Little creek over boulders moss under white oak.. pepper trees.. weeping willows.. an old Harley spoke..
brought feeling to this place.. magic time again.. times worth a remember.. warm circles of old friends..
My eyes turned to the brook.. filled most from underground.. feel of memory poised.. no noise quiet around.. sudden! in my dream Steamers Lane.. Stacks and more.. Demetrius ran barking.. dancing on the shore..
in my place of flying.. on a carpet dream.. a place where possible is thought love flows.. music streams.. turned my head to meow said by Sam mother of pride.. brought kittens with Junior shared my teen world from inside.. birds with words.. snakes baked on boulders where I ran.. hawk would talk from miles aloft.. message of the land..
harp played blues at Mission Beach,, atop Knob Hill could see.. alley with a white sign ‘St. James Infirmary’.. in the Haight feet took that street to Golden Gate Park.. corner of Masonic Pig Pen’s harp blue deep and stark..blues rift climbed quiet morning.. two thirty or so.. committed my blues down and dirty.. blues music deep and slow..
time layered a harp player.. there a younger me.. could not say to relay what he older may see..
voice sang an old-time blues song.. older I sung those blues.. about war false.. each useless kill.. heroes making news..
blues comes where I loved.. or hated.. love moved with a will.. notes of music from my soul..
blues is coming still..
another day.. got my ways.. always like to learn.. blues there to remind me how good love lost always burns..
Thought for this day.. No matter how I feel.. it can only be made better if seen in truth.. Peace Tony