Not Too Far From Haight

I knew of a man with a parrot,

Perched devout on his tie-dyed shoulder.

In a city so brilliant in its

Eclectically captivating style.

This man, a Dylan enthusiast,

Held time by a leash, tugging back if

It threatened to get too far ahead.

Save for the lines cleft deeply in hisFace,

and grey brushed sharply through his hair,

The years and their artistic markers

Passed by this peace loving man ignored.

A relic of American culture

Held suspended by a youthful spirit.

A Toast

Knit and drawn tight;
Thicket and vine.
Brambles would be merrier.
Ahh…But, for thorns I pine
Froth from my cup~
whisked by the wind.
Cheers to the risible
ale, now thinned.
Cheat fink and be wary.
For tomorrow's goodbuy~
Comes at a small price;
Of merit on wry.
Thicket and vine;
Bound from the start.
Brambles would be Lovely,
But thorns have my heart.

My love for me, please do not despair,

When shadows fall and pulse my heart then still.

Look on me as softest lilly fair;

Instead of beauty, stricken early ill.

Let my soil be not touched by evil,

But plant a wealth of love on every side.

Give me faithful arms against the devil.

Save for me a shred of loves lost pride.

Let not eternity mark me as a fiend;

For friend of foe I can no longer tell.

Long for me not my lover and dearest friend;

For even if I be cast away to hell,

Let not these shadows cast upon you doubt,

For in my burning rage I will climb back out.