Reflections Act I (The Bard steps out from behind the closed curtain and stands in front of it, center stage) Bard: Oh sing to me you gracious Muses, beautiful, Fair daughters of fine memory and God, divine

The forest, full of May apples, is spread Full of flat leaves, dull in the deepest shade. The single stems sprout circle leaves of jade, Some singles and some doubles, others dead. The doubles split the

I know when roses fill her breath, This morning she's been drinking tea. I wonder then what were her thoughts - Of house, of work, or even me. As honey drips slow off her spoon - An amber made, not trapping

I hate these bucket seats. The night extends Beyond the beams of light. Dark forests sweep Along the roadside. Trees the first and last Things we both see. A dark song swooning on The radio. These love

The sloping path retreating to nowhere Found me some close companions who were willing To follow me – I fell – no matter there Was not a goal – my aimless life was thrilling. My aimless wanderings ceased

When Eva watched her mother breathe her last – That last soul-breath slip past her lips so slow – She stood and shook and glared into the past, At all the recent deaths: her Uncle Joe, Her grandfather,

In all my travels I have noticed God Is fond of filling fields with yellow flowers. There’s blue and red and pink and white – how odd It’s golden yellow glowing after showers Sow fields with water blown

A new god came into the world, a being More timeful, far above the rest of man. He was more capable of knowing, seeing The world the new technology began. The world all came to see the great new god, And

The prophet’s words cannot be heard by those Who love him most and know him growing up. At home, they think you only boast – who knows You as they do? They ask, “Who is this pup?” Why share with them the

An open spray of dancing-dolls cascading Down my wall, flowers in chestnut and gold, Was hardly enough to warm up the fading Sun within me, the fire had lost its hold. On seeing you, I felt a deep delight

I watch you wander through the garden path – A breeze awakens your hair’s raven sea – The birds are interrupted at their bath And fly away from you, as you from me. Why won’t you turn to me, let soft words

The bluets blossom in the East, blue flowers With yellow centers spread in pointillist Flats flowering on mosses that resist The growth of weeds and any grass that towers Above and threatens them with

My Muse, the gift of God and memory, Is silent, doesn’t always speak to me With her crepe myrtle lips or skipping feet That dance out lines in a butterfly beat – I chastise her and here she is, divine

When we see Sappho marry Barthelme, The art of words will be renewed, and free.

A flower, a butterfly with black body sits Spread open, black opening wide, opening its Lips to let us kiss its yellow and orange living Mouth that is inviting and always most giving To us. Spread for

I see the golden city open up to me. It’s nothing I can build; it’s nothing you can build. The gates have swung to, opening up. Now I see What every single man has dreamed of all his life – A golden city

In the shallowest, deadliest seas of the earth, The unknowable, the darkest of all The abysses have swallowed the call Of the sirens – the deadliest dangers give berth To the swirling and darkness that

I spent six years to try to be A scholar of biology – Who knew that I would find more life When it joined with philosophy – I made them husband and good wife, Existing now in loving strife.

I have come to a wall – I found joy. A canvas. At last. A place to play. It’s not a sad place – it is a toy, A challenge to make me want to stay. But first I must defuse these old bombs Our misery’s tradition

Although Melina’s only two, She knows just what she wants to do. She wants to own a kitty-cat. She wants to have one, that is that. Her mommy has a friend with cats Whose job it is to chase the rats Down