Morning Picker
I heard an empty voice
from the wind: appears
obey nature.
A song; enough
for sleeping lion
birds whistle in the night,
— the silent eyes.
I close the door;
smiling behind season
— an oak tree has fallen.
Moscow, June 2020
EAST
A smile without lipstick is you.
Bringing me destiny with a stick.
Pemaculkata, September 5th, 2020
A Black Coffee
I drink a cup of black coffee
nobody’s at the cafe; silence is better
rather than mourning eyes.
A cup of black coffee enough
for life; no poverty, no poetry.
But without both,
—like dust on the table only.
I drink a cup of coffee,
more than anybody;
thinking and waiting here
—let it be empty.
The darkness appears
the wind blows to the east.
Suddenly, a Wiseman enters,
sitting behind my nest.
Life
Life continues to move along
Whether you get on or get off
Or sit there by the side
On a bench beneath the shade
To smoke a cigar and watch
The wind blow and the leaves
As they fall in every which way
A Man with Crumbs
A tree top twig
Beneath the empty sky
I look among
The world’s connected strings
From a lofty view
That's twenty stories high
It’s here I see
The flutters filled with wings
This morning’s hush
As Hudson’s sparkle comes
Around it flows
With autumn’s remnant leaves
The pigeon sky
Above the man with crumbs
As they flock around
And eat his cake like thieves
His hands still move
But nothing now is heard
He made a pledge
With truth that sounds like lie
Working Days
Night rain
I walk the beat up streets
Autumn mud
Has marred my walking trance
I see each one
They all seem glad
And no one here
Seems old or gray
Back to work
I find my tools dropped
I spin and polish
Then take a rooftop glance
What kind of friend
Would lead me out this way?
Well, he’s not here
And wouldn’t show me anyway
Crow within the Yellow Leaves
Successive years of falling leaves, as gold-
Enameled flowers flitter out, around
The garden nook, with simple stories told
To fragrant crowds at play on dampened ground.
This time we sipped a cup of coffee cold
And spoke of speckled, thinning hair once brown;
A crow called out, as if a black-winged scold
That hits its mark and pulls us twisting down.
Through God we came from chaos to earth and skies,
And painted all that’s dark a color bright,
As child-like wonder shows through gleaming eyes
