poet and painter from Clearwater (FL-USA) is since a friend and appreciated contibuting artist to the projects of our Arts Association ...

his lyrics are inspiring and greatly supporting the spiritual in arts.

here some from his magic creations and a spiritual glance at ANNAPOLIS

Let me be your fire.
When passions grow cold whose faces stare with despair,
I will warm your senses like colors of new-born Spring,
Alive like sweet buds blossing in air
Or song from the nightingale's romance
To dreams oozing from your still eyes before
Dark night is dead.

Shifting shadows, lost loves appear.
How they tease the mind, impale a fragile heart.
But I your jinni,
Like ubiquitous gods saved ancient day
Shall cloak you in the mysteries of my might
And by my duty keep vigil at your side
Until omninous night is safe.

Make me your harp
Even as the ocean sighs.
What if my waves are crashing like its own?
The passion of our tone
Will wash harmonies so sweet upon the shore
That lost stars be seen
And forsaken winds cry no more.
The seas of gloom, dark antipathies flee
And love reborn out of the dying eve.

Summertime

Fanciful summertime
frolicsome afternoon
glassy-eyed butterflies
with spirits commune.

Whimsical notion
uptone light and gay
like purling ocean
carefree poet's lay.

Frivolous make-believe
bring colors abstract
fantasies we weave
World answers back.

Spell-bounding fairytales
dwarves of Wilderland
wizardly of Oz
castles made of sand.

Mystical melodie
imagery divine
be wanton livingness
to one's heart's design:

In one heart of heart's
where fancy plays charade
magical illusions
like summer parade.

The Way Goes On
(inspired from wisual work by Pier Paderni)

I looked and saw your eyes
in the color of the glass
Like the traveller sees the path
in the footsteps of the grass;
And I thought, "O me! I now recall
The lone white road and starlight's fall".

I looked and saw your earth
in the color of your eyes
Like a youngling sees a dream
in the iris of the skies;
And I thought "O me! Lest I forget
And bring about much dreadful fret".

I looked and saw your soul
in the color of my heart
Like the miner sees the gold
in the chasm of the rock;
And I thought, "O me! What I don't know,
What must be hidden beneath the lock".

And then I saw myself
in the color of the glass
Like the petrel sees the storm
in the roiling of the sea;
And I thought, "O me! I'm not a form.
O me! It's me I really see".

Ode to the Innere Notwendigkeit
(The Inner Need from Wassily Kandinsky's
Concerning the Spiritual In Art)

At the shadows of twilight
when the cadmium sphere is washed by the sea,
the cerulean bar which shone clear like crystal,
bring as the purist lapis lazuli-
irradiatingly translucent to endless heavens -
I sit and watch its golden layers flee
like frightened vapors scattering in air,
drawing ever fainter, even weaker,
as do the azure mirrors laid streched across the sea.
But arrive the mystic moment of dream-silence
where the solitude of night awakens
colors my ears have not heard
sounds my eyes have never seen.

But with the flat band of evening air
descends about the World a contracting florescence.
Impinging its sacrilege, the vesperal invader
spares no image untouched
from the blurred rim of the horizon to the star's height
plays the waning dirge.
Departed, the iridescent hues of day
scored from Nature's pure canvas as with a scalpel,
and leaving Heaven's blue dome
void, vaulted, glazed.

Th' monotone of th' cicada song soothes my eyes with blue;
my ears chinme with th' rustle of th' violet wind.
Ivory moonbeams cool th' burnst umbered earth,
and they splash like th' fall of th' rumbling waves;
the ol' night owl casts his probing watch
whose golden eyes the ocher rays of day.
And fireflies sparkle within th' even night
with hectic zigzags illumine my fleeting sight,
as I hear th' soaring skylark trill
it's sweetest air of th' broad day-light.
I hear the rainbow play its colored xylophone,
see th' teeming bowers gleam kaleidoscopic tone;
th' clouds upon their sailing rack dance the minuet;
th' gardens bloom with roses pink and white and red:
th'sounds of th' night, the colors of th' day,
th' sounds of th' day, the colors of the night.

I do not need the light of day
to create my own illusions,
nor must I plead for time, neither space;
for my eyes may hear and my ears may see
what the earth desires to feel:
every hue, every sound, every Truth which exist
are all of th' spirit, the unshadowed real.