundering fear
of a fallen meteor.
We grow berries
at the edge of the road,
proof that still—
both of us carry warm blood.
And then,
we go on
to create our own season.
I wish you some magical mornings,
when you slip into the light of day,
unknowingly performing a ritual of healing,
as body and mind spring to new life.
You hear the birds,
as if for the very first time,
their song a hymn to your awakening.
And the weary world,
so often blunt and gray,
pauses to wonder:
Where has this beauty been?
And oh, how glad we are
to see you—
reborn into this day.
Lemons and mulberries,
a little acid to elevate
a taste for the sweet—
to remind you
that joy sometimes arrives with a sting.
The perspective you earn
from climbing trees—
beyond scraped elbows and bloodied knees—
is the raw view of courage
and the sky pressed close.
There’s a price in sharing fruit
with a friend:
a piece of yourself
passed palm to palm,
always an open hand.
To many blows have made a hole
The wound where all the blood
Of poetry poured out
Onto the ground
Drained she waits
For desert winds
To dry the tears
Into salty grains
Of rolling sand
Her body wrinkles
And contorts just like
A tortured scream
Into the night
The moons takes
Pity the man and turns her
Into the only tree
That can survive this moral desert
And she reaches out
An olive branch
Sometimes you get a very personal blow
To the stomach
And your are expected to recover and even
Get better
Because they say whatever does not kill,,,
But does it heal?
And what about those football kids who got
Too many blows
What ever happened to their heads
Ministers
Please pray for our souls and keep our dreams
Alive
If you continue to add
Lively colors into my days
I will write poems
For your paintings
And will run to find
A singer in the street
To add his music
In the lower left
Corner
The one that hangs loose
And ready to flow
Out of the frame
With grace
Though a dance .
This way
The arts will stay
With us
In the same room,
Will day?
I have broken 1000 times
In a million pieces
And all it took was you
to swirl by
in your form of light
From the north
To build me back
Like a column
Piercing the sky
The colder I get
The more fragile
Can you stay
Long enough
To make me green
Suple and soft
And ready for spring
For I have been long
hungered for light
November’s ending
But It sent a beaver moon
To get us out
With promises of light
It’s gotten cold and dark
And we are out with flashlights
Looking for ourselves
When maybe we should
only hope to find
Connections
To each other
Things should come in pairs
Like shoes
For symmetry reasons
And Redundancy
In case the left foot loses
Optimism
The right can kick things up
Powering through
Realms of quite silences
Or dips of energy
With the minimum
Required energy flow
Until restoration
Of full power and joy.
Writing with friends
If your own pen is undecided
Helps smooth the trajectory
On the floor of the ballroom
The words align
Sing to themselves
Sooth the listener
Dance in tandem.
Adversity can crash the spirit
not even words come out
and when they do
they walk with a limp.
But if they manage
to cross the long road
from me to you
why would you
not take them
and wrap them
with care
for me
because
they may be
the only gift
all year
I look around and I see
Small people trying to fill big shoes
Big people trying to fit into small shoes
The pain of adjusting to circumstances
That never change fast enough
Except for the few perfect ones
The ones that slip into molds
Silvery sisters and brothers
Of all the common
Cinderellas I deeply respect
And never expect to see wearing
Shiny, but merely comfortably
Their loving Souls .
Light was flowing gently at an angle
Upon tormented waves
tickled as they were they sprinkled drops
Through salty half closed eyelids
As they laughed and jumped ashore
Just barely touching at is feet
The sandy one pushed back
The waves took one more bite
The light tried and tried again
To tame them.
The 20 miles were rolling up and down
In front of my bike and this guy
Passed swiftly in front of me
With a pink shirt and totally fit
And I could read on his back
In plain white the message
“Stay sweet”.
At the crossroads we stopped
He turned his head back and he said
We are too light
then flew ahead as he smiled
He said
you will lose your soul if you go
He sighed
watch your step as you walk
He looked
as the light was getting harder
He listened
as the storm started to roar
He asked
will you chose love over war?
The time of magnolias is when biking is best
When old trees work towards filling your lungs
with fresh air and perfume
When you open your eyes
Because there are hills to climb
Lakes to swim and birds to applaud
For their lively concerts
And lazy mornings to unfold
Lay upon grasses and rest
thank you lord for this rainy day
without which i would have not had time
to find joy in the current setting
of the life we were given to live, just once
thank you lord for the rain, scars, and the shadows,
for the silence without which i would never have
appreciated the desert of pain, the light i have been bathing in
and the music of the morning birds
thank you lord for this rainy day
when i count my friends round the table,
and pour bitter coffee in unmatched cups
as we get ready to sing and sweeten the day
thank you lord, even if i do not know how to pray
i know the night will crack open
and make room for the day
with the hands of love, and force of joy
bring it on, this new day
you hear them lament
and you think their voices
are beautiful and still
too thin
as if they are never enough
to fill the air
to cover the ground
to stand on their own
occasionally there are voices
rising above the chorus
they lift and vibrate
my chords and yours
they speak with an intensity
that makes the mouths of man
speak their words
willing breaking the bonds
they lift up a storm
and then they fall sweetly
back into the chorus
now that we know
You say fabulous
As I say good morning
And the reality of the day
Turns from inside out
Like a flower and blooms.
If you see an open door
run through it
push it open and run
into the light
leave your boundaries behind
light fires to the worries
and dream for once
about what lies
beyond the clouds.
Hurt is when liars lead
When the word breaks the promise
When there is no spine
To keep the organism vertical
When truth fall prey to power
And the ones who set value
Only care about money.
Healing is when we get up
From the mudd we were thrown in
When truth chooses leaders
And they value morals
And morale, when vision
Sets the path to the future
With kindness and where we realise
We have arms strong enough
To embrace it all
Beauty is a woman in pink
Turning her face towards us
Just as we were thinking
She was going to leave.
I hope my love and yours will intersect
Crossing an ocean of neglect
Illuminating with a spark
The path for the poor sailor’s ark
I hope the songs I sing
Will have the rhythm that you need
To either lull your sleep
If you are tired
Or to shake your feet
if you are ready for a lively beat.
I hope that if I happen to be sitting close to you
You will reach to touch my hands
And lift them and the moment
To the level that pure joy intends .
So much I wish with hope:
You live in love
And you give thanks
For Little moments that make up your life
That you give your helping hands to children
Strangers and your friends
And give your ears
To the small voices
Of the folk
Who spin your world
Love calls unannounced
Sometimes at 2 pm
Sometimes at 9 am
I have never been sorry to answer
And sometimes I have missed her call
But she was never resentful.
Sometimes she emails
Her emails read like letters
And sit patiently for up to one week
In my inbox, but get irritated
If you let them sit for much longer.
I leave my door open and light on
For her especially if it is dark
Because I know she occasionally
Stumbles as she seeks to find her path
Inside she will always bring warmth.
And if you see her crossing your path
Give her, give her whatever you have
In your heart, and she’ll spin
Your views into art
She’ll shape your arms into hugs
Your ears into songs
Your legs into dance
And your thoughts into light.
I am approaching the threshold of midlife
With the shock of rude awakenings
That power trumps principles
Loyalty lies with money
And lies are ok to those who talk about equity
Since this is not really about practice, but just theory.
I have spent half of my life
Romantically trying to change the world
To make it turn around slightly smoother
And it the right way, and was burning in flames
For each one of this engine’s mistakes.
Will I spent the rest of my life being wise
Trying to turn myself around it?
I could work for my own peace
Towards bursting only in laughter
Rather than tears
Try to only burn logs of hope
for those who who still try to change the world;
Try to learn and sing the song for Kemal
With the old man who lived to tell the story
Of the young cherub who died
Fighting other’s fight.
Enough of the fight, half the game
Is already over , now let’s have some fun
We’ll think more about this
if we have the time tomorrow
With your fingers
You mindlessly rearrange my hair
And the colors of the rainbow
Change order .
I can see clearly now
The path and the flow.
And I let my mind follow
the hands of a clock
Round and round
Dawn to dusk.
Every day I have done
The same race
Ready to fall off
get up, brush off, and go;
Until you have come
To set milestones in my life
Centimeter by centimeter
Adding meaning each day.
I watch you growing taller,
more loving, more curious,
And more independent
And now that you are ready
To fly your own flight
Run your own race
I hope the you find
Somebody to give you aim
And grow all the love
You can grow, like a garden
With beautiful flowers
And colors
I wish you to find
Joy in the fleeting moments
And use them To build
solidly your eternity
By all standards of measure
And challenges
Arm yourself with laughter
And walk your path
Bright and light.
I say this to you
Wishing I can comb
Your wild hairs
And rearrange
The world to make herself
Better . Or it is on you.
What are you looking for when you look at me
For I am your truthful mirror
I I can work for you
From this wall looking you straight in the face
Look harder my friend
And I hope most days you are looking for revelation
Rather than reassurance
But if you seek this I can help you there too
For I have learned that there are so few of us that care
That you really will only seldom need it
Rather spend your time learning to stand up straight
And judge fair, the things that matter
I am here for you and all I can do
Is through back the image you are projecting on me
Echo your sounds and reflect your soul
Until the magical day
The day I will welcome when you will declare
you need me no more, And whether you break me or not
I look forwards to seeing you so happy and large
As if you would have swallowed the moon.
I am not fearless
I am a fugitive
Having crossed boundaries
In and out of your sight.
Finding the path
Has not been easy for me
But when has it been
For anybody.
We are wanderers
Comers and goers
Artist and doers
Haters and lovers ,
all wrapped
In one package
Like the one I have left
at the door.
The fear I have left outside
Like a wet cloak
When you invited me in
And now that we sit by the fire
Please pour me some wine
And a story to warm myself
Because I have been cold
With fever and fear for too long
Would you let me know
If you only see in one color
Or somebody can
Change your lights on occasion
Making you see that you can
play multiple cards at one time.
And how does it look from your angle
This twilight
Consumed by its own distant fire,
Do you find it satisfying for your soul
at all?
Would you dare tell
what quenches you
As your gaze rests
With the monochromatic
Unique joker card
In your hand
Don’t rush with an answer.
Don’t blush
Or you may turn
This gray city
Into a garden
And we will all drawn
In it’s beauty.
The fire was rolling downhill
Over bright yellow bushes, flowers
And acacia trees
Have you noticed
The forest
In spite of the dust and the smoke?
I am here to pay now
For when I was a woman
And used to read books
I must have drank your words
From the pages you wrote
And painted on them
the sounds of your voice
Without declaring complicity.
You have handed me the book
Where I have found beautiful sketches
So I have bought it from you;
Without authorship rights
And yet wrote within it.
Without fully understanding what was meant
I melted and poured my soul
Like a mist to color its background
I remember some words
Tasted like champagne
And their bubbles
Gave me all the oxygen
I needed to rise in the air.
I have since learned to fly
And that if you cannot master the winds
You can at least ride them.
I am now free and at times
hover in circles
Dancing with currents
Above this dark lake
You were harboring in your chest
As you were serving champagne
I have sharpened my sight
In my preparing to hunt
The only thing that is worth
Winning
And even though I am hungry
I need first to quench this thirst
That burns from within
out and wide through the forest.
I often dive towards the lake
And at times all I manage to take
Is a sip of dark water
Then I push back and take it with me
And brighten it up in the air
All in the open
Sun or cloud
Please tell me, have I been fair
In paying my debt and doing my work
For the sake of the forest
As the thirsty hawk and the small colibri
Work together to ease the burden of fire
With water brought against current
And gravity on willful winged winds
To our lake from the sea.
The long memory of the short lived romans
Casts its shadow upon us
Children of their hopeful future
Walking on their immortal roads
We ask today whether
Killing each other with poisons
And daggers was worth it
A few days of glory
When one could have lived long enough
To greet grandchildren
Rather than eat them
As monsters of time
Eat theirs again and again
The god descended from his upper rank
floating on a cloud
his body like a rock
pressed hard by thought
the fingers of the sunrise goddess
Softened his trajectory into a dance
to made him land
first on a wave, and then on sand.
the sailors rescued him,
as he looked like a perfect piece of art,
And they build for him a marble pedestal
And climbed him up right in the center of their town.
as people and years passed all marveled
at the beauty of the statue god,
Just as he watched and learned from the mistakes,
and the achievements of the old and young
After many springs had passed with rains,
Followed by scorching summers,
after faltering with falls, and standing up to winters
he had figured out their ways.
As he descended from the pedestal.
He softened his hard skin, he melted muscles,
learned to ache, and fueled by blood,
he walked his path as he was growing wisdom,
and also growing old.
Along his path he bent to lift up children with his arms,
he hugged the youth pushing them gently forward,
he helped the elder carry on their loads
and at the end, since he turned a human, then he died.
As snow was melting from the odd pedestal,
dripping gently on the ground
a flower rose with shy white petals
announcing a new season starts.
And then the goddess picked him up,
with gracious fingers and restored him
to his godly perfect form, so that the humans
that have had the chance to meet him
could write up his story, and their descendants
learning about it could look up
and hope to meet their imperfect , loving god.
