When Flowers Were I n Bloom

When Flowers Were I n Bloom


Just Before Twilight

forty miles west of Chicago,
a herd of whitetail cross
bone splintered cornfields
to a tree-line  in the south
where white oak feebly reach
for the winter moon.  

I light a cigar
and wish for a shot of tequila,
wish it were summer,
and I was pulling up
to the Baptist Mission in Texas
where my old man spoke the word
and the choir rejoiced,
when I believed in tongues,
in heavenly utterances,
and the Holy Ghost was immense power
seething within,
and you the sacred vessel
I poured myself into.

My thoughts are of a time
when wind surfed the treetops
and apple blossoms swirled down
on an insouciant world and covered two beings
in its mystical cloak,
when I pressed you against earth
as it spun and traveled
around a star that moved
through space and time
to a point
that exalted you
and love
sacrificed self.

I wrap myself in a season
when I walked in the hullabaloo
of a day,
in the bell
of a lost Sunday,
when tulips were a lover's bed
and wild violets were a bouquet
arranged for you.
I remember a ruckus,
a riot
in my heart,
a hooligan love,
a rapture.

I recall
a time
as north winds rage
at the winter moon,
and the Big Dipper pours
into evening sky --

my thoughts are of you
as I follow the North Star home,
a thousand stars
lighting the way.


  1. Hey, I see your still writing. Long time. Good stuff here. I'll be back once in a while to read your poetry and writings.

    1. A couple of weeks ago I visited your blogs, so I’m glad you came calling. It’s like having a visit from an old friend. Hope your esposa had a great Mother’s Day. Peace & love, my brother...

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