While lying on my side in bed
I stare through windowpane and shade
And watch the autumn season fade
With every falling golden dead;
And with each leafs descent to ground

The autumn sun shines through the near naked trees exposing recent abandoned thrush nests those months before were hidden from Mans eyes.

I stood atop a mountain high
Surveyed the vastness of the sky
With arms extended outwardly
A moments thought inspirit me.
I pray you mount, I beg bespeak

Most people fall asleep at night
And dream of fantasies delight;
Those spawned by wakeful malcontent
Of dreaded pasts and all they meant.
But when the light begins to dawn

Standing amid the forest trees
I feel so insignificant.
Small and unimportant can be
Very humbling among the plants
And underbrush that are dwarfed by
The regal, deciduous trees.

The September odoriferous winds
Are not unlike my lover’s perfumed breath.
Their sometimes subtleties, like cherubs wings
Moving warm fragrant air across the earth;

What I love most about poetry is that a poet has the license to write poems about subjects that are not necessarily the reflection of him. Case in point is the following poem.

The slow, murky, drought-affected river
Snakes its way around meandering shores.
Its surface littered with leaves upriver
Like colorful scales on a constrictor.

“Good morning! May I hold the door for you?”
I looked into her pleasant youthful face
Smiled and thought to myself while walking through
The opened doorway with dignified grace.

Maple trees are scions of ancient keys.
Its fruit has evolved into varied breeds.
I guess if I’d judge from all of god’s trees
I’d deem maple for their beautiful leaves.

The dead brown maple leaves litter the path
Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping
From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath
Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting

Few people love; most know not love at all.
Their feelings of feigned affection wane
By any measure. Cupid never draws
His bow for those whose passions are in vain.

“The fate of individual human beings may not now be connected in a deep way with the rest of the universe, but the matter out of which each of us is made is intimately tied to the processes that occ

Am I the fool for not killing this fly
That persistently harasses me now?
Is my respect for life absurd, awry?
Should my philosophy be disavowed?
Isn’t all life a very sacred thing?

The crisp cool wind is blowing in my face
Kenny G blowing “forever in love”
In my ears while trying to keep a pace
The blue, cloudless sky looming high above