“The Owner”

Chart our progress on this planet, won’t you, Lord?
Give us an index, a success rate, a letter grade to push
     us closer into the dreamworld which awaits, no?

Because the dreamworld awaits, doesn’t it, no? Right here?
    Right here on this planet which will be perfected, right?

Which will one day be perfected in the glorious moonlight,
    in baths of rain and tropical wind? In the Caribbean
    resort where we walk hand-in-hand in sandals with
    our one true lover and forget the rest?

Where there is limited apologizing and endless thanking and forgiving?
Where there is sunshine to warm the chilly memories of the cold distant past?

Where waking is dreamy? Yes, yes, there. There in the sand we shall
    curl our toes and know we have passed
    this class, this class of angels and saints
    and scientists and creative investigators...

So that everything could be discovered and we could revel
    in it fully, wholly, and notice finally that twilight to
    daylight is eternity.
   
  

“Cast"

Just beyond the blocks and blocks of solid salted rocks and
seas and ships and many masts and ageless gulls and flocks,
a loving lantern light has cast in two the stars in black and bathed
them in a summer's glow that too few pairs of people know, in fact,

The gentle pace of conversation in easy ebb and flow and the not-too
distant sound of crashing above the undertow may convince us that
we've long been blessed, and to fairly count ourselves possessed of

Greatest fortune to witness, with liberty god's best and brightest views,
and to turn ourselves in blinding night, and to follow morning's gentle
hues to steal the beams of breaking light from nature's epic window.

I've put some poems on here. Hope you like them. Departure from psyche stuff - this blog used to be called just that. Don't really have many regular readers yet, but that'll change. So get in on the ground floor - I'll bet you a quarter you won't regret it.

"South Pacific"

Discovered time,
in lands unknown,
on distant sand where
seeds are sown on sky,
in song, on radiant shore,
and our daylong sun turns
evenings orange.

And hens are hemmed in next
to us by wire while tropical wind
swirls round our fire, dancing through
my boxers and across her soft skin.

Huts and hedges sway in green under
starlit acres of a hundred golden million,
and out back in sand and grass we sit with
glasses in hand, necks at long last torn off the
earth, tilting toward horizons in our simple wooden
sitting chairs, rocking gently back, hands now interlocked.

We two humans, man and woman, are peeling back, turning our
loving hands over, letting nature decipher night’s ways, and only the
subtle sound of slithering skin on silky sand remains under night’s glow,
legs and aching arms playing games, acting as bastions of eternally
replenishable energy.