Sweet Caroline, the Diamond of the Tenderloin
Take a little trip with my sister
she is schizophrenic
her thoughts bubble and blister
hallucinogenic hallucinogenic
in a mud puddle, they would jump
and that’s the day she started training for Navy Seal Team 6
a tiger leaped from the water
and strangled a bear with a coat
muddy puddle reflecting fractured clouds
canvas for wild leaps and whispered dreams.
Swallowed up by murk.
Then, a spark, a jolt.
They, whoever they may be, take flight.
Not birds, not leaves,
but something wilder, propelled by some primal urge.
A splash, a burst of laughter, the echo of dreams taking flight.
That’s the day, you declare,
voice echoing in the empty mind-scape.
Navy SEAL Team 6. The toughest, the fiercest, a whisper of legend.
And from a muddy puddle, a seed is sown.
Not an acorn, but a steel thorn,
The leap from childhood joy to a future carved in grit and salt.
But the dream twists and shifts.
A tiger erupts from the stagnant water.
A beast of myth, teeth like daggers, roars tearing through the serene sky.
A twisted dance of nature’s whims?
A layer of enigma, of past victories?
Spinning screaming a kaleidoscope of questions
tumbling through the void
The dream, the tiger, the bear, the leap—
what dreams, what tigers, what whispered futures await?
Street musicians and the soft glow of moon dust,
bathed in silence;
yet their souls do sing
saxophones that weep and violins that hum sing
bombinate.
Notes mingle, a symphony of the city’s beating heart.
Above, the moon’s cloak spills
diamond dust across the velvet canvas of the night.
You see, she loves this kind of thrills,
wee little specks and sparkles,
a tiny star dancing in the inky expanse.
No stars, no scars just a bit darker
music trips the leopard,
silent pounce a brushstroke of pure adrenaline.
Tiger lands with a silken whisper, claws retracting,
eyes like molten amber scanning the scene.
The city is music. etched with stories untold.
The doors stand resolutely closed,
portals to a thousand hidden narratives.
The tiger, the diamond dust juxtaposed,
whispering promises of laughter and tears,
whispering secrets and forgotten melodies.
This green hell of an adventure…
the jungle’s emerald embrace,
Sunlight dapples the water
and moss-covered stones … exposed.
Seal Team 6, don’t you know
surprised, but not beaten in battle by a marauder
Beanstalks, impossibly tall and thick
an arching canopy,
in that shade, free thinkers tinker
with a simple time trick.
Leaves rustle, rustle
like whispers of giants.
Her smile as bright as the flash of a hummingbird’s wings
The path ahead is overgrown, a maze
a long long maze, a crazed
tangle of roots and thorny vines.
The long way home
meanders through sun-dappled meadows
and sleepy village domes
a mischievous imp wearing gold lame peeking
through forgotten gardens
shimmers like spilled coins
on a lawn of clover and honey.
a butterfly with paper wings,
A small boy whispers to a dandelion,
there is a goldfish in a bowl
shimmering like spilled coins on a lawn of clover and honey.
dandelion whispers back in seeds of wishes,
a rogue robin chases pigeons with wings of wonder
A newspaper rustles,
headlines flapping like nervous birds.
Words, ink-stained refugees from forgotten stories,
dance in the gutter breeze,
whispering secrets to stray leaves.
From where did that come?
hurtling toward altars of neon noon
somewhere, between the roar and the ripple,
a quiet counterpoint to the city’s symphony.
A lone guitarist strums forgotten lullabies,
fingers weaving whispers of hope into the fabric of the day.
Attention, the fickle butterfly, alights on the melody,
The goldfish pause,
The cars, for a fleeting moment, slow their chase,
the echo of laughter softening in the music’s embrace.
And in that space between the asphalt and the sky, the concrete jungle
woven from moonlight and spider silk,
piercing the velvet sky.
Streets paved with stardust and river pebbles,
and Whimsical creatures,
catching the starlight in a million twinkling shards.
Tattered and bewildered,
stumbled into disgrace, yes it’s a simple song to my soul.
Walking for nine years
we painted our stories onto its sky,
wove our dreams into its fabric,
running to the roar and the ripple,
the storm still rages beyond the rift,
climb the crystal towers, dance with the starlit
crimson cliffs cradled a cobalt cove,
a crescent carved by crashing, churning seas.
We clung to the path, pebbles under our toes
tracing the trail
through fields of fragrant fennel
and forests of fragrant fir.
Sunlight, slung low, speared through towering trees,
dappling the ferns in fiery flickers.
Fear fluttered in feathered form,
a robin flitting through the foliage,
a red breast beauty;
rustling leaves whispering secrets, the path unravels
barren, not yet bloomed into a Dawn dusted the distant dunes,
Painting the horizon in hues of honey and rose.
Hearts hammering like hummingbirds’ wings
below, nestled in a valley of velvet green, a village shimmered,
meandering streams beneath
bridges of blossom-laden boughs
spanning the murmuring water.
We skipped off on a venture,
we found our way—not by needle and north star,
but by the fire in our souls,
bathed in the golden glow of sunrise,
we knew, with hearts as clear as the cobalt cove,
some paths don’t need a compass,
just a flicker of faith and a yearning for home.
Hearts ablaze and voices raised
Crimson clouds clung to the crest of the craggy cliffs,
casting long, leathery shadows across the lichen-laced landscape
to the whims of wind and weather.
Wind, a wild weaver, its mournful howl
whipped at our weather-beaten cloaks
We were pilgrims, gazing upon
the moon, a pearl in the velvet sky.