Valley Stream 

Elegy for a Golden Valley

The golden grasses bow beneath the gray,

As winter steps where autumn used to tread;

The freezing water winds its peaceful way,

Past fallen branches and the leaves they shed.

The distant mountains, towering and high,

Wear heavy shrouds of winter's early white;

While amber hues reflect the fading sky,

A quiet valley washed by gentle light.

But in the chill, a silver stream still flows,

A reminder that the frozen earth will wake;

Though silent now beneath the coming snows,

The earth remembers every path it takes.

Garden by the Azure Sea

The flowers rise in brightness to the day,

Their vivid forms made clearer by the sun.

Its rays fall gently in a warming sway

And give each open shape a shining run.

The water steady with a softened gleam,

A quiet mirror holding shifting light;

The distant isles lie still as part of dream,

A calm alignment to the dazzling sight.

The sky reveals a subtle shift of tone,

Warm glow arising in the higher space,

A muted coolness gathering below,

Each casting its own temper on the place.

So warm and cool together meet in grace,

And let that mingled light fall on the flowers’ space.

Family Ideogram

 

City Street Under Amber Ashlight

 

Raining in Downtown

Rain lent each stone a softer name;

The towers climbed into a veil of light.

Below, the lamps wove threads of golden flame.

While blossoms kept a little spring in sight.

The city spoke not loudly in rain—

And every puddle kept the last refrain.

 

Titans Under Amber Haze

                                              Elegy Beneath the Amber Sky

Morning awoke in garments not its own;
The faithful blue had yielded to the flame.
A golden veil lay softly over stone,
And every tower seemed to speak its name.

The ash had climbed these streets of steel and glass,
And had descended on the thriving trees;
Yet from the pine-clad North, as it passed,
Unhealthy matter came with the summer breeze.

How strange that woods no city eye had known,
Whose ancient roots drank other rains than ours,
Should stain the light that crowned our fields of stone,
And dim the proud ascent of glass and towers.

The sun still shone, but gentled by the air,
Its ardent face subdued to quiet gold;
It seemed less ruler of the heavens there
Than witness to a grief too vast to hold.

What unseen thread binds forest, wind, and town,
That one far wound can alter all the sky?
Whose hand can say where mourning settles down,
Or measure the miles through which the tears fly?

Yet wind remembers neither crown nor wall;
It keeps no map of kingdom, field, or sea.
Whatever grief befalls, befalls us all,
For earth is larger than we choose to see.

The amber day will pass. The blue return.
The towers will reclaim the light they knew.
But hearts once taught how distant forests burn
Will never wholly lose that altered view.

 

Hot Summer # 6

Meadow by the Pond 

The meadow leans toward water in the sun,

its colors rising lightly through the day;

the pond lies still, its quiet surface one

soft mirror where the drifting shadows play.

The trees stand close, not pressing into line,

but shaping space the summer passes through;

their shadows fall with edges soft and slow,

a muted green that keeps its steady hue.

The flowers brighten where the breezes run,

each movement small, yet shaping how they stand;

their colors shift in patterns never done,

a field composed by wind and open land.

And all of it stays steady as the light

rests on the pond and holds the meadow bright.

 

Hot Summer

Light Over Water

A quiet brightness settles on the pond—

not a beam,

just a gentle widening of day.

Flowers lean in

as if listening

to something small

and calm

moving beneath the surface.

The moment stays, steady.

 

Hymn of the Warming Day

Lyric Triptych

I. Blossoms — Heart / Presence

The blossoms rose in radiant sway,

their colors trembling toward the light;

they leaned into the warming day,

soft petals singing red and bright.

II. Water — Release / Movement

A silver thread through quiet stone.

The stream unspooled its whispered air;

It carried what the heart had known,

and laid it down with gentle care.

III. Distance — Memory / Illumination

The distant trees drifted into blue,

the sky dissolved to molten gold;

and all the world, made warm and true,

felt like a hymn the dusk had told.

 

Big Flowers Valley

Ghazal — “Where the Flowers Grow Beyond Their

 Names”

The valley wakes in peach‑soft light, its mist unspooling slow while a stream whispers through stones in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Fuchsia petals rise enormous, warm as breath on skin, their crimson edges glowing bright in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Leaves shine with emerald veins, each one a quiet river, carrying morning’s tender weight in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Trees stand like patient witnesses, steady in the warming air, their bark rough with quiet years in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Small blossoms scatter at their feet, humble sparks of color, content to bloom beneath giants in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

And I, wandering through this dream of warm green breath, feel the real and imagined lean together in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.