Marriage of light, held in a shadow’s fall ...

a movement deep within the


between the fall of an

autumn leaf

between the call of a northern

beach sunrise-

when a man loves a


color is a moment of rain


to still -

a shadow drifts on life during day-

to fall only to illusion, where

light doesn’t stay -

and a photographer, he

stands between moments -


it is moments which never


when a man loves a


where dusk is the bridge to

shadows -

wood to need -

seeds to birth

slow in care

and love,

in to now


smoke carved echoes of touch

in such

for tomorrow’s,

in to now -

marriage of light - held

in a shadow’s fall

marriage within dusk,

where light need

never call


just a moment

where a man loves a woman .

where a woman loves a man -

in to now

for tomorrow’s ...




of crystal in light

in a season of distance,

live tree strung ice crystal


sight as faces

of flesh

ever gone

echoes with the wind


from time lost

those long shadowed roads,

in earth carved

by hands never more

deep in the evenings call

snows as they never fall

whispers to voices clear

are the mirrors to memory

in dream

a scream in the light

is the silence of a soul

whose fingers linger eternal

on the frozen rhyme

of love

in a season of earth magic,

a time on the edge of ice


live the moments

between memories

the moments

of crystal in light

the faces

of lovers

frozen to, still crystal

and earth-tree held


before the time free call

of winters silence

christmas rhyme of ever time

stilled , nevermore





waits the whispers of the sea

dark with mud

current runs the river to strange,

a lonely lady


on an open window - still to

wood - aged -

watching the evening winds mirror

her eyes

her tears are crystals in colored glass

held in

old pockets deep - behind the

closet door

her memory is a picture etched

in cold black

fade in - the camera zooms forward

/ to fade out,

another moment in another day

then sun night , taste its breath

in her hair

deep in a shadow with

no one there

how alone will she stand in her


when a man can’t remember her


another man and still again


does the mirror reflect if the

eyes never see

do rivers run clear when

evening shadows

rise north from the sea

what ocean dream rides the tall

ships - out beyond the


river horizon to ocean

and gone

a woman alone in a moment

held in its recurring call ,

may only wait ,

along with the

whispers of the sea -





shades to shadow room soft

shades to shadow room soft

an edge of life between child and woman,

marks the ever moments

beyond birth

where wall clocks lie silent between


eyes are lost within,

and maybe - just a

little bit free

it is in this moment of


that cry she may never do

the blues are the blues of the

jester; in a court

without a king

the tears are the tears of a

woman - in a moment

without dreams

shades to shadow room soft

a time to remember

a time to forget.

- jude



christmas shadows and river friends

winter in a southern rain,

which stops

to begin again pours through

windows , to rain

its cold lines eternal

down the eyes of my soul

memories forgotten - struggle

for time,

there within the palms of my hands

no sky crystals to

hold my dreams

of death moving on,

winter to whispers in rivers running,

world edge to world edge .

a tree lined road - naked not the trees ,

that frees the wind

that i might begin

to dream , still


in a christmas without memories

where do we go,

between a fire inside and /

a pine tree tall

to a ceiling high ,

standing between warmth and

christmas memories carved to hang

hanging in a wind silent for a moment

silent within a skies easy rage

i forget so easily

the memories gone

watching christmas whispers - moving

slow in moving - on,

winter rain cold on my soul,

deeper then death, where do we grow

and the iceless wind, will it ever again begin

to listen.

Picture in a fire more then warm,

as silence is a wind into the christmas

tree shadows and moments run

to music,

/ never waiting for moments to begin,

i stand the silence unhidden,

there is winter in

my mind,

as there are feelings,

one can never find the memories lost,

here in the turn of

a christmas rhyme

as there is love

in the touch across time/

as distance

picture a river moving unbidden

forever along ,

carrying the crystal tears from

a man to woman’s smile

picture a moment in a log fires shadow

picture a moment

with friends

still river moving along

in the music of

a song

behind winter windows.

Between friends

christmas in winter time

sweet turning page,

which dares to remind .





a poem for all the nothing at rest!

Born on back streets

with more then concrete

in his


his tears of rage

never whispered

more then his name

and still again

the man dies

slowly in his

20th century war-man blues

a boy taught to

believe in nothing

but his own rhythm on concrete

how could he see

yes death on the lips

of children

barely born

in the eyes of women whose

moments have just

barely begun

a man taught to

believe in nothing


are these the echoes of death


dying on back streets,

with less then concrete in his eyes .




water for my dreams

i couldn’t love

her less

then the water for my dreams

i couldn’t live

the sight of her

eyes broken

or unfree

caught in the lines

in the palms of my


sand is free

are we?

There is something

in the whispers

in the silence of our

bodies motion ,

can you live a woman you can’t



love a woman you can’t live

all for the tomorrow’s you

never mention.

Where are the thumb riding roads


death fear keeps your fingers

and dreams clear

could i love her

less then the water

for my dreams

and still so easily whisper of

sweet good-byes

could i love her

easier - without her fear


but never less ...





stone on the edge of

her dark lined face,

a foothills throw,

where a carved wind

will go - on seeds

of glow

ice on a mountains

call - to clouds and


summer, in sun

and slow movement

a mind adrift in the

warmth of a rock ledge

just slightly above a rivers

yes - to edge,

water running to the whispers carried,

dreams lost from the city above

walk to the moments between the notes

as songs

to be caught by


naked skin,

between child and woman,

her drift - to wind and river


blind in the snow above

she sings

deep in her mind

unheard ,


where she remembers


never fallen through

her lips

her fingers whisper

to a circle / a star within,

in sand - till

the wind returns and

calls it away

for silence - for a moment

for a dream of her own

what secrets might her own

body recall,

the woman she isn’t, or/

is an itch ,

in a moment to call.





the rage and silence

she comes to love

like it’s winter

where it ices to fast

for tears to fall,

long eyed- lady

dressed naked

for every dawn ,

with her tongue adrift

deep within her mind,

and there is just a man


something to say - about dreams below


and/ undergarments

of which are torn

when rivers run their shores

and the sun runs hot,

shade, is it a moment

to which humans

can stop

can love catch a second


the rage and silence

and hold to young bodies

living so tired and worn,

dare they teach of magic

in churches of ever stone

of things that should be

but never of corn.

A man to love a woman

and / in a woman if the same

how close in illusion can

reality retain,

what bodies yearn

for silence where no body

can hear,

is closer then ever before,

ever - really near -

tomorrow for today on

yesterdays thread

can we pray to

the rage and silence

which fills the lovers’ bed?




jacksonville, river run

my eyes can’t see the water,

river running north

wide rage

to a sky in pieces

solid as wind

leaving a tree-

running into sound

that are years etched into my hands

city small, city call,


growing within its own cracks,

i stand,

standing two AM on main street

blind / and in defeat,

but pennies in my pockets

and silence full, but for the

river water rage -

a stage unseen -

hey, City -

what do you mean -

my eyes, they can’t see the water

as it bends a mans dreams,

from images of earth to torn

mountains -

past up river -

past and more.

Blind cave dwellers

dreaming without the

rhythms of sound

northern man, in a southern fall

and the concrete corners

sharp to razors still cutting those

years old black and white

while a world


and the play is the singing alone

in an alley where

echoes are lost to swamp wet earth -

looking for a glint of light

in a river on a shore -

the slaves see no more,

where the masters are afraid to

run along-

and the river, i see no more.






southern man

deep circles

in the air - followed by

water swollen fingers -

a little man asks,

for where does he come -

till he is going never more

and coming

not a step from, without the

sun burnt shadows;

a man doesn’t

care to cry the tears that

only fall to

water soaked earth,

run to the southern ocean,

where waves - wash clear

his aging dreams -

leaving sand unspoken,

renew with the morning,

death is only a name -

and need

no memories but sand,

to carry its water to the sea!





just a smile to know

summer song

rain in a city -

hard walls and/

sidewalk stages -

where some people run

or fly , or rage silent behind

off white curtains,

where are

the dancing

to music played -

playing for free

and open hats

stand for a moment -

within a moving womans' eyes -

and taste the breath

of wind -

quite, never quite silent,

watch the concrete scraping her


where do we stand

alone in the river,


where do we stand,

dusk on a mountain


the wind breaks through time,

there is a hand in your hand,

while music

is the waves of light

to motion,

and friends -

are a touch of family -

never lost,

forever free -

children, need only naked feet

to ever walk in the

sand -

as a woman needs

only a smile

just a smile to know.




closer to the mystery

down the street

on black soled feet

walking along - fast

gray hat to shade the eyes,

she doesn’t notice the dream,

she doesn’t notice the real -

as a child between moments,

hurting for what couldn’t grow old-

loving for what whispers

in her side pocket-

a memory for the present,

lingers into a smile

wait and forget -

but she is loved for

all the tomorrows

that set so hard in her today,

wait and smile,

play to a spy on a mystery

play to a game,

where the feeling is easy

and in the end,

one can win,

for a moment,

a hero for the easy eyes -

loving tries

loved by a poet,

by a father -

closer to the mystery

but hidden below the


carved onto the palm of his hand,

star light - spot-lite stand,

a child grows to a woman

in where moments begin

dressed in black-soled feet

and a gray hat to shade her eyes

and lace

on but the tips of

her sighs -

sighs untorn -




a moment to linger

a moment to sigh -

a whisper of

silence rides the concrete funnel winds

time once

begun / can,

but never the echo end-

a man who is , a woman who found -

earth in autumn

carries, in wind whispers -

their cries of love

a moment to linger

for evermore . . .





water years / and yet the loving

water tears , she doesn’t cry-


she sifts the loving deep

below the layered

veins of her aging.

Standing below the eyes of

her fears -

she dances the silence into silence -

meeting moments

sliding just to cross the edges -

water years -

they cry never more -

as tears are but the crystal trees

of a moment to growth -

/ she is loving still

across light

refracting stage -

loving in silence


and yet loving there in a poets’ eyes -

the water tears , bend into rivers

across his soul .




an irish folk song

in an irish folk song,

a candle lit

on a table,

late september evening,

on west 4th street

somewhere new york city -

days are gone and just

the echoes belong-

quiet /and

dancing hard

a sip of whisky strong -

just to hold on,

one minute longer

but how long -

street lamp shadows,


they but the only traces

to stop for

a word-

unicorns who have died on

four green fields-

they’ve heard -

who cries for the blues-

but can’t seem ,

to draw himself away ,


from an irish folk song -


holding days where days are gone.




christmas and/ coal-smoke blues,

the man on a stool ,

plays hard on

his guitar -

steel strings sing quiet

in the dusk -

autumn has fallen away

for winter has found its’ name /

without peace for a moment,

deep in the blues -

it is but the games

men play

that never remain.

A pine scent on a child's taste -

memories, are they more then gone -

christmas rain -

cold white crystals -

alite are the trees -

just beyond his coal-smoke

stained window -


the man on a stool

plays hard on,

his guitar -

red twisted in green

below a layer of dust

lives with a bow of


resting on a newly broken

tree limb -

and there is a smile behind his

glazed eyes -

touching through his


are things forgotten ever lost

are things remembered ever found -

his feet tap the rhythm

of a dance that tore

apart his soul -

christmas is on his mind,

where the blues



a coal-smoke stained floor.

Footprints and no more!





with cold in their eyes

there is cold in my eyes,

there is a reason to die,

so why do i

stand and remember

in a winter cold - and

behind brick walls,

we were children

we were men

but we couldn’t cry -

the tears were crystals of ice

in our souls ,

and god was in the eyes

of the dead,

only the dead -

there was blood on my hands,

now caked and dried -

whispered almost away

in the wind,

and lies in my ears,

that are now ears no


Who cried for us ,

and hid their tears,

behind their years of

growing rich,

were they mothers and fathers

of children sent to war-

sent out to play-

there is a cold in my fingers

which now,

move so slow -

what can i create

in dried blood,

where nothing can grow -

we remember nothing , for

the child has died,

so where do we go -

with our reason to be dead -




earth music dancer.

Earth music dancer,

her eyes ,

where do they try to be -

seeing something in the distance growing strong,

seeing something in the mind going


where to belong

to belong-

child ever torn,

once born

once born-

there is silence in her steps-


rage, running colors across her


deep in a piano


stirs the artist,

something is wrong

she is but a sky dancer

earth bound,

and / hunting song-

dare she the pain

to belong,

in a dance of rain

of storm-

she is but a sky dancer,

and lovin’ her,

it is easier,

then lovin’ sky

alone. . .





a silence / a sea wind blowing.

Sea wind blowing

on young & old,

wood in walls creaking

in rhythm untold -

a woman in her smile

or her silence

sits on an old broken


against that wall which,

listening - in the music of a northern

guitar man,

listening to-

while the wind blows in

the silent taste of the sea,

listening to her own refrain of

silence -

large light deep eyes-

are easily lost or full of whys-

and the season has something to say-

turning sound in sound-

and the songs that guitar man sings -

lie unremembered on the flat of

her palms -


and there between moments,

where snow to mountains ungrown

never falls,

where the ever play of dolphins

whisper as alien echoes across

an inlets stormy waves,

there is the look of

a woman , unknown

in her eyes-

and a dream unspoken - in the

sighs of her covered breasts.

A sea wind is blowing

a southern winter moment, across to where a

woman sits-

between a smile

and a silence never spoken-

for how easy, does

this silence ride,

through the chimes of her

fingertips. . .





marking a swallow song

dance the dolphin wave cresting


woman on naked feet

easily - rides the silence

marking moments

marking a swallow song

written long ago-

where now lies,

but bread and roses to mask

the artists grave-

and all his spent rage-

in a dance of guitar strings

to the cloud echoes

above an almost strong sea-

what does a woman know

when it’s time to love-

is it time to go-

easily alone on a winter


with eyes at peace,

adrift across a wanderers grave

eyes quiet, but wide in a hidden


of movement-still

a mother searches for the


while she dances in the silence

of the dolphin wave cresting





she dances

a sparrow dreams in glide,

sweet dance in an

earth morning sky-

and birth is the

chance of moments ,

the whisper of thoughts unsold -

rhythm tapping in a story told

held by a child coming to life

, moments

and a song- like a slice of rage

wakes from silence

slow rhythm,

into dance -

earth stage dancer

she lives her moments

in the rage of wind slices

rhythm tapping a story


before the sky, as

upon the earth while a sparrow dreams in glide

she dances.