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This is a poem dedicated to those

Men and women who cannot help but follow

The unspoken meanings of their soul;

who will search or soar until

They unite their personas with their innate

Motivations; and

Whom will continue soaring

Throughout their vintage ages.

Toward the man who sings to the tune of

His or her own persona

Who understands the unspoken

Meanings of a jumbled heart;

And who listens to those inaudible

Words of the earth which cannot

Be found upon published

Printed pages;

And utmost to those who harbor

The drive to seek out their

Most innate motivations;

The kind that compelled Eagles

To soar so exquisitely

Throughout their long-lived,

Vintage ages.

As soon as I kissed her,
the sun came down,
mending my heart,
and melting my frown.

Eyes piercing,
all a glow,
with a longing for me,
wanting me so.

Captivated by your stare,
seeing in my sleep in your lovely hair,
and images of your warm embrace,
though you’re not here,
my visions race,
of you,
of that first time I kissed you,
as soon as I kissed you.

As soon as I kissed you,
all was lost,
swept up in you,
damning the cost,
to be part of you,
lost,
in you.
Racing now,
is my soul,
to see you again,
I don’t care how,

Remember the dance,
remember the trance,
we were in,
as something more powerful did begin.

I see you now,
but am alone
You’ve brought light where only darkness shone.

to be close to you,
I close my eyes,
then feeling dizzy I realize,
I see you,
in a blurr.

A rush of feelings,
long lost to me,
are all awakened suddenly,

Music blaring in my head,
being with you in my bed,
Young beautiful one,
you’ve captured me,

Feel the raging river crushing me,
moving me,
washing me, with feeling for you.
I remember you,
that night with me,
Passion rising steadily,

I can see you now,
with me there,
Your face, your hair,
your body bare,
your eyes,
your hands holding me,
touching me,
carresssing me oh, so gently.

As soon as I kissed her,
I was lost.
So strong,
I fell headlong,
into a raging sea,
A sea so beautiful, You!!!
a beautiful mystery.
I’ve asked God why,
as my heart does cry,
Why? Why are you another’s?!!

Something powerful there between us,
I think you feel it too,
something beautiful,
something me,
something you…
spinning the soul that burns anew,
fires raging in love with you,
my queen, my wife, my life is you.

Butterflies do not fly very high.
They grace forest and canyon and sunny woodland glades
play on streams of light
splashing through leafy canopies.
They rise and fall.
Pass into shadow and out.
Delicate
even the light might bruise them.
Is that why
they stay close to the ground?
Are they loathe to test their wings
because they might fail?
What made that one think she’d falter?
Who told her to stay low?
Someone concerned
that the beating of her wings
might cause a hurricane.
Or that she might achieve
the full potential of flight
Touch the sky.
Climb above
The sky was never the limit.
Just a page to write on.
And yet, butterflies do not fly very high.
Even when we could carry each other up
with the collective wind
of our own beating wings.
A defiance against those
who would have us stay low
Rise.
Beyond the sky.
And if it pleases
bring forth
a fucking hurricane.

Funny how
they call them wakes
when clearly those whose lives
we hail
are very much
(at least) asleep.
Hardly, though, with him.
—–

Were nights he paced the path
between,
from yonder
toward the riverbank
…a nervous lope,
slow and nimble, loose and swift..
then bounding
shadows mad at moonlight,
rounding back to me.
—–

Umbrella open
overhead.
Perhaps afraid
the drops would melt the
mist that bore him
float
…or weigh him down,
a puddled mass of
mud and shoe and ulster
coat.
Maybe fearing drips were blessed.
Hallowed rain to
scar his skin
if flesh and
bone were still
a means by which
he held his soul within.
—–

Only once he tried
the door
…light and friendly,
easy taps like
someone late for lunch..
contrite and shy and
soft of fist.
—–

Peering out the tiny hole,
I saw but tree and hill.. the fog..
concealing all the rest.
And jumped when felt
the wood press in
as someone willed the
knob to turn
…swinging slow at their behest.
—–

Slammed it shut and
locked the bolt
and angry
banged the oaken frame.
As sooner than my hand pulled ‘way,
pain from wrist
to elbow climbed
…kin to ache of spading grave.
Whilst knelling bells from
nearby church,
tolling,
cursed the
blighted earth..
Stratum
shook beneath it when
it very nearly
buried us and maybe him
alive, again.
—–

Feeling, then, the zephyr wafting,
all my windows open wide
when whisked a whip of wind through sill.
Curtains weighed like
leaden wool,
heavy with the rain
..hung still.
A voice upon me, sweet the whisper,
“Evening John,
‘tis lonely there..
—–

“Pack thee light for never wet
…of parched ablaze with pyre dry.
Away with me as living yet.
“Same for you… as woke was I.”
—–

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

—–
–
Prayer of Loss

Oh, Lord, please take away my heart
and tear the foolish thing apart
and put it back again, I pray
so cold and hard that none
may find a way
to enter there again.

Excuse me, Sir, for this bold request
but I must have your very best.
Despite tones too hard to bear,
give this soul your best repair,
but leave it empty.

For emptiness conceals no pride
to be destroyed when a man must divide
from the one who means the world to him.
His hopes, his dreams becomes dim
and he loses her…

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

Aaliyah, by Pete Borreggine

All throughout my life,

I’ve searched for love alone,

A quest I made to find that love,

Was something I would never know,

For years I’d wonder where true love was,

And why it had forsaken me,

Years of turmoil and being left alone,

Had told me true love for me was lost,

Then, in the twilight of my life,

An angel appeared before me,

Her wings spread wide and golden hair abound,

With eyes that pierced my soul had given love new hope,

A breath of life came over me,

As she spoke my name out loud,

It was like love was new and young again,

For I knew it from in the crowd,

Aaliyah was her name,

A name that gave me life,

Her love began to grow with me,

As her way would be the light,

Aaliyah was her name,

And her love was fresh and new,

For she was the key that was the flame,

And unlocked a love anew,

All these years of loneliness and strife,

I yearned for a love so true,

And finally, here before me stands,

An angel of love, who knew,

She slowly took my hand in hers,

To guide me along the way,

Where she and I would be as one,

And take away the gray,

My heart now knows what true love is,

For Aaliyah holds the key,

To the remaining years I have with her,

Is the wonder of love I see

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

—-

Before I read Lorca
My words were blunt swords for
Slicing rotted wood
Constructing
Rackety trellises
To fortify
Pathetic castles of sand
Praying never the waves
Or even harsh winds
Ascend to my feeble heights
Where from above with disdain
Cupid mocked
My juvenile sonnets of adoration
Before I read Lorca
My muses imploded
Like small delicate fish
Swimming in a shallow stream
Scatter
As a rude rock rapes
Their calm tranquil waters
Before I read Lorca
I had never truly lived

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

(Bhagwan is God! or O God!)

As I passed a lonely temple in the after-evening glow,
On the banks of the Ganges where the quiet waters flow,
When the sun had sunk to rest and cool softness touched the air,
I saw a dark-skinned Indian and I heard him chant this prayer:

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!
You snatched away my lantern,
I’m left without a light,
My feet now tread in darkness,
Where once it all was bright.
Can I endure my life
When my dear, dear wife
Is ashes, Bhagwan?
Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

He raised his hands to heaven then he bowed down to the ground,
He wept in aching sorrow with no whisper of a sound;
I heard the water lapping where the river met the sands;
He rose from off the flagstones and again stretched forth his hands.

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!
You have snatched away my lantern,
My light of life is gone,
My heart will be in darkness
Where once she brightly shone.
Can I endure my life
When my dear, dear wife
Is ashes, Bhagwan?
Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

My heart brimmed bitter sadness as I left the temple shrine,
The pain of that poor Indian was now soul-wedged into mine.
And still do I remember, though the years have passed me by,
The hands outstretched to heaven and the anguish in that cry:

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

Morning programs for young children are quite enlightening. Squeals of delight from my granddaughter, Zoe, drew me willingly in like a magnet, one morning, overwhelmed as I was to learn what captured her interest. Over an hour we cuddled together, a special time indeed. The make-believe world she shared with me was filled to overflowing with creativity, a wonderland of learning so subtly immersive and deep. When we parted, I knew I had taken something away, tangible and yet not tangible. Nevertheless, I knew nothing counted without it; it was a treasured gift that ran so deep. Time? You might ask. Yes, would be my reply. But there was something more. A different way of seeing the world wrapped up in the love and wisdom of a six-year-old.
Thank you, sweet Zoe. I would never have written this without having spent time with you.

A group of sheep is a herd or flock;
the shepherd is never a flocker.
A volery of birds is a fleet or flight
also a pod, congregation or parcel.
While small birds’ in groups
a dissimulation is called,
a mouthful to remember indeed!
Though these words are few,
soon you’ll learn new,
to describe a flock, congregation or parcel.
A gaggle of geese look up from the ground;
while in flight a skein, a wedge of their kind take notice
of Albatross—feathered giants indeed—
in flock or rookery combined.
“Spectacular!” the geese exclaimed,
in confidence of the sighting just seen.
Until the screech from the ground
where a party of jays
made the whole thing turn upside down.
“What do jays know?” was the harsh, self-assured, raucous reply
from the murder of crows nearby.
“There’s no mystery in this!”
screeched their unison entreat,
“It just simply is.”
A committee of vultures circled the gathering
waiting for the ripe time to come down.
“Look!” alerted the fall of woodcock:
“a wake, a kettle ‘uptown.’
An exaltation of larks
drowned out the woodcocks;
while an unkindness of ravens
on their way to the barn
scared a gulp of swallows in turn.
Grouped in charms, chattering, drums or troubling
—whatever their group is called—
humming wings and twittering squeak,
the hummingbirds’ nectar reply
was to counsel the geese
and give the jays peace
the hardest wisdom to buy.
In the front of the court
a murmuration of starlings and a host of sparrows patiently sit looking on;
while a pitying of turtledoves and a rafter of turkey hope the trial will not last long.
When the learned parliament of owls finally arrived,
with white gowns all newly preened;
before they could “hoo”
a prorogue was ensued
from the charm of warbling finch.
When the bouquet of pheasant nodded support
— simply not expecting a hitch—
that’s when the ostentation of peacock
yelled “Foul play!” and called it “A BITCH!”
But,
when the owls consorted
with a sord of mallards
the tidings of magpies flew away.
Debate and rebuttal and erudite rubble
crumbled the mumble astray;
until egos did stumble
and they did fumble
apparently lost in melee.
An answer came out
—expedient no doubt—
and here’s what they had to say:
“Agreement lies far to the south…there’s simply no other way.”
Askance looks
—filled with doubts—
their dilemma chirped underway.
“Hoo, hoo-hoo, HOOH should go,
mallard or owl this day?”
“That answer is easy,”
quacked the team of ducks,
bunched up with their newly born.
A hush, like hoar-frost,
suddenly settled over
the cacophonous pod that day.
“Hmm!” said the chief owl, glaring down his nose
at the paddling of duck on the pond.
“Hoo-hoo can a bunch of ducks like you
and your brood of duckling know?”
His oppressive eyes and threatening ways
gave the ducks a stuttering blow.
Until,
a dole of doves
settled in
to defiantly stand in a row.
“Hoo, hoo-hoo, HOOH! Okay!” the chief owl yawned,
“If you must. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
A young duckling stepped forth
to firmly take hold
her bold intention precise:
“Your answer is clear! Stay here!” she exclaimed,
stamping her web-foot twice.
“But…” stumbled the owl,
trying to recover
from someone as outspoken as she:
“the… Kingdom of Penguins…
with their waddle on land and their raft in water
have wisdom greatly revered.”
“I don’t give a damn!” the duckling exclaimed
“Look around you silly old owl!”
With a paradoxical look the parliament shook,
and clearly shrugged an answer in vain;
while moans and groans as if in pain
mixed with the congregations’ disdain.
The duckling strode forth
and with her mother’s support
the duckling took center stage.
“Wait!” she cried out,
with a surprising rapport,
for someone as young as she.
With the tip of her wing, she took them all in
especially the parliament to her lee.
“The paradigm shift
is real easy to see
if only you would all listen, please.”
When the siege of herons called out their support,
the volery of birds settled down.
“Here’s my question to you,” she slowly began,
earnestly looking around.
A slight murmur arose
among all the rows
until silence reposed profound.
“How many agree ,”
she preceded her challenge,
“raise a wing if you concur,
that a flock or rockery
of Albatross in flight
is a spectacular sight to see?”
Opinions and thoughts never really sought,
the pods hesitated ever so slight.
A glance to the left,
A glance to the right,
the center led the flight.
All wings raised
—except the jays—
for what they knew was right.
The chief owl humbled,
but still shrewdly insightful,
did not let his goals go astray.
“Answers all, lie within?” He thought,
this scrupulous circumspection could pay.
His trap now laid
the duckling displayed,
scooped up so the flock could see.
His position without doubt
would now have real clout
sea to sea to sea.
Then laughter broke out
his parliament backed out
screeching pee-hoo-hoo
pee-hoo, pee-hoo at he.
When the chief owl looked down,
it was with a frown,
his white gown was all brown
below where the duckling had peed.
His plans now a shamble
by his selfish gamble
revealed by an innocent duckling like she.
When the duckling got down
she stood her ground
and the pod drew near to hear.
“Our rights are our might
—never surrender—
to someone the likes of he.
Though choices may be slender
your vote must be rendered
to ensure your destiny.”