sounds of water flowing
empty
digestion soothed
sounds of water
empty
digestion sounds of water
empty
rock flowing
empty digestion
soothed
Poetry with Titles
This is the direct link to my webpage at Outskirts.com with the ordering information for my first novel, ‘Real Magic’.
“Poetry with Titles”
New poems added weekly. There are a total of 178 poems in this folder. Newest poems are now at the top.
—————
“How often do they fade”
forever downstream it goes
her voice
loving
chiding
only if there is sound
will her echoes
remind me
long ago
vows we made linger
strained
tattered
still can hear the quaver…
have you ever remembered a vibration in your ear ringing your mind as if Murano glass blown centuries past suddenly appeared on your table while you with your lover sucked strawberries dipped in molten dark chocolate sipping a vintage too robust for words?
————-
“Three dimensional delusions”
nothing is real
everything a mirage
music only vibrations
flowers only vibrations
silky skin only vibrations
oh what a glorious deluded existence
think
chocolate
wine
sex
phantom blue light streaming from distant inferno
all of that meaningless
we cannot ever know place and vector simultaneously
to us
our minds present an unbreakable chain of events
one step
two breaths
three kisses
four orgasms
five tears
six seconds
seven hours
eight days
nine years
ten times ten becomes faded dreams and pressed rose petals
only a gossamer bubble are we
alive because we believe
the music
the flowers
the silky skin
all deluding the mind
roaring defiantly at the indifferent cosmos
I am here
I exist
only the present quantum collapsing wave front of probability is real
past
and future
did not/will not/never was/never will be
cast aside your mind
tell it to be quiet
pause
extend the present into infinity
————-
“In wise eyes”
during the storm with sleet piling high
four weeks before the norm she arrived
tearful parents prayed she would survive
named her Grace by somber sunrise
a father’s love
a mother’s hope
nurtured dreams
within her soul
grew up slowly
without fear
saw only truth
in wise eyes
followed by siblings no longer alone
dignified grace she welcomed them home
bothers and sisters each thoughts unknown
being eldest not role to despise
a father’s love
a mother’s hope
nurtured dreams
within her soul
grew up slowly
without fear
saw only truth
in wise eyes
competitive voice pushed her hard
on school stage all roles were starred
blessed by friendship still kept her guard
poised grace behind vibrant disguise
a father’s love
a mother’s hope
nurtured dreams
within her soul
grew up slowly
without fear
saw only truth
in wise eyes
moving away she bade fond farewell
held in high grace rang pure as a bell
reckless young boy thrust through her spell
left new life behind plans to revise
a father’s love
a mother’s hope
nurtured dreams
within her soul
grew up slowly
without fear
saw only truth
in wise eyes
—————————
“Seeking divine intervention”
couldn’t remember why
on her knees
again
idling motor
impatient fingers gripping
see nothing
hear everything
suppress panic
no place to run
hiding never worked
only the rats ever understood
dignity was a luxury
later
sleep elusive
window open to smothering heat
sudden zephyr
scrap enters
an A
she laughs
mocking sound
alien in the hostile night
so
she leaves
enough take for a ticket away
first bus
a single bag
bottle
memories fade with hiss of brakes
over the driver’s shoulder
sunrise
one hundred miles traveled
three more ahead
wind tower spins
steady shadows
blink
blink
blink
reflection off the blade enters
an N
she smirks
fellow jetsam oblivious
they snore
examines dirty sneakers
swaying aisle
restroom in rear
accepts a twenty
renders service
a girl needs to eat
maybe it’s noon
or two o’clock
hardy matters
wise now to the ways of transit
avoids procurers
cops
good samaritans
locks stall to count
only two-fifty
blank stare
normal graffiti of numbers
lies and slanders
over the dispenser
a lurid orange mark
a G
fleeing now
anger
fury
rage
never answered before
another quick blow
feels nothing
contempt
meal value
stomach rumbles in protest
inner-city crowd
she blends in
even with color
clothes worn
faces worse
children everywhere with mothers
hard-eyed men watch
count
change
carefully
sit
unfolds paper napkin for lap
tucks another under chin
manners
always manners
bloody juice
cheese and pickles
sauce reminds her
there
on the wrapper
printed on the shiny foil
an E
this time
finishes burger
evacuates
washes hands
lifeless eyes in pitted glass
she wonders
about the sink
would it stain
does it hurt
finds herself outside
lost as ever
walking
concrete covered with old gum
fresh vomit
brown bottles
and homeless
she smiles now
all the comforts
a grate
some cardboard
patched coat
no need for prayers
looks to the skies
sun sets behind towering city center
black finger touches slum
an L
head down
she sprints
ignoring the feathers
probably left by scattering pigeons
fear pounding
lungs bursting
trips
curses fluently
fingers ripped jeans
notices red dripping
levers up
she’s left something behind in the shape of
an S
only now does she break
racking sobs
huddled inward
her mind rebels
she cannot
will not
ever believe
an angel
would care about her
————————————
“Full frontal poetry”
you like it
don’t lie
I can tell
your pupils
throbbing pulse
open stance
thrust and parry
my words penetrate
or maybe
you suck
swallow offering
shiny skin
reveal all
a quick rinse
tell me more
read out loud
the one about love lust
finch whistles behind muslin
frangipani swirls
cool cotton
satin arm draped
fingers playing
raising the dead
concentrate on reciting
warmth encases
slowly rocking
my words penetrate
the bell rings
startled
we glance
hold knowing smiles
full frontal poetry
nothing’s better
you like it
I can tell
———————-
“all roads are not smoothly paved”
Faith. What it is? For these pilgrims, faith is hope, faith is joy, faith is love. They come. The lame. The sick. The handicapped seeking a miracle. Not for them the skepticism of non-belief. On foot. In wheelchairs and litters they come. Some alone. Some surrounded by family. They come for reasons both tragic and divine. Each a journey unique and identical. Some on smooth tarmac. Some on rutted tracks. Life. Expressed in terms of roads, we all take different routes, in different vehicles. Some in luxury. Some on calluses. Some die. We all die. But for these pilgrims, death is not the end. Faith tells them the road merely changes surfaces. Healed or not, most leave this sacred place lighter in spirit. Ready to once more take to the road of suffering and pain. Who exactly is alive here?
——————-
“some will never see”
to be blind, not to see the dawn
how would it be?
never know colors, light
clouds above, grass below
a cat, a hawk soaring on thermals
rain, gentle torrents rushing
lightning, scorched oak
puddles filled with life
drying air, currents flow
at last, the rainbow
then night, we sleep
creatures of the day
waiting for dawn
some will never see
————————————-
“The terror of darkness”
locked in a pit
no illumination
only fetid damp
and writhing worms
for companions
remember flowers
cerulean skies
tangy ozone
life bursting out
up, up, up
oubliette is external
a prison of man
built to forget
destroy
kill
in my mind
live in the dark
waiting for the door
hearing nothing
seeing less
no escape
hope left long ago
desire followed
until now
only despair
blind to truth
they come
together lifting me
showing
ladders of love
gnarled fingers slip
strong arms catch
weak soul rebels
soft lips coerce
everywhere pink
—————————-
“Somehow we arrive at the end without ever buying a ticket”
We have a finite number of days
of breaths between life
and death
the journey through space-time takes minutes
and hours
and years
through it all
we watch
out dirty windows
and closed doors
while the world rushes by in a panoply of choices
We have a finite number of days
———————-
“She should have listened to her mother”
warnings unheeded
too sophisticated
all she believed
read on blogs
sex was free
a girl never feared
until
one night
lit from a fingernail moon
and four raspberry vodkas
she fell in love
a man
in the way never real
yet
tall dark and handsome
all the same
paid in cash
took her home
stripped her
kissed her
restrained her
and then ate her heart
while she begged
for more orgasms
in the morning
he paid cash
the taxi came
she went
minus her heart
sore
unhappy
pleaded to remain
he slammed the door
she cried
and never loved again
—————————————–
her reign was not without pain
her children liked to play in the rain
when she pulled back the rein
they started to complain
so she had to explain
how hard the campaign
being a mother was such a drain
and unless they wanted the cane
then quickly inside my domain
where oatmeal you may obtain
as long as you remain
and kindly refrain
from breaking the pane
or swinging the chain
perhaps slicing a vein
if high spirits you can contain
then we will try to ascertain
how else we can entertain
in a shoe so mundane
but at least we’ll be out of the lane
————————————
“No matter how much you write the thoughts never quite come out right”
he stands
you kiss
order
chat
connect
he pays
you offer
he declines
never calls again
—————————————————
“Not part of the past after all”
leather did little to cut the wind – winter close – blue bridge above – crackling brittle underfoot
warm kitchen – dense food
to be here – under the plane tree – is it any wonder we wore a mask
She slept
He walked
How do we go back – to what came before – how does time reverse
we can’t stroll the cobbled hopes of our youth when love was breathless and hope an abstract painting propped up by government grants
How large is your closet – now – filled with boxes: shelves: post-consumer plastic containers: bags – school mask = dating = sex for the first time =relationship/heartbreak/breakup/dating =jobjobjobjobjobjob= mask – mask hiding pain – not part of the past after all
——————————————–
“does it really make sense?”
varied size glass screens
synchronized images move
pretend I know them
people living far away
hard wall between we call time
——————————————————
“No one does melancholy right”
I fancied I could sense the haze rising from the peppercorns.
There.
In the market.
Old men and older women.
Dark brown leather.
Etched seams filled with dust.
High-pitched wails beseeching my attention and coin.
I saw none of this.
My eyes downcast refused to acknowledge wisdom.
Sympathy.
Understanding.
All was there for my salvation.
Failure met success and I shied.
Without my robe.
My staff.
Me.
I was nothing.
A spirit not of this world.
I could not reach out and none turned from their labors to say:
The man who tries to change his destiny through emulation of another should study instead how the peppercorn simultaneously burns and transforms simple mash into manna worthy of gold platters served to the mightiest leader ever foretold.
——————————————–
“The flashlight needs new batteries”
stuffy
under grandma’s quilt
the one she made for your birthday out of goat hair
you smiled a child’s smile
given when crying isn’t a wise option
tonight
the party continues
adults drinking and laughing
talking as grownups do when the kids are out of earshot
the roar swells and recedes in regular intervals
while you
with your favorite Radio Shack flashlight
read
read of dragons and hobbits
of magic rings
and mad dwarves
and wizards older than time
and elves older still
you walk and ride as the sounds of your parent’s friends become the vocalization of a story you never imagined could be written
waking next morning
book on the floor
hand grasping the light
the soft maternal murmur calling you to breakfast
without hobbits
but they are still there
inside
part of your mind forever
———–
“It is so heavy Master”
smooth against my callouses, it lay. a bar of pure gold, heavy, the weight of two ripe melons, plucked from the vine and sold the same morning in the market.
however
as I pointed out to my lustful apprentice, when he gazed with slack jaw and rapturous eyes upon the bane of men, melons will keep you alive in the searing heat of dry summer.
so will gold he drooled.
true
if
you are not beaten, robbed, murdered for the lump of metal deemed worth more than an ass. A fine ass I might add is worth more than you can know.
do you have a fine ass?
Alas, I do not
my ass is slow and stubborn. He refuses to work between third and forth calls to prayer. No matter how I use the stick, my ass simply sits on his ass and sleeps.
then use the gold to buy another ass, one that will work between third and forth calls to prayer.
I would, if this bar of pure gold were mine
however
it is not mine
it belongs to God
for he
not an ass
decides when men should work, and when they should pray. This object, this soft metal you crave so much, it is temptation, it is written we should resist the call of wealth, when that call drowns all other calls. Do not be an ass like my ass. Work and prayer, those are the twin pillars of faith.
can I touch it?
my ass?
no! The gold!
————————————————-
“The Vanishing Point”
contrails condense
robin’s egg blue
real ones
the birds
flock/frolic in the rain
one high
and low
wings
move beyond
the vanishing point
where sky curves
and earth
goes on forever
wouldn’t it be nice
once
to go as they do
blowing the curve
———————————-
in the deep dark
before others awake
I rise
sandwiched between my loves
stagger into the door
cats yawn
blink against the lamp
another work morning
leaving warmth behind
every week I wonder why
————————————————————
we are not evolved to live in this age
the more we are exposed
the less we know
angry debates
become
chaos
chaos
becomes
our existence
hated focal point
ranting voices lobbying
we are not evolved to survive this age
BEHOLD!!!!!!!!
TURTLE CAT!!!!!!!!
—————————————————–
“pain feels good”
if every surface was silver
or linoleum
we’d never get sick
if every memory was perfect
or happy
we’d never get angry
I never think of you between the hours of sunrise and sunrise
how you reached in and tore out my hope
ate it raw
right there
in front of my crying
mushed up
hiccuping diaphragm
then sneering
slapped my face
it was then
the past became an anchor
the scent of summer
fresh cut hay
motes dancing in zephyrs brought east from cool reaches and snow-capped peaks teasing of stories wrapped in deer-hide fringes and scalps
the cast iron chain plunges off the capstan
I go with it
I don’t bother holding my breath
I want to drown
funny how water’s not much of a trampoline
not much use ingesting water without gills
kinda makes a person dead real quick
except if icy
the brain freezes before necrobiosis begins
that’s how I felt
after you slapped me
my brain died
I died
all that made up me flew away
on wings of thirty pound paper
bound in leather
and cardboard
characters more real than life
now I no longer have any idea who is ‘me’
me is a composite of brilliant authors
their past creating my future
and now
today
being slapped
was the best thing that ever happened to me
——————————-
“Can’t let go”
There is a fine line at the junction of anger and hate. It’s hard to let go. Hard to understand the past is past and nothing; no therapy, no drugs, nothing can ever erase the pain of abuse. Anger fuels despair. The hopeless feelings of worthlessness lead to self-abuse and suicide. Hate of them becomes hate of self. The meeting point of these two powerful emotions becomes not a way-point but a permanent dwelling of shame. To forgive them is not a betrayal nor an acceptance of the abuse. It is an essential step away from the junction and towards healing the open wounds. Forgiving does not mean going back, forgiving does not mean continuing as a victim. Without forgiveness of self, the anger and hate will ultimately consume whatever remnant of hope still flickers in the soul.
———————
“What makes order in my mind”
ragged or perfect, a spider’s web is proof of our desire to explore. we use it in context of breaking apart, yet, a real web is strong, useful. when the ordered files in the mind blow in gales, scattered to the four winds, lost in a honeycomb, something catches them. for me. love. snared in sticky silk, piece by piece order returns. i can’t help but love. it’s the nature of the thing.
——————————————————-
“The annoying buzz in the ears which, when working, is such a distraction”
I punch in, on time, every time
desire is strong to leave
but
weekly pay
equals
weekly bills
so
to distract
and annoy
I write
at work
in my mind
solo
group
mixed up creative thoughts
lately
she’s been quiet
ill
I miss her input
she’ll return
someday
and we will write together
the sum greater
than the two minds
buzzing as one
______________________________________________
“Conversation Stilted”
past lives in the tarot – future unrolls in weighted dice – spinning in place – behind – ahead – behind – ahead – memories unceasing in each and every word spoken by family – friends – lovers – work in progress- grasping for logic in reactions – behind – there lies danger and fear – ahead – there lies opportunity and happiness – advice should always be positive – reflection should always be negative – there lies the success of fortunetellers – the client is always right – when always wrong – chicken bones – tea leaves – bloody entrails – none are truth – in each present – each single moment of living – we are reborn – remade – remolded – reincarnated as a different person that we were a moment ago – advice is free – so is pain – so is love – so live in the moment – reinvent your story and abandon the horoscopes – the I Ching – the Magic 8-Ball – luck is no coincidence – neither is coincidence lucky – we make our presents out of flawed pasts and fantastic futures – that’s it? – I’m not paying for this – this sucks! – where’s my fortune cookie?
_______________________________________________
“The guilt grows and grows”
remembering touch so fleeting so ethereal was she even here in my arms
where have the memories gone why do they haunt my days my nights
the twilight fades
it leaves
shame does not
guilt shines in deepest dark and brightest hate
Oh Lord! Where do I turn I need something a sign a portent the pain drives me
to drive
and drive some more
never escaping shame
pain elusive
ever elusive
ever present
sometimes
life
why
what is the point
until
you meet someone
elusive friend
shame flares
but
all tides ebb
all cycles return
pain never leaves
but in the right arms
hope heals
____________________________
“And I’m wondering”
what would happen
if I continued
my descent
lips close
breath sweet
eyes wide with wonder
trepidation
desire
what would happen
if I continued
our first kiss
__________________________________
“The Judge”
If ever there was a man born to hang,
it was the scofflaw
Lester
he’d steal a pittance
in his haste not,
to conform
extend his trembling limb
grasp the sweet confection
then scurry, scurry
hide in clover
away from the limelight
sucking the plum pastry
until only the husk remained
soon the judge found him
on his hip
sprawled in sleep
the only remedy
to succor the multitude
of angry citizens
was to grab Lester firmly
by the scruff of the neck
and listen to him purr
as he washed his face clean
of purple stains
___________________________________
I sit
sun in my eyes
drone of lawnmower
chirp of birds
I sit
another holiday Monday
out of bed
out of sorts
wondering where my Muse is
what tropical island claims her now
that bitch!
______________________________________________
“Don’t give up the reason you are here”
in the land of plenty
there was discontentment
fear
anger
poverty
hunger
rape
murder
disease
and all that hardship
all that pain
was the key
the key to everlasting life
or so the churches would preach on high
and behind walls
doors
glass
holding at bay
those in need
the key
the only needed was not
in fact
religion
but government
that was the solution to all the problems besetting a hostile nation
not so cried the mobs
it is corporations that care the most
paying benefits and wages
profit to few
tokens to many
a white shirt flaps in autumn’s cooling breeze
starched
pressed with love and a heavy heart
silk ties pawned for food
Sunday’s sermon does not fill belly
Monday’s alarm clock no longer buzzes
Tuesday’s talking heads make no sense
what was the key to life?
Wealth?
Comfort?
The two-car garage and five-star vacation with maid service and turn-down?
Love?
Is that the key?
Tell me gentle reader, does love conquer all or is life simply all there is?
What is your key
__________________________________________
“Hot meals and utensils”
Every Sunday, at the local Methodist church, after the 9:30 service, a group of volunteers, most from the church, but not all, went downstairs. Below the vestry and the waterline – the basement had been resealed last month – there was a kitchen, a storage room with long folding tables, chipped and battered, not unlike the congregation; still serviceable, needing replacement parts, too expensive for now. Long years of practice, a gracious ballet, chores done willingly, yet, every Sunday, there was more to do and less to offer. By 11:30, the side door opened, the line, patient; seamed faces, ragged cuffs, whimpering babies, vacant stares waiting, waiting for a free meal: for most, the only food of the day.
“Hot meals and utensils”
more to do
less to offer
always patient
they waited
every Sunday
a free meal
long folding tables
chipped and battered
they waited
only food of the day
———————–
Haiku
———————–
free meal they waited
more to do less to offer
long folding tables
———————————–
“Dragon ships to double glazing”
from the outside
no one ever writes
a façade, harmonious balance
ascetic ranges
banal to austere
praise for form
scorn for function
hide and bone
gave way to turf and stone
human scale caves
portable or not
soon, the eye needed access
to feel safe
the wind brought danger
_______________________________________
quiet now
at long last
my inner voice
not what I want
I want passion
excitement
a reason to live
my inner voice
says
who cares
quiet now
too much so
still fighting the shadows
of long ago
_______________________________________________
“Stillness is not natural”
cross-legged
wool scratchy
roll bottom
eye cushion, tassels call out for comfort
stern rejoinder
square shoulders
unfocused
deep exhalation
mind clear
mind clear
mind clear
mind clear, tap on knee
tilt forward
…long pause…
rock back
deep inhalation
mind clear
mind clear, an itch, on the thigh, fingers flex
eyes open, look down, again
…longer pause…
mind not clear
must have been the spiced lentils
or maybe the lamb
there is not a djinn, squatting on my person
is not
mind clear
mind
I do not see you
I do not hear you
I do not want you here disturbing my meditation
go away
mind clear
mind clear, a slap on the cheek, hand whisks frantically
laughter, mocking laughter
why you!
tension, boiling pressure, ragged and harsh breathing
that’s it!
no more
stillness is not natural
Leaving so soon?
Master. I cannot do this, I have not the patience, not the understanding needed to go within
Perhaps then, instead, you could simply ask your little guide, he knows what to do.
_________________________________________
without a reflection…
…I would not recognize the stranger before me. All angles and lines worn deep with worry. Avoiding the inevitable
by turning off the light
the stranger
utters a pungent oath, walks away, finds a salty puddle
sees without a reflection.
————————————
“The Flowing Blindfold”
fear – it oozes-
puddles at my dirty feet, calloused,
bleeding – quivering lower lip – fear
it slides, harsh words, hard men, harder use
fear – it melts – forty flavors
and none,
for me: only fear – fear only… everything,
everyone hurts
lack sight, knowledge, to fear normal
to become someone else, different, better?
Please? – no, no… please…
to swallow anything but that! Not again!
unmoved by tears
uncaring
unable – years of thought
finally understood
mother was afraid too
——————————————–
“Bricks and Sticks”
I worry about money
but I’m fine
I worry about health
but I’m fine
I worry about waking up
going to sleep
eating out
and dining in
I worry about being too light
but I’m fine with being dark
I worry about growing old
but I’m fine
I worry about youth
but I was fine when I was young
it was everyone else
who had to worry
I’m fine
no really
I’m fine
no need to worry on my behalf
it’s fine to worry
just not
about that
—————————————-
“The Nature of things”
without a watch, a clock, a timepiece of some kind
the day is both long and too short
yesterday,
in the morning
when the sun rose in a clear blue sky
tossed with flakes of white and gray
this gladiola
in the yard
faced that sun with anticipation
chemical processes both creating and destroying
an endless means of life
today,
in the morning
there is no sun
slate blanket wringing out a steady patter of liquid
thirsty soil
soaked with last night’s two inches
eagerly swells for more
the four month rainy season
has begun
————————————————-
“Learning to care”
it matters not
the circumstances
of our lives
sometimes
it’s too easy
to pull away
the overwhelming
sorrow
and rage
it appears so daunting
emotionally
it is
far
far
safer
to withdraw
and huddle
upon
the past
hurts
the
present pain
the future
fears
gripping the soul
and creating
a truly
awful
disconnect
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Love and Hate consumed by Locusts before the Drought but after the Harvest of Millet”
There are no fat farmers
in the land of honey and dates, the land
the lacerated land groans with anguished
cries of slaves worked past edge of endurance
then beyond, beyond the tenth well to the northeast,
northeast of the brick city housing the magistrate
voice of the sultan, collector of taxes, the law without
mercy
or grace
or compassion
what does he know of the labor, of the blood, of the calluses, of the broken bones and broken hearts of the peasants toiling before sunrise and after sunset to fill not their shrunken bellies but to swell his growing coffers.
what does he know?
he knows not of love and hate
those twin passions
consumed by locusts before the drought, but after,
much after the harvest of millet
a fine, fine harvest it was
for the farmer and his new bride,
married with words
and deeds,
the cycle of seed injected into fertile womb
truly a splendid event, the ritual spilling of virgin’s tears on the moist tilled soil to ensure a bountiful crop and it
worked, yes it did, in both ways that mattered,
the fecund womb and
robust green shoots, both competing, racing to the end, the nine months of labor
culminating with most of the crop taken
as is the norm
giving voice the newborn wails, the cries of hunger and discomfort succored only by nipple and warm milk
one more mouth and one less worker, for now, for a week
for in the field, the stubble tilled under, seeds reserved and bright sun ignites the earth
and passion
for him
not for the mother overwhelmed
duty now clear
produce sons
or else
——————————————-
“Underneath…”
…I wore a black silk thong
to match my hair
and the custom corset
that normally was worn
only for bondage nights
increased my natural pallor
to match the clouds
not because
as was said by the mother
of the groom
I was ill with dread at
marrying perfection
admittedly a portrait appearing to be
from Bram Stoker
however
it is a lovely church
and the birds
black to match
my stockings
not my mood
are only common crows
foreshadowed with lens
not doom
it’s not what you think
it never is
so look again
and remember
when it last was
that you dressed
beyond the norm
——————————————–
“Instead of…”
boarding my train
attache in hand
the office called
where are you?
late, I said,
why?
instead of coming to work today
I decided to dance
be back tomorrow
having fun instead
———————————————
“I used to have wings”
up there
in the wisps of condensation
solar radiation burning my flesh
up there
I once soared
——————————————–
“Batting”
the opposite of attention
is ignoring
the desires and hopes
dreams
a passion for something
anything
anything at this point would be better than the nothing that exists within the vast space between past and future where once was hope and excitement and now
now
what is left is quiet
so
I refuse to listen and
instead
find fault in everything and everyone but most of all
I’m tired of being berated by myself
it’s time to watch some more television
———————————————
“Chocolate and Depression”
Papa chortled at my earnest tale
hunks of greasy sausage muffling his hilarity
crooked teeth, stained by nicotine and tannin
missing molars, floppy mustache quivering
cheeks burning, how I hate eating with the family
smoky flesh
rolled into wobbly chairs
prints several decades out of fashion, opinions centuries old and
stupid
at first, I mistook the crowds to be watching an execution
the garish victims impaled
like roasted goats on a spit, the blood flowing
and popping in the cherry wood flames piled high beneath the wretched souls
my little brother
- the stinking and festering rat, long may he suffer a terrible wasting disease of the nether regions-
kicks me hard under the table
fists clench, bangs flick, I concentrate,
instead,
on the faded lily pattern,
eyes tracing the same path as every, single, meal, before
my fork pushing the potatoes
gathering the gravy into a single lake, the dam could burst at any time
gloating secret smile, wouldn’t that be neat, bobbing, bloated corpses
only me
finally aloneWe have apples for dessert
———————————————
“Before and After”
before
there was a puzzled sense of knowledge
of being alone
alone
in a vast expanse of words
imagine
imagine that everything you see
everything you touch
taste
is based on
patterned upon
compared to a book you’ve read
life is the fiction
not novels
those are real to me
those are my life
not memories
after
there is a giddy sense of freedom
a secret that no one else knows
well
except all of you
and the world
at least those that have read about me
it’s still a secret though
because we have a different knowledge now
unique minds
sharing life
I still read
not as much
they don’t
for them
it’s pointless
not pointless she says…
I want to interrupt him here. He tends to ramble and get maudlin. I mean please! He has the body, I just get to play with it once in awhile. The point is that reading isn’t real. It’s entertainment. I do realize that for them, it’s an escape and a way to cope, but for me, reading is inside out. I want to be the one who’s read. The writer. The person that goes on Oprah. The woman who becomes separate and real. More real than reality in fact.
Rose
xo
fine
not pointless
but reading
serves a purpose
allows something else
to happen
stress relief perhaps
beyond that though
reading for me
for us
the boys who never grew up
for us
reading
is our drug of choice
———————————————
“When the little imps that cavort in your mind take flight”
I sit
under the awning
I sit
I sip
waiting for the inevitable mischief from the miscreants
not the waifs I point out, those I avoid and placate with coins, and on occasion will
smite and bruise with staff of wood
I smile
the throb of unruly loins when the delicate features of a nymph under escort glides by
I seek
under the awning
I seek
I sip
the ache in my soul, the sense of abandonment from the Beloved, cast out
from Eden, we wander restlessly through the bog of human frailties, a slalom
if you will, much like her
avoiding the pinches and leers, the glow of lust, the
disgusting display
I sit
under the awning
my lunch of grilled sunfish, a rip-off, I should know better, but this is the best place to sit
so I malign the proprietor for selling such junk
for I have pride in my work, so should he
barely a flicker when I complain,
I leave
pulling the sleigh, burdened with the wrack of my life
despite my travails, I refuse to relinquish the Beloved, although
I fear
I fear, in the crucible that is my faith…
I fear
I have failed
———————————————-
“I knew instantly…”
when the colonial red shutters slammed hard the siding
beyond the trellis
swollen with fat to bursting grapes
and past the ancient oak
[scarred by lightning]
and woodpeckers
the vegetable garden, ripe
[with fertilizer]
birds and insects reaping the bounty
plenty to share
want some zucchini?
[courgette for some]
distant windbreak and even further
line of thirsty cottonwoods
in stark relief
black vapor, twisting, coiling
rotating, [not sideways]
feelings… not terror
God!
Is that beautiful!
later, much later
feeling nothing much at all
trellis still stands, stripped of planned wine
garden flattened, no zucchini pie
or tomato sauce
searching rubble, alive, yet lifetime gone
swirled away, destroyed
[no one died] I’m grateful
shards, splinters, tatters, muddy pictures
wedding, vacations, Mad Aunt Emmatrude
[wouldn't you be too?]
head swivels, east, a triple rainbow drenches the storm
west, sun slips away, colors cover the sky
like an Amish quilt, gone now forever
God!
Is that beautiful!
______________________________________________________
“Taller in person”
I. You’ve had too much to drink dear
strident whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his weak submission to her
II. too much to drink, too much to drink
too much to drink, too much to drink
no, no, no, no, no
silly man, I need more, more, more
III. I’m not a silly man dear
fierce whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his lustful longing for her
IV. silly man, silly man, silly man, silly man
not you dear, him, promises, promises
cut your taxes with axes and we all
fall down, fall down, fall down
V. Stop saying those things dear
fearful whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his shamed feelings for her
VI. those things, those things, those things,
such naughty things are banks and loans
save the banks before they fail, before they fail
before they fail, we must bail, bail, bail
VII. You can’t meet him dear
alarmed whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his queasy reaction to her
VIII. meet, meet, meet, tasty meat, tasty meat
fetch me a fresh drink dear
popping credit bubbles in trouble
credit bubbles, credit bubbles, credit bubbles
IX. A refill please for my wife dear
casual whisper, embarrassed
guilt over his glance directed at her
X. thanks big spender, you maverick you
maverick you, maverick you, how’s my
lipstick do you want to kiss
the moose, the moose, the moose, the moose
XI. She wants to shake your hand dear
amazed whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his clothes compared to her
XII. yes I fight for justice it’s true,
thanks to you, to you, to you, we have
a home from acorn grown, acorn grown
a plumber’s work is never done, never done
XIII. That was very awkward dear
angry whispers, embarrassed
guilt over his shabby treatment of her
______________________________________________________
“Dung betwixt thine ears”
Oh wise sage – you with flowing beard -
[and ample gut]
in youth
foolish and hot-headed did you
dance with the Beloved?
Swirl in patterns
rutted in dirt
[the track not fornication]
as youth
stomped in donkey droppings?
Oh wise sage – you with heavy purse -
[and nagging wife]
are youth
wasted and bloated or did you
remember Pharaoh?
As slaves ancestors toiled
straw and mud bricks
[not for them]
the youth
killed in place of Moses
Oh wise sage – you with clever tongue -
the Beloved calls
should youth answer?
[or drink deep of pleasure]
flesh is a reflection of lust
[laughter from wise sage]
foolish youth
sons and daughters of Abraham
listen well to the voice of the
Beloved
Dance, sing, lift your palms
to heaven
give alms to poor
[a tenth at least]
youth is for love and longing
remember the dung
mixed with hope and
belief! you ask me?
[the old man, the old rich man]
you ask me? about the Beloved?
remember foolish children of
avarice – now shamed glances -
there is only one prayer
worthy
of sending the Beloved
A Smile.
_______________________________________________________
red
red lives in opposition to
blue
blue for serenity
red for rage
pain lives in joints
bones
sinews
heart
where I live is
within
not
without
yellow
yellow lives high above
green
green makes me sneeze
pain lives in sinuses
stomach
head
soul
where I live is
within
not
without
within lives my others
loud
naughty
sad
scared
intelligent
brave
they live through me
without me
within me
a part of me
that few see
but all know
of my others
without colors
my body is mine
not theirs
my pain is mine
not theirs
some are
within
some are
without
but all
are
where I live
where we live
and I wouldn’t change a thing
about where I live
with my others
within
________________________________________________________
“Digestion is soothed by empty sounds of rock”
_______________________________________________________
“Fortune Lies”
puffballs break – wispy wishes transported – seeds of disorder
a lifetime spent in opposition
holding back death and
pretending harmony
is a virtue – it is not – chaos reigns as replication ravages
all is death when the other ‘h’ word blossoms
grotesque poisoned seeds of thought
once left to word-of-mouth
spread by agents in pay of dogma and fire and hard steel
hatred is mankind’s greatest achievement
a noble one that harvests souls with insatiable hunger
longing – desire – passion
when at last we rest
the piles of fortune will not avail
our bones – our sinews – our plasma
all are lies
to comfort our actions
it is not oxygen that fuels our steps but
hope
in a place far from the evil that we
carefully nurture
in the beautiful gardens of our homes
and our hating hearts
_____________________________________________________
‘defenses down’
each step
dragging my past
along Eight Mile Road
bullets fly and blood spills
and still I keep coming back
the life I hate claims my soul
and the wealth on the other side
a trap even more gross than poverty
with defenses down the truth cuts deep
opportunity is a lie that steals your talent
__________________________________________________________________
“In time you may learn the truth”
The bee and the wasp
that blossom you so carelessly sunder from branch will now
not
not become fruit
The bee and the wasp
that blossom fluttering in breeze to the damp earth will now
rot
rot become soil
You see… nothing
nothing
but I do! the connection between God and us is not small, I understand that and I am truly sorry for yanking the blossom off but I do see what you see, the way that things are all interwoven and we are not separate after all.
You see… nothing
nothing
but I do!
Be Quiet
Be One
Be
A Fig
____________________________________________________________________
“How To prepare for a Tropical Storm/Hurricane”
13. What fools be to flaunt nature’s will and seek to ride out storms unprepared. Wind shall tear open your house and water shall float away your conveyance to utter ruin. But forgot I where I was an age of insurance for every possible calamity and suffering.
12. Unless such misfortune as to reside in a dry place the primary stock should be amber liquids of vast variety. There is little pain to be found in loss when with alcoholic haze the memories of a lifetime are swept away in roiling clouds and thrashing seas.
11. For those wretched souls who claim teetotalism as their sacred screed then quantity of potable water should be laid in. But lo you that purchase such libations in jugs shall be unworthy of saving when thunder cracks trees to the ground and roofs cave.
10. In boxes and cans from distant lands the foodstuffs worthy of empire will not be palatable without the power of the Gods surging through copper wire. Before reduced by need to scavenging in fetid gutter remember to have opener and swamp gas distilled for cooking raw flesh.
9. You there with flowing hair draw near and tell me true. Your torch burns with bright white light. What name you this miracle? Indeed? Then my second will meet yours and my fists shall be the true battery upon the field of conflict for no insult can go unchallenged.
8. I grow weary of speaking the solitude I crave is broke by squawking yonder box. Warnings and watches how do you moderns survive with unremitting din assaulting ears? Perhaps the constant flow of others’ thoughts has made you weak and fearful thus prone to hyperbole.
7. Yes I do believe I am correct. Penniless I was and penniless I died for no plastic eased my way and raised me far above my station. Charity spurned and life tossed aside but no man was ever my master. Life is an emergency condition you cannot escape no matter how many Midas funds you bury.
6. What folly now I see when those with four legs or wings or scales are not prepared for feasting but instead clothed in outfits that match. Related such tales to those who haunt waterfront dives and was tossed on my arse for being crazy. Did you hear what I said Nevermore?
5. Order slaves to remain behind as you flee to higher dryer ground. Leave a trusted servant if such can be found and with lash and fear your property be boarded and secured while safe in snug harbor make merry with ill-gotten gains.
4. Elegant clippers ply angry seas and give tribute to Neptune as ever ancient mariners have done when battened hatches fail. Widows’ weeds and black bunting for merchants while lost urchins pick rags but trade in tea and indigo must go on for those trinkets that are bought with blood.
3. Enough gloom I deem! On my father’s honor you sir are a prophet of doom! The skies will clear life will return and though I confess that death will claim me one day it is not now and not from storm wracked waves I shall succumb. With candlelight’s glow let us pass time with charades and laugh away the wind’s wrath.
2. For ’tis true the optimist is frowned upon and scorned for rose’s garden paths yet most resplendent and soft are your features in flickering shadows. A confession dear one the stress of vocation makes short tempered a man but rounded assets and feather bolsters can make short work of even stiffest necks.
1. And so it comes to this no matter the euphemism employed for tender sensibilities when danger lurks the primal force surges in all manner of beasts. So preparing for a ride of furious proportions is best spent in bed with willing partners making passionate noises and sweaty skin.
_____________________________________________________________________
“Inverted Canines” [Three poems in one]
chronic fatigue rules waking life deeply with aches into fabric of my being
pain never recedes but ebbs and swells despite still face showing stoic
hurts to move even more to think and devise needed changes
even wild and urgent desires rarely rouse my temper much
when vivid images don’t match the smoldering fire within
doing nothing becomes the norm for good reason
little steps loom large and feel hopeful
that gives brief passion and energy
now dimming only to flicker
every day that passes
night follows soon
always so
tired
_____________________________________________________________________
“538″
a number that began
the month
I was born
538 times has the page
been turned
to equal
16,360 days
392,640 hours
the seconds divided
by half
and half again
and again and
again to infinity
the quantum forces
binding the atoms
that make up
me
in a month that seems
both long and short
the question
to ask
how many more after
538?
____________________________________________________________________
“Home cooking”
Our favorite restaurant
is the Italian place with murals
and bench seats
The kitchen sells pizza by the slice
the red and white boxes
piled high to the
ceiling
The garlic knots drizzled in oil
your fingers slick and
your mouth ready for the
main course, the same course, of course
every time
The handmade gnocci and
The homemade marinara
piping hot baked into a
ceramic chaffing dish
first bite, the
explosion
The eyes close
shoulders sag
It’s good to be home
____________________________________________________________________
“Dem Bones”
it’s over here
*sniff sniff*
no… over there
*sniff sniff*
running, always running, must run and
seek, find
*sniff sniff*
dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig
not here
dig, dig, dig, dig …
GET OUT OF THE FLOWERBED YOU MANGY MUTT
running, running, running,
stop
*sniff sniff*
it’s over here
*sniff sniff*
no… over there!
____________________________________________________________
“One’s Station in life is quite precise”
quite grotesque
the way she dressed
the clash of colors
and those shoes… I mean really, why bother?
forget last season, we’re talking prehistoric here
egads what a joke
when she spoke
all vowels
and jowls
it’s a pity really such people can be allowed in public, have they no standards anymore?
the trials of class
such a pain in the …
well dear, you know what I mean
so, off to Tiffany then
have a sudden yen
for some tasteful bling
that’s the thing
to sooth my eyes
and my
sensibilities
cha-ching!
I’ll wear it out
no need to shout
I’m rich
and you’re not
__________________________________________________________________
“Mating rituals”
the waning moon dodged the scudding wrack of clouds blown apart by winds howling over the jagged peaks looming high over the buildings slowly turning dark floor by floor
harsh chemicals could not mask the scent
she growled in her chest gone tight and stood on legs fluid with need and anticipation for the chase so long in coming through the dark streets empty of all but her targeted prey
moldy leftovers whiffed in disgust
he dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and shivered when open night window allowed hint of fate amongst garbage and stale death in alleyways strewn with empty hopes
plumes of exhaust wavered from drains
on the move she loped across the silent city the few spotting knew of her quest and gave way knowing it was not their turn this time but wishing soon to smell the mate for them
sweating fear left a clear trace
despite countless warnings the actuality of flight was driven by sheer instinct as hormones reacted to the ever closing female determined to subdue the chosen male in heat
cool damp fog and sharp pine
shedding clothes the waning moon showed glistening breasts and shining thighs pumping in ancient rhythm reaching out to desperate flight and pouncing on rigid form
sunrise and satiated mix of tangy fluids
______________________________________________________________________
“Tough luck pal”
last whistle of my shift
avoided my eyes
tossed clothes in the locker
scared times for the guys
into the slick summer heat
the guard shack ahead
lot empties more every year
soon a lonely bed
echoes linger of laughter
poor made her queasy
too hard to swallow the truth
vodka was easy
sold off the furniture
very little left
foreclosure sale next week
gun has heft
horizon ahead of the wheels
wind ruffles my hair
distant dreams offering faint hope
silver screen is there
_____________________________________________________________________
“I dressed up for this?”
she said with a scowl
duh he smirked
his breath so foul
turning her head
a wink from him
too bad he’s dead
for being on the prowl
______________________________________________________________________
“For the ones I love”
once sipped a draught of passion fires wild recklessness
constant thoughts of tender skin and heated caress
satiated gasping breaths climbing highest peaks
magnificent views of heaven cold winds caress
soft amber glow of morning clouds reveal damp folds
hidden amongst dunes lapping tides softly caress
_________________________________________________________________________
“Vera Red”
a martyr
I wasn’t
long day of paddling
canoe slid
through
back waters and
sand bars
fish
birds
and
roasting flesh
young and
naive
wasn’t until
too late
gasps
my skin
inflamed and
swollen
pain
acute pain
slathered aloe
gulped aspirin
cool fan
darkness
pain
did I mention
the pain
.
.
.
many weeks later
long skeins
of
dead skin
molting
a badge
of honor
I
never
repeated
__________________________________________________________________________
“Careful, dappled glade ahead”
cries
confused cries
imploring confused cries
fascinated imploring confused cries
reverberating fascinated imploring confused cries
invigorating disconcerted believing muffled moans
disconcerted believing muffled moans
believing muffled moans
muffled moans
moans
________________________________________________________________________
“Days when even drinking didn’t help”
flat
on
my
back… the filthy ceiling fan
wobbled overhead, the drone of
mosquitoes and netting
darned too often to care, sewn up with whatever
was handy, dental floss and rum dancing in liver
… ohhhhhhh…
eyes avoid the mirror, cracked by a .38 and jealousy, she
flat
on
her
back… baleful look below, even now, it stirs to life, erect
un-re-pent-ant bastard… I’d slice the damn thing off if it didn’t feel so
good to stroke and squeeze
slowly and carefully rising, the room spins in mockery, hurling…
what’s the use, the three-day stubble covers the scars…
dirt covers their graves… cheat me? no… no…
NO! Get away from me! Leave me alone! STOP haunting me! You made me do it, over and over again, you never stopped, you pushed and pushed and wouldn’t stop, why didn’t you stop? I needed you, you were everything to me, why? Why did you make me…
I loved you… I loved you… bed creaks, the oily steel of the barrel meets rotted teeth…
and wins.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“Everything Has Color”
gentle tap of showers on aluminum, the muggy morning chilled with atmospheric globules, the crack of the starter, engine chugs, click seatbelt…
rest of ritual best left to thought, 6:30 and clouds everywhere, western skies black with salty air collected from Gulf, different than Atlantic, one is hot and furious, the other cold and merciless but water it is and water it remains
twenty-two miles ahead, roads damp, traffic light, lighter every day as jobs are lost, families move, money once flowed here, now weeds grow in foundations of dreams… seven long years this commute nothing changes but time and still the road unravels beneath my feet, black, black to match the mood
no sun but high in the western bank a flash of color, a short stub of a rainbow, barely there, but a screen pulls back, frequency by frequency white light hurled in pulsing waves to intersect with rising humidity now weeping at terminal velocity to strike my wandering eyes
darker the sky moves down and light from the east slips by high above, the vibrant color arcs slowly by degrees, up, up… around the bowl of forever it etches in glorious bands, doubled and reaching to encompass the horizon of the now…
_______________________________________________________________________________
“Laugh track is for amateurs”
under the lamp
a feminist jokes
how can the actor think?
an indistinguishable adviser reckons
cheap silicon inside
names an ashamed supporter
with a career
a neat pacifier!
suffering obstruction
sister purges
every twist in distress
the head rattling
each generalizes
why won’t the myth behave?
another believer farms
can’t pardon a highlight!
continuous component composes
the precedent
a star extract
a pragmatic newcomer unaffected
why an algebra theorem wild?
each cupboard
a diameter
the latest adventure
originates in a factory
the entrances moved
will the clicks act?
within a district an accident
dashes into the bookstore
with the refunds
__________________________________________________
“Caught in a Life not of her making”
food was a hindrance, a
distraction for the driven woman intent on the top
long hours
short breaks
rapid promotion and now,
thirty-five years since birthed a
squalling infant
an itinerant carpenter
an artist in macramé
Sunbeam found herself seated
a café
with Wi-Fi, of course, no real executive worth her bonus
could rest with markets stalled, inflation
bankruptcy
turmoil, the
notebook open, fragrant
cinnamon bun missing two bites
latte
4/5ths full
Behold!
A Voice!
dramatic license perhaps, but
spreadsheets and emails drew
Sunbeam, not people
Excuse me, are these seats taken?
startled, blue eyes beheld a man
a woman
old, lined, stooped, gentle smiles
she glanced around
empty tables, mouth
ajar to speak in negation
Thank you dear, you look so lonely
doesn’t she Elbert?
of course you are
Sunbeam wanted to leave, Stay!
said the steel voice,
we’re here to tell you a story
frozen, her eyes darted frantic and caught
mine, leaning and
listening – sheepish shrug – but still,
too curious to be polite
A story? with a lilt, the first time her
voice caressed my ears, the frisson
caught deep inside
yes, a story Sunbeam
how do you know my name? with panic
patting her hand now, stroking, calming, my
name is Dahlia dear, my husband here
Elbert, say hello to Sunbeam
a grunt, dentures chomping fat blueberry muffin,
he doesn’t talk much
A story. with flat tone
oh darling, are you happy?
startled once more, she flickered my
way
unabashed, an eyebrow raised in return, waited
she held Dahlia’s regard, yes, of course
good for you honey, a woman
should always
be happy
isn’t that right Elbert? A deeper
grunt, a quick smirk
A story! said with impatience, watch
moving with steady pulses
always in a hurry – pursed lips -
liver spotted hand raised in placation
A story, for you Sunbeam… and
your admirer over there
caught, blushed, lip nibbled, but
still listened to the story
a story – with resignation, arms folded, downcast expression
tracing the laminate top, connecting the dots of her
happy life
Dahlia smiled, the sly smile of one who has knowledge, but
not gloating – an open smile – perhaps
torn needing a refill, but counter too
far to hear, stealthily moved, the two-handed
pull and hop under the chair
screeched on tile, a glare from
her blue eyes, wanting to bolt, tension betrayed, Sunbeam
invite the poor girl over, she’s dying to hear the story, isn’t
that right Elbert?
A glance, a glug, a grunt, frequent, those
grunts – a language that only age can bestow – less than
gracious, she gestured, curt, angry, embarrassed,
rose
and a nod, sat across from her, the black cropped bangs
matching her mood
thank you
reply
you’re welcome
so, a story? do tell, eager to listen, the interloper
rubbing metaphorical palms in
hopes of wisdom
another glare, you’re good
at those Sunbeam
who asked you!
ladies, women, girls – there is more to life -
a pause,
Dahlia leaned back, at ease, in control
someday you’ll understand this story
when I was young, many long moons ago I
traveled, for pleasure and growth, so I told
myself
the beach, the mountains -
music was playing, that irritating blend of
new age and pap, sorry the music’s bothersome
please continue
that was my calling, music – isn’t that right Elbert? -
’tis true, Dahlia plays a mean flute,
silence from us as the import sunk in. shivers,
creepy and not in a good way
picked up the pace, those days when concerts were
free, free of hate and filled with love and peace, I
was – naive – away from home, the world Sunbeam, oh
the world was mine
love of course, well lust, the lust of youth, it was all
open
yielding and the drugs?
frequent whooshing, the steady commerce flowed
our table – isolated – not by space but by bonds
a mystery, Sunbeam was caught – we were caught -
there are some that regret, her delicate fingers
swollen, gems sparkled, the flash of deep hues decorating
not Dahlia, not for all that was lost
or even found
you see, youth is for the young, before wisdom overtakes
fun and life becomes a chore
someday Sunbeam, the words will cease to hurt, when young
and alone and scared
I met
an itinerant carpenter
an artist in macramé
__________________________________________________
“Lost Temper”
the floor is far away… despite the contact of bare feet on carpet, the floor,
is far away
consciousness floats at mind level, peering down, condemning the separate aspects that make up the whole…
the floor is still far away
shards, slivers, fragments of colored glass… hand-blown or is that blown by hand? Perhaps we are not meant to understand, the useless posturing… the floor
is far away
velocity has a texture all its own, brute strength, energy passed from one to the other, an object at rest… flung in a parabolic arc to intersect the hand with the eye… yet
the floor
remains far away
shattered and falling… a rainbow splattered, an artiste would pause, mid-stride…
astonished visage and open hands reaching, reaching in supplication and…
narrowed squint, the floor is far away
a limp… no passive… no… the floor… each segment expands and dilates and
in that nanosecond before…
all, becomes clear, and the floor
is not now
so far away
__________________________________________________
“Things to do”
turbid water rushes by the constant change of rising prices and falling hopes the song of progress a distant hint in faded ink scratches when time seemed immeasurable under smoky incense brought from plateaus riven with famine and ideology grown dizzy in hate and passions for death of society passes for control of citizens crushed by intolerance as dogma spewed with gouts of bigotry the key to swaying the tired drugged crush of purported free willed members stacking sandbags against the information pouring through breached firewalls in a writhing orgy of minds meeting on networks fostering exchanges submerged by towering archaic opinions passing as knowledge gleaned by jaded writers twisted to meet needs of few suppressing dissent of many
________________________________________________
“Portents of Past Souls”
trailing seas
light ground swell from distant isles
azure and celadon
mirrors charcoal flat-bottomed squalls
the pipe
drums beat, roll on cobbled squares
many years
so many, many years apart my darling
Consuela
slight roll falls a degree to starboard
jib luffs
hairs prickle and squinted creases gaze
port beam
hail aloft, douse sail, weather trim, veer
round ten
drums beat, feet on scrubbed planks
many years
so many, many years lost my darling
Alfonso
wispy outriders bring deepening pressure
glittered blue
sweet taste of air spun gossamer white
fresh breeze
heralds steady on sou’ by sou’west
drums beat
then silence
another warning posted, switch from
the movie
to the weather
emerald waves of gnarled bark
bow outside
open door faint sense of distant souls
racial memory
stirs visceral shudders watch skies
fast ribbons
flutter low across roofs where once
dunes concealed
skeletons of ancient ship wrecks
time to go
_______________________________________________
I love trains because they go really fast
I hate that people hurt me and told me lies
Horses too, they can run far away
My horse is black and he hates to touched by strangers
And otters have fun sliding in the mud
Life sucks when mean grown ups take away what they want
Sometimes I remember things that make me cry
I may be only a kid, but I know right from wrong
___________________________________
“Dry Mouth”
busy talking, the words coming out just so
the connection clicking… sudden silence and
I keep typing, not noticing there’s no reply
hit refresh and watch horror stricken as
the work of hours vanishes into the blank
and unforgiving screen where ideas die
close the page, reopen browser and watch
helplessly as it spins round and round, dizzy
and frustrated message connection lost
reboot, restore, retry to no avail, the web
has fallen apart and cut off from her I feel
crushed knowing this was the last chance
when later, much later, the connection
restored, send email, send pleas, send
explanations, only silence in return
_____________________________
“Suggant Frambles”
for extray howand on the fore
the suggant slithed to the shore
sheve it be and never to bore
frambles crudred all in gore
for extray howand on the fore
the britats hoof were no more
graned sliming did it abhor
ovarr ronded was yonder corps
for extray howand on the fore
the hallor ones did implore
requent off wife all did adore
passutt home notting frum war
for extray howand on the fore
luyying ander far distant door
sarring duty guhhes as before
famlents graving heart be tore
_____________________________
“Like a Snowflake in a Margarita…”
… they both sting one cold
as the long night of a
lover’s quarrel and the
other as hot as oiled
beach volleyball players
leaping like taffeta gowns
for a coveted bridal bouquet
tossed aside like sound bites
uttered by clueless pundits in
a nightmare as if drowning in
a vat of butterscotch pudding
filled with sharks singing
“It’s a nice day for a white wedding”
off-key like an alley full of
feral cats fighting like candidates
for a house on Pennsylvania Avenue
like the one with an oval room that’s
shaped by the knees of interns
performing surgical strikes like
swooping eagles catching prey
hiding like blind worms in a cave
dark as chocolate squares melting
like a first kiss under a full moon
bright as a virgin’s blush turning
red hot in consummation of
desire to win nomination at
all costs like spiraling gasoline
prices igniting like rhetoric from
a pulpit blaming everyone else as
different as a snowflake in a margarita
they both sting one to
the left and one to
the right as if separated by
a curtain made of iron and
a moat filled with seething
emotions as if the entire
history of hate were distilled
from a aloe and served up hot
like the nine circles of hell…
Cheers!
________________________________
“My shoulder hurts”
but I keep this cudgel handy, it’s changed
through the years,
the cudgel… at first
when young, it was
a mere
twig
a sprig, a prig I was, but
so what… because by
teenage angst it was
a stick, a brick, a
prick I was, but
who cares… by early
adulthood it was a
a plank, a prank,
swank I was, but
big deal… I was on top
and thanks to my
foresight
wisdom
all around superiority, I had
the biggest set of wood by
the time I was middle-aged, no
longer small, my mighty
cudgel smote all
who defied
and
cried
and gave
lame excuses
for
performance as
I beat them
down with
my mighty
cudgel
I sleep well at night
with it
on my shoulder but
get real,
looking
in the mirror
is so overrated
me and my
ego
do just
fine…
when things go bump in the night
____________________________________
“After the Rain…”
… comes life
when cold drops
plunk
into dust
… comes hope
when warm rays
bake
into seeds
…comes growth
when cool nights
coax
into sprouts
…comes color
when hot days
grow
into harvest
__________________________________
“Black Holes and a Ship Called Desire”
out past the halo
where the comets
do roam
out past the halo
where the cold
froze your bones
radiation will fry you
when the light
fades away
so come through the door
take your helmet
off here
so raise your glass high boys
for black holes
and beer
raise your glass high
for a ship
called desire
drink down that liquor
before you return
to that ship
called desire
and the black holes
of home
out past the belt
where the rocks
do tumble
out past the belt
where the ice
breaks in shards
gravity will grab you
when the astroids
spin by
so come through the door
take your helmet
off here
so raise your glass high boys
for black holes
and beer
raise your glass high
for a ship
called desire
drink down that liquor
before you return
to that ship
called desire
and the black holes
of home
____________________________
“Drooling I watch her skirt”
from the distance far she comes
a vision in red headers popping
as I drink in her contours and
vibrate in her exhaust she idles
rough and I stroke her skin
her ground effects skirts hide
her aggressive camber and her
gleaming chrome spokes reveal
painted calipers gripping ceramic
pads and polished steel rotors
I grip her handle and slid slowly
down inside the soft leather seat
Her cluster shows the needles that
flick up and down as I play footsie
with her custom pedals and pop
her clutch as her engine moans
the revs whine when the blower
opens the IAC and air is sucked
hard into her chamber and the fluid
is injected and sparked by platinum
fire the combustion throws me
back into her upright caress and
belted straps and I ride her fast
and deep into the corner her
rubber contact patch squealing
and smoking as the transaxle
converts torque to thrust and
by the ABS/TRAC keeps rotating
forward as I slide to a stop and
pop the hood latch to stare into
the heart of my love beating
three thousand times a minute
controlled by the PCM that takes
the input from the MAF and the
DPFE and O2 sensors to turn her
from a violent explosion into a
purring satisfied machine men
and women find so hot that love them.
________________________________
“After the feast!”
Bring forth the soothsayer, in these dark days,
we command thee now no more a deep haze,
speak up, tell us of events yet to come
from me to you shall receive a tidy sum
I have seen the future and it looks bright,
repeat after me, might makes right,
seven hundred years Your Majesty will pass
and all that gold will go towards gas
in the coming centuries lost is your name,
but who cares, life is but a game,
so says the soothsayer Sony!
Another cry across the land,
let the sibyl stand forth
and give her course
for it is said if a woman doth vow
to obey her master
without having a cow
then harmony reigns
and all will sleep tight
his firm hand tonight
What a load of crap, this ruler doth spout
truth be told he is a lout
for in distant years
another shall rise
a woman it seems
grasping a prize
the vote to the people
so says Hillary Sibyl
Tell me a saga oh wise auspex
I have heard you know
why the cock crows
for many a moon
I’ve thrust most lustily
but none of my
nightingales have
stomachs grown
I find it hard
to maintain my desire
so tell the truth
else it’s the fire
Oh great one with
lance so keen
of birds I’ve seen
what you must do
take this blue dropping
when you are drooping
soon you’ll be popping
are my name’s not
Viagra
Where hides the seer I have much to ask
the God above has laid forth my task
my enemies I must smite
and with great delight
send them all to hell
women and children as well
none left alive
for we shall strive
to crush and maim
it’s always the same
victory is ours
or my name’s not Lars
Yes great leader
it is very true
off to war you go
and very soon
but the God is fickle
and the deaths
you cause
shall haunt you ever
so says best-selling author of your biography who calls you Lars the Idiot
All rise for the Divine Ruler, all make obsequence to the
almighty Emperor, the mind and heart of our country,
the one, the only
Give it up for Marius the Magnificent
as always, a truly brilliant introduction, now
utter your findings haruspex
and you’d better show a return
on my investments
my market research of the goat entrails
some names to keep in mind
in far off barbarian lands
there will arise
a market called bull
where vast hoards
of cash reside
so with your wisdom
see so clear
buy IBM and Apple
Exxon too
for the future is clear
buy stocks and hold
that is the ticket
to wealth
so speaks the
goat entrails
(please read the prospectus before investing and don’t cut the head off your haruspex when a recession happens on his watch)
_______________________________
“Past Due”
Sign here please… and here… and here, a hundred times to
sign your name, Truth-In-Lending, truth in
discovery and still you sign.
There was one truth unrevealed, you couldn’t
afford the home sweet home bubble, but now
it’s too late to resign.
Personal responsibility meets the truth, unless
the sign points to prosperity, credit unavailable
but for corporate largesse.
Sign here please… and here… and here, a hundred times to
sign your name, Truth-In-Banking, less oversight is
needed not more, for you can trust we have your
best interests in mind. Just sign here and spend your
way to happiness.
__________________________________
“I used to be a writer”
Dem rockin’ chairs be a right comfort in dos declinin’ yars, so
called Goldun Yars, makes a worn down, hurtin’ body break
out in right-che-ous laughin’ liken when Leroy jumped
da crik, he’s a mite crazy, ‘touched’ as we has a habit of
sayin’ round bout des parts, ‘touched’ don’t always now be
meanin’ bad, as in ‘badder dan a sack full of possums’, no he
be touched by da Lord.
Amen.
Y’all be wonderin’ bout Brian I reckin’. He all right. He be sittin’
in his rockin’ chair and fussin’ and carryin’ on bout how he can’t
be writin’ nothin’ for nobody no how no more, it be enough to
send us even futher round da bend, not that we need no help
with dat no how. No we don’t. We’s all got problems you know,
all had our hearts durn near split clean in two more dan once, but
dat’s life, dat’s how ya know ya still breathin’.
Amen.
_________________________________________________
“Rained Out”
They never get it right
I could do that
50% chance they’re wrong
What a joke
Forecast equals guess
All those fancy charts
Good thing we don’t pay
Why do they bother
It was supposed to snow
It was supposed to rain
It was supposed to be hot
Why can’t they get it right
Puny humans with your whining, I’ll
tell you why
You’ve turned your back on us, the
Gods and Goddesses of your
ancestors
You think you’re so superior, you
think you have no need of
us
But you’re wrong, you still
worship the weather Gods, but
now, he is called
Doppler
News Flash little ones, he is as
cruel as we were
bright bands of colors, swirling winds
torrential rain. You wish to see
the future and
Doppler
has become your Oracle
As of old, no one
wants
the
truth.
_________________________________
“Morning Low”
I snap awake, 4:15 a.m.
the bed shakes in
familiar thrusts
emotion flees
clinical focus
“Diane, you’re having a low”
“I’m fine”
2,000 times I’ve done this,
I spring naked, 4:16 a.m.
less than a minute
to react
race to kitchen, grab juice pouch
insert straw
“Sit up Diane”
“Okay”
she drinks, limbs begin to twitch
I lay her down, 4:17 a.m.
she pants rapid breaths,
legs bounce with convulsions
hands clench tight, to prevent
stabbing self
eyes go blind
“I’m here Diane, you’re ok”
No response but rhythmic
thrashing
no tears this time, no
screams, only harsh
air, rapid pulse
I hold her steady, when I’m
not there, bloody and
bruised from falls
“You’re doing fine sweetheart, hold on, it’s almost over”
unable to swallow, can only
wait until 4:35 a.m.
abrupt cessation of gyrations
deep breath, sweat soaked,
clammy skin
only 18 minutes this time
relief
“You ok honey?”
“I’m fine Brian, I’m so cold”
I kiss her, 4:37 a.m.
not a romantic start to
the work day, but
this is our life, always a
heartbeat away from
disaster
“I love you Diane”
“I know”
_________________________________
“Dirty Hands”
the pallid drifts cover my garden, the Full
Snow Moon and
rainbow crystals, the
deep longing for
green
wait for restless children to sleep, the Full
Snow Moon and
glossy pages, the
deep longing for
green
trembling hand caresses pictures, the Full
Snow Moon and
packet seeds, the
deep longing for
green
racing heart sees exotic forms, the Full
Snow Moon and
blooming bush, the
deep longing for
green
exhilaration in correct zone, the Full
Snow Moon and
furtive call, the
deep longing for
green
impatiently wait special delivery, the Full
Snow Moon and
fragrant hope, the
deep longing for
green
dripping ice lengthening sun, the Full
Worm Moon and
robins call, the
deep longing for
green
working soil tender treasure, the Full
Pink Moon and
dirty hands, the
deep longing for
green
___________________________________
“This is My Soul”
looking inward through the pain
froth buffeted by gale churns
rough passage a hard fought gain
every slight humiliation burns
past the cold walls of steel
stumble upon a wooden door
search for hidden lock by feel
sudden wave pierces core
shattered splinters tearing flesh
falling forward unto soft light
gasping air pure and fresh
wide eyes see colors bright
laughter, yes laughter
joy in greeting
welcome, welcome
you can’t mean me
come dance, come spin
shed your fears
can you feel the song
that bubbles within
release yourself
trust again
let others touch you
with healing hands
hope and faith
respect and love
drink of passion
your soul is free
———————————-
“This is My Brain”
cowering under bush
twitching noise
scents danger
crunching leaves
snuffling sounds
closer and closer
start to run
sharp teeth
slice throat
gasp for breath
bones snap
oblivion.
waking in bed
racing heart
sheets soaked
steps on stairs
panting chuckle
door creaks open
pillow over head
go away go away
covers tossed
glowing eyes
clothes torn
silent scream.
rigid muscles
thrashing limbs
gentle nudge
shh it’s ok
sobbing tears
gasp nightmare
metalic taste
slick teeth
gnawed off
bloody fingers
only stumps
safe now.
—————————————-
“This is My Heart”
I feel safe in her embrace
as she strokes my face
she loves my smile
her soul has no guile
we are best friends
together til the end
our bodies fit tight
our closeness is right
I look in her eyes
always a surprise
to see the love
soft as a glove
I share my fears
she wipes my tears
strokes my back
through panic attack
good times and bad
fun we have had
the road ahead
makes us stay in bed
I love my wife
if not life
she keeps me sane
screaming in pain
without her touch
I’d lose much
she accepts me
that sets me free
free to create
to seek my fate
write what I feel
emotions that are real
in this safe place
my heart has space
she is not tame
Diane is her name
————————————–
“Echoes of Me”
I sit on a bench
or maybe a stone
perhaps on the grass
at the side of a pond.
it’s spring or summer or fall
winter with iced over water
the seasons they blur
just me and my echoes.
the sky is clear blue
covered in clouds
the air warm and fresh
with smoke billowing out.
the green water I drink
fish swimming by
frogs are croaking
bugs swarming my hair.
it’s so peaceful here
no one around
lying there naked
freedom to be.
these are the echoes of me
not knowing one day to the next
which voice I will hear
there on the bank of the pond.
————————————-
“Corridors of Glass”
crawling on a rough carpet
hands taste the fibers
of dark chocolate and nuts
the cool glass walls
smell the reflections
of crisp clean citrus
stale and musty air
breath and see
old stone crumbling
so many locked rooms
sound of door slamming
feels like black velvet
a bright light beckons
odor of salt marsh
hear sound of harp
—————————————
“Body and Mind”
I stand before you naked
a body and a mind
what do you think of me
are you frightened yet
is it the color of my skin
or perhaps those male hands
that have hurt and abused
and torn at your flesh
now move beside me
and stare at the mirror
are you happy with what you see
too tall too short
too thin too fat
too light too dark
why do you think
your mind hates you so much
hold out your right hand
flex the fingers and thumb
now make a fist
feels good doesn’t it
anger
pride
your mind wants to hurt
your mind knows who it is
look in your eyes
can you hear
what do you feel
peering at your body
disgust and shame
loathing and despair
when was the last time
that you touched yourself
scratched your inner wrist
massaged your knee
rubbed your neck
soothed your feet
gave yourself an orgasm
I stand before you naked
a body and a mind
what do you think of me
are you awake yet.
——————————-
“Hurts”
They never told me not to go there
the stony path by the river wild
where the moss covered logs
lay heavy across the ground
slick with moisture rotted wood
an obstacle to be overcome
I clamber over to find a hole
deep into the earth it goes
no light will ever come back
for fallen in will last forever
An innocent victim
of a lie told in silence.
———————————–
“Dizzy”
Go back, go back the voices call
remember the childhood that never was
spinning around looking for help
never forthcoming, never there
how did we all survive
this growing up and getting out
the world we found was hostile
evil lurked round every bend
victims again seemed our fate
nothing we tried ever worked
until one day a light shone bright
love
love
love
someone finally came to our rescue
reached out a hand
pulled us up
dusted the dirt off
washed the shame clean
love
love
love
they love us our partners
our friends our soul mates
but we still hide, hide in plain site
trust seems impossible
flight seems safer tonight
love
love
love
we flee stumbling in terror
the demons are real
they hunt in the dark
that dark that waits at the edge of the mind
waiting as patient as death
love
love
love
a flash of bright light
a beacon of hope
a sea of hands that touch and stroke
shivers cease and stretch out to hold
many friends no longer am dizzy.
————————————-
“What does Great Jazz sound like”
The Snare is,
Notes like fragrant smoke, hewn stone fireplace pine snapping and popping hot tendrils of air rising into a night so cold and black that the stars hang just beyond your fingertips.
The Bass is,
Notes like thick cream, flowing over burnished formica dripping onto oak planks patina polished by ten thousand boots calico cat lapping up pooling liquid.
The Saxophone is,
Notes like a lovers spanking, over knee bare bottom arching high crisp smacks falling on smooth flesh growing warm and red ’til hot flames scorch the sky.
The Keyboard is,
Notes like thunder and lightning, smell of ozone when wind bends trees sideways and the rain comes down drumming on roof like marbles cascading out of a worn leather pouch.
The Horn is,
Notes like bright glass, shattered amber shards tinkling on mortared wall mirroring electric blue neon frenetic flickering reflection of dazzling jewels swinging fast tempo.
The Guitar is,
Notes like a torrent, raging eddys swirling slick foamed rocks rushing waves pounding spray casts rainbow of sound hurtling into the abyss.
Now that’s
What great jazz
sounds like
———————————————————-
“Hanging by a Thread”
Lyrics by Brian aka hummingbunny
I wake every morn
to troubled times
there’s many a day
when I’ve lost my heart
when life beats me down
I’ve my feet on the ground
I turn to my faith
in God’s hands I’m loved.
Chorus
I’m
hanging by a thread
a steel cable thread
a steel cable thread
that is my faith
my trust in God
my soul belongs
I am not lost
I have always been found.
tempted by those things
that do me harm
helpless I’ve become
for somebody’s charm
when cruelty and hate
stalk the land
when hopelessness
seems
to stretch out it’s hand.
Chorus
I’m
hanging by a thread
a steel cable thread
a steel cable thread
that is my faith
my trust in God
my soul belongs
I am not lost
I have always been found.
by God’s good grace
I light the path
many that I’ve helped
recover their laugh
beat back the darkness
I’ve always implored
hold tight to that thread
we all want more.
Chorus
I’m
hanging by a thread
a steel cable thread
a steel cable thread
that is my faith
my trust in God
my soul belongs
I am not lost
I have always been found.
I am not lost
I have always been found
by
my steel
cable thread I am bound.
————————————————–
“Short Story, Part 1 and 2″
Part 1
a grin so wide it hurts
that floating feeling of bliss
vanilla and cinnamon lingers
stars whirling overhead
red light pulsing off/on
fading drone of insects
scuffing soles cracked pavement
key jangles fumble for lock
where have you been!
Part 2
stiff shoulders shaking
sharp bite of clear liquid
vibrating syllables slashing
hurled teary accusations
crashing echoes heavy door
profound silence rubbing ring
music chirps open phone
yes, see you again tomorrow
good night, mother
————————————————————-
“A Tail of a Werebunny”
there once was an ordinary man
with an ordinary life
and an ordinary wife
he went walking one day
in a lane far away
in the hedges around
noise did abound
there in the sky
a full moon did lie
lumped into his path
a bunny with wrath
well the man
he laughed
the bunny
not amused
bit his ass
now every full moon
the ordinary man
turns into werebunny
but what’s funny
he still likes
to spank
—————————————————————
“Nevermore”
Deep as raven, dark has fell,
Quiet night, creep from dell,
On hushed hoof, they overtake,
Wither you go, laughing hate.
To kiss the morn, embrace the light,
Nay, stay enjoy the night,
Dance and sing troubles behind,
Awhile with us, you’ll never mind.
—————————————
“Terror”
What joy I find in ghastly shrieks
to see the horror rise in peaks
no escape in darkest night
all of you cower in fright
my bunny scut filled with power
pellets not leaves on you shower
clear the way let me pass
over your bodies a rotting mass
never again prince will reign
this requires a better brain
free rides for all is my cry
under hot sun all will fry
abandon all costumes at the gate
your fate is mine don’t be late
your chore will be a bitter task
The Gaunt Man In The Red Mask.
———————————————
“My Life”
my life is a series
of moves
and upheavals
new address
new stuff
new life.
my life is a series
of boxes
and boundries
new lover
new name
new strife
my life is a series
of pains
and problems
new hopes
new job
new wife
you can laugh
if you’ld like
but I have
my reasons
I’m not
coming
out of my box.
——————–
“Music for Two”
Dust plume rising into velvet sky,
miles from anywhere two lost souls.
The headlights look like diamonds,
the taillights burn like coals.
Silence ringing like an iron bell,
bodies joined ease heavy load.
Shimmering starlight falls like crystal,
riding roughly an infinite road.
——————————————
“I like to Watch”
Watching my wife her eyes sparkle
Watching her think face is pensive
Watching her laugh my heart flutters
Watching her eat licking her fingers
Watching her walk her body flows
Watching her beneath me her smile enchants.
———————————————
————————————–
“The Beachcomber”
Gray, the colour of the morning,
White, the colour of the shells,
Black, the colour of the sands.
The sun, still low in the clouds.
The beach, streaked with shimmering foam.
She stalked this scene with a piercing gaze,
Proud bearing, strong posture,
Clear eye.
Seeing anew, the wonders that lay,
There on the beach,
in the early morning haze.
For hours(it seemed) she strolled quite alone,
‘Til there, up ahead, a man appeared.
Dark.
Menacing.
No lover of stillness, of silence, of dawn.
Destruction.
The beachcomber, with an indignant squawk,
Turned, and flew into the sun.
——————————————-
“Self ______?”
Shadow boxing in a mirror
see my face grow so clearer
all the pain in my soul
shows for all the world to know
tried so hard to be strong
struggled years to belong
just illusions truth be told
feel compressed within a mold
friends are few and far between
state my mind feel so mean
desperate longing to begin
always later never win
hoped for better this time around
never learn I’m such a clown
try again I do believe
maybe this time I will succeed.
———————————–
“Little Brian”
This painting in oils, strange.
It is neither large nor small,
But comfortably middle.
This painting hangs in museums,
Drawing people to comment:
Its style, its colour.
For its colour is new: whites, grays, blacks.
It is a young painting waiting to be tinted.
It is entitled “Young People With Ducks”.
Why Ducks? These ducks, cast in bright,bold
yellow strokes, move with vibrant motion.
Why Ducks? Chosen perhaps because they are
rooted to the earth, clipped. Strange.
Two groups of Young People, boys and girls.
Are they groups? They mingle, meld,swirl in
confusion: or is there a purpose to their dance?
They are one with each other, black, brooding,
blending with the background. Strange.
Background of buildings, thick, squat, lines
indistinct; large, long sweeps painted hurriedly.
Almost, as if, shimmering in the haze of summer,
but trees are bare brown with winter.
For winter it is, snow, low grey clouds, cold
blanketing the blurred house. Strange.
But no, there is a house that is clear.
It has crisp lines, windows with crosspieces.
Rectangular, that chimmey has individual bricks,
perched on a roof with shingles.
It is a special place: for whom? Strange.
Yet another figure, perhaps it is a boy,
physically young, in outline only.
Invisible, not seen by the Young People,
nor seen by the Ducks.
Only we viewers see this boy, lonely;
A gate is opened,
Memories flow out,
Remembrances of a past time.
For awhile, we are that boy. Strange
—————————————
“Layoffs”
Steel town lay still
under skies swollen
gray blast furnace
cold and dark hills
white with snowed weeds
rattling in bitter wind
flapping red for sale sign
on ragged screen door
rhythmically thumping
lonesome whistle blows
refuse skittering down main street.
“Part 2″
Blue steel town
under low skies swirled
Gray blast furnace
cold dark hills streaked
White wash houses
old dirty refuse stacked
Black coal dust
high chimney whistle rusted
Brown river bank
————————————-
“Harmony”
slate colored waters ruffled waves
silent gliding boat of hunters
flashing light twisting scales
woven cordage flinging true.
fertile soil yields rows of maize
gather fallen bounty of oaks
harvest berries thickets full
tubers collected lifting loam.
quiet stalk in heavy woods
wary deer proud antlers tall
red life returns to earth
blessings and hope today.
starlight rings roaring fire
dancers in timeless motions
voices signing to the dark
drums echo souls delight.
————————————–
“Fluidly yours”
Warm & tender,
soothing sounds.
Gentle and damp,
pure washing drops.
Down they fall,
up we writhe.
One with each other,
one with our lives.
—————————
“I wonder”
Pale light.
Oak boughs thrown.
Shadows against still waters.
Wisp cloud.
Driven on calm winds.
Moon silent.
————————————-
“Pain”
Snow dusts, stones speak.
Wind caresses, flowers sing.
Love touches, humans mute.
————————————————–
“Jaguar”
The lush green jungle canopy,
broken,
patches of light,
streaming,
warming the dark underbrush.
Lying by the trail,
hidden,
gleaming eyes
piercing,
stalking its prey,
life,
like fine crystal,
shattered.
Flowing jaguar,
pouncing,
killed without warning.
High in the growth,
concealed,
multicolored macaw,
flying,
screeching in terror.
————————————-
“Jaguar Returns”
Rugged green canopy
breaking light
Dappled brown leaves
dancing delight
Spotted yellow coat
slinking death
Mauled red animal
staining earth
—————————————-
“Nonsense”
When the paltry few
have hove to view
when jackals dance
and owls wear pants
then roses sighed
and wishes chide
stony roofs
and bust a move
to never fail
at sky do rail
walking roads
ill doth bodes
for there in truth
lies uncouth
most foul stench
thirst to quench
soon will come
a vast sum
numbers unreal
fervent appeal
the choice is clear
what a sneer.
——————————-
“Pleasure”
rubbing my thumb
along the ridge
caressing the cover
fingers stroke
a quick breath
of anticipation
longing to sink
between the sheets
that special tingle
over and over again
as the words
create a picture
in the mind.
——————————
“Healing Breeze”
Stand in the air
and breath deep
feel the solid caress
of moving scents
a feeling of warmth
not heat that chills
not cold that burns
but warm like the sea
a sea foam that scrubs
and heals the pain
that comes when
eyes are opened
————————-
“Happiness is…”
Happiness is a warm smile
Happiness is helping a friend
Happiness is making love
Happiness is a cat’s purr
Happiness is a child’s praise
Happiness is a hot shower
Happiness is a prayer to God
Happiness is giggling
Happiness is that look
Happiness is feeling your soul
Happiness is a bedtime story
Happiness is hot chocolate
Happiness is rainbows
Happiness is a good book
Happiness is music
Happiness is stillness
Happiness is being
————————————-
“The Way Back Machine”
Back in the olden days
it’s said that people
were friendly..er
then came progress
marching/trampling
all that in the dust
oh sure, minor issues
like slavery
and women’s rights
short life spans
and cruelty
were there also
but people were friendly..er
electricity came
and then the telegraph
there were clubs
and societies
devoted to talk
people became friendly..er
the telephone was next
and quickly took over
why walk when you can phone
why meet face to face
when faceless is safer
but some people were still friendly..er
the wireless sent voices
through the ether
then television enthralled
the nations
that were rich
and powerful
the world looked inward
and saw people
different people that were friendly..er
technology raced on
to the computer screen
and then
the telegraph
the telephone
the wireless
the television
the computer
begat
the BLOG
and it was good
for the BLOG
is wholesome and pure
for the BLOG
is a Way Back Machine
that shows some people are still friendly..er.
———————————————-
“The Virtual Date”
I picked myself up promptly at nine,
Dressed carefully to make a good impression.
I liked what I saw
Tall, slender, with a kind face.
I said hello, nice to meet you,
We shook hands to be polite.
I got the door for myself
and we drove downtown.
I asked, where are we going?
It’s a surprise was the reply.
I pulled up to the gate,
We’re here, do you like it.
I love it! I haven’t been here since I was a kid!
This is great!
I parked the car,
And we walked inside.
I said one adult please,
And checked the directory.
I was tugged towards the great hall,
That inner child pulling hard.
I stopped, my mouth agape,
Look! Look! Look! Did you see?
I could only marvel at the brilliant light flashing from precious gems,
The colors! Oh the colors! How can they be real?
I felt sadness next,
That all manners of creatures had breathed their last to be seen.
I found ourselves in another world,
Filled with strange humans dressed in paint.
I followed the story from start to finish,
And when we were done, he smiled.
I took his hand and together we went home,
Where he slept; Little Brian slept in my arms.
—————————————————————
“Skies”
He threw his head back and laughed
The skies a halo above his hat
Denim and leather made me weak
His smile and I caught my breath.
——————————————————
“Ancient Bones”
We get cold you know
Just because we are stone
And covered with snow
Wind still makes us moan.
Vague memories of birth
Men with sharp knives
Ripped us from the earth
Craftsman as midwives.
We get hot you know
Baking in the summer heat
Relief in cloud shadow
Crumbling mortar we excrete.
Jumbled in stacks
Waited our turn
Shaved with an ax
Roaring fire did burn.
We get angry you know
Two legs carve symbols
They hack with gusto
If only we were nimble.
Hoisted high in the air
Spinning caused vertigo
Fitted with precise care
Bathed in sun’s glow.
We get lonely you know
After centuries have passed
When halls lie fallow
But our honor is steadfast.
View from the parapet
Stretches to the sea
Paints living portrait
Of knights riding briskly.
We get frightened you know
Loud thunder and smoke
Arrow flew from crossbow
Peaceful stone was broke.
Moss covers the wall
Voices echo once more
More years than can recall
We are steeped in lore.
We are friendly you know
Let us tell you a tale
No need to winnow
Our truths are for sale.
———————————————————-
“The Littles”
Born in an imperfect time
They play now
For forever.
They never get old
And never fall ill
For forever.
They live inside
Where it is safe
For forever.
Born for a reason
Reveal in glimpses
For forever.
A new life is born
I’ll love him
For forever
Therefore,
I shall not waste my days
in trying to prolong them.
————————————————–
“Flames Flicker”
Another year has passed in disharmony and anger
This blue sphere has spun through virgin blackness
Cold vacuum deadly radiation safely pushed aside
Delicate ark sailing the bright turbulent cosmic seas
Turn away from the sky look down at our heritage
Verdant green slashes overrun by smoke and sand
Rich moist soil dries and withers to dust and bones
Toxic liquid seeps drop by drop into poisoned wells
————————————————————–
“Cold”
The drops fall and freeze
The words, icing over my heart
Long nights alone, shivering
Layers drifting, more and more
Covers my head, cold seeps
Like a living thing, creeps
And fondles, seeking the cracks
In the walls
So cold
So cold
So cold
To let go, to sleep, so warm
It’s so warm here, so warm.
The drops fall and thaw
The words, melting my heart
Long nights together, sharing
Layers drifting, less and less
Reveals my flesh, heat burns
Like a living thing, strokes
And penetrates, seeking connection
In the souls
So hot
So hot
So hot
To let go, to thrust, so hot
It’s so hot here, so hot.
————————————————–
“Clack Clack”
Crushing snails against stone
Gray thrush pounded the shells
Sound reverberated in the trees
Steady clack, clack.
Pausing to see the damage
Cocking head to one side
Still intact smash some more
Crushing snails against stone.
—————————————————–
“Bush Fire”
The angry sun, red harsh
glows with sharp purpose
brightly colored dark limbs
rising cadence of sharp steel.
Smoke moves in coils, viper
tongues licking at stalks cut down
and streaming into woven baskets
carried high on proud skulls.
Staccato syllables rapid flicker
of fingers, deals made timeless
echoes of past, and future
hungers that never cease.
Thick clouds billow, release life
on cracked skin, smiles, I stare
captured by rolling hips now
thoughts of you keep sleep away.
————————————————–
“Sense Of Peace”
Breaking out in hives, that itch must be
Scratched raw until blood flows, words
Of pain and suffering scream deep dreams.
Eyes follow wherever he goes, that toned
Rear twitching fibers of lust, hormones run
Sweating through dank streets unnamed.
Rich smells, breathe open mouthed awe of
Garden plot peas swollen with sweet, tart
Bursts on tongue long groans fists tight.
Lights dim with rustling silence holds note
That echoes, bouncing from gleaming wood
Polished gloss soars above red velvet smiles.
—————————————————————-
“There is a Land”
There is a land, remote and desolate
Many pass in distant caravans
But few ever enter, and of those
Most never return.
This land of dreams, daydreams and
Nightmares
Fantasies and fears
Fevered flesh, baking in desert sun.
Soft music, water lapping in pools
Gentle laughter, sweet fruit bursting with
Flavor so unreal
Shouts and screams.
Flames now, licking at silk and rope
Struggle to free bondage, sharp
Knife stabs, red, vibrant red
Fists high in triumph.
Baby cooing, lace curtains cast
Shadows, patterns woven
Family gathers, games, joy, love
Reaching, they beckon and fade.
Thunder, waves cresting, tentacles crush
Men terror, cannon crash, wood splinters
Rapier no match
Terra Incognito remains.
There is a land, remote and desolate
Except when fever stalks the brain
Then dreams, sleep, wake and death become one
Which shall prevail this time.
—————————————————-
Throw Away”
The body knows when it is time
Rusting, cracking, splintering
into atoms
Returning to the source.
The body knows when it hurts
Stiffness, sore pain
more pain, always more pain
It never ends, this pain,
reaching in and biting, gnawing,
devouring your spirit,
Hopeless, cannot fight,
Give up, go away
You’ve had your chance.
The body knows when there is a spark
Roiling, building, fighting
the decay
Infusing with energy from hope.
The body knows when illness fades
Eyes no longer glazed
appetite returns, hunger
For love, love of touch
flesh made hot, fevered, wet
groping for meaning, redemption
I am alive, I am still here
Spitting on death
Someday, not now.
The body knows the river flows
Always eroding, wearing out
the soul
Seeking the easy path.
The body knows when it’s fatigued
Sleep restless, unfulfilled
tired, exhausted, empty,
Always empty, nothing
left but a shell
that looks like a person
I once knew, knew well
But now only rough skin
Holds my blood together.
The body knows what is possible
Walking, eating, trying
the mind balks
Just throw away this life.
——————————————————
“Sacred Stones”
Damp blanket in white tendrils
Covers quiet meadow
Heather crumples underfoot
Bleat of wool unseen
Slope of land pitches sharp
Gurgling moss slick
Rutted path spirals higher
Light fades away
Gentle wind tearing holes
Blackness revealed
Crown of stars at summit
Clash of steel
Dreams gone now forever.
————————————
“Mangelwurzel”
Deep in the forest
Of Greater Muldoon
Lived a mad florist
Bayed at the moon
He once had a shop
The King had adored
Called him a fop
Threatened a Lord
Soldiers arrived
Grabbed for arrest
Pleaded his bride
Good man I’ll attest
Judge had no humor
Sentence was swift
Called him a tumor
Demanded a shrift
None was forthcoming
So at the tenth bell
With much loud drumming
Met the Mangelwurzel
Eight legs and all teeth
Hard scales of black
Foul breath did reek
Nothing did it lack
The florist trembled
As the beast did roar
Townsfolk assembled
Were hoping for gore
He held up a bouquet
Grabbed it’s attention
Crowd hissed no buffet
That’s beyond comprehension
Rotten food in showers
Meat was not on the diet
The beast ate the flowers
Mob then started a riot
In all the confusion
The florist escaped
Was it just an illusion
Over the beast was draped
Long years have passed
Since that horrid day
No longer all aghast
Many now will pray
When lost in the trees
All carry pouch to repel
Hope flowers will appease
The sainted Mangelwurzel.
————————————————-
“An Ivory Clean”
I can see my face in the dish!
This fine piece of china squeaks
However did you get this so clean?
Why, with Ivory of course,
There is no other
For the family deserves my best.
Just wait until I tell Jane
She always uses the latest rage
Have you seen her husband?
Just a resplendent vision
His clean clothes dazzle
And their children, fresh.
All housewives that care
Must use Ivory for dishes
Now you can eat safely for dinner.
——————————————————————-
“Ode to Ye Old Muck”
O’ loath these endless days of mire
hear the strident clamour of yonder bell
urgent noise calls forth them pell-mell
O’ for in this human drama I never tire.
Horses backed to confining traces
coach ’tis boarded with frightful list
madam, pray be still, my hand will assist
round the fetid yard eyes in mocking faces.
By earnest fellows high hoisted on his throne
jeering crowds hurl from wooden palisades
all hail the golden baby’s election parades
open window set on high, one’s horn is blown.
Over there, a large bill with flourish presented
chambermaid’s services, that’s beyond the pale
preposterous, a moral outrage, a keg of ale?
I’d not drink your swill, twas not even fermented.
Hard by the sea, in Essex commerce is king
plying their trade, no qualms root in odure
sachet of spices mask the scent of the sewer
by George, the second I’m free, I’ll sing.
———————————————————
“I Lust For You”
My breath ragged; your exotic scent, mysterious, disturbing, arousing. My eyes dilated; your soft whispers, taunting, revealing, promising. My fingers stroke; your silken surface, tracing, delving, caressing. My skin trembles; your beautiful color, shimmering, sweating, anticipating. My mouth waters; pant, must, need, have, you, now. My willpower breaks; your sweet taste, licking, sucking, swallowing.
I can live without
many things
but not
my
deepest
darkest
lust
for
chocolate.
———————————————————
“High Tide”
The first thing, when exiting
your vehicle
you notice, is the sound.
A roar, a murmur, a palpable
tension, excitement, that
throbs and pulses.
The full moon rising in
the blue sky, tugging at
your water, drawing pathways in the
synapses of your reptilian brain.
Your eyes, dart, flick, flick,
flick; there, over there! See that!
So you run, walk
quiver in ecstasy at the sight of
high tide.
Picking through the wrack of human debris,
junk, piles of junk, toys
sinks, boxes and boxes of
ephemera.
Only a dollar, only a dollar, the contrast between
new and old,
booths full of salvage, once shining
and full of promise
now just junk, buried
in the sands, a monument to
our follies.
Landfill after landfill, full to the brim,
our cultures greatest gift
to our grandchildren.
Our high tide
Our ephemera for
sale, one dollar at a time.
———————————————————–
“Fear, Unknown”
Whorls on your palm
Swirling galaxies,
Lines of demarcation leading to
Infinity.
Can you see?
The faint blue highways;
commerce bustling, all with
Duties.
An all-night dinner.
Each cell that was
Created
Understands what to do.
Instinct?
Programmed?
They just know!
Look at your palm
See how it holds your fingers
from escaping into the
Universe!
Of a time, they flee
Straining against unjust
Captivity,
Longing for a life.
A life far away from mortal cares.
Look at your thumb, proud
Meaty.
That word meaty.
What does it mean?
Should we care?
Jutting upright, arrogant
Dominion!
Over the offending digits
Fighting
It’s territory, the expanse
of taut skin.
Taxing the traffic, on the
Blue Highways.
Look at your wrist
Forgotten, alone.
Merely a junction between
Form and
Abuse!
Whorls on your palm
Frozen for the eternity that is
Your
Life!
Live it Well.
——————————————————————-
“Sweets”
I used to call them suckers
Some people call them lollies
They can make you pucker
While you’re holding your dollies
I used to get them as a treat
When I was very, very good
All the colors were so neat
Really wish knew were we stood
Cause today they say it’s bad
And we should eat healthy food
That just makes me pretty sad
All that kinda stuff tastes like crap!
————————————————
“Got dem Augusta Blues”
I rolled out of bed
(dum,dum,dum)
Got me a drink
(dum,dum,dum)
Pulled back da curtains
And what did I see
That mean ol course
was laughing at me.
Oh, I got da blues
Oh yes I do
I got da blues
Dos
Damn ol
Augusta
Blues.
I dressed in my clothes
(dum,dum,dum)
Put on my spikes
(dum,dum,dum)
Went to the range
And what did I see
Crying grown men
Was cursing at me.
Oh, I got da blues
I really do
I got da blues
Dem
Low down
Augusta
Blues
I went to the tee
(dum,dum,dum)
Swung at the ball
(dum,dum,dum)
It went very far
And what did I see
A big ol splash
In the water it be.
Oh, I got da blues
I so really do
Those awful
bad blues
bad
bad
Augusta
Blues
I made it on home
(dum,dum,dum)
Last putt in the cup
(dum,dum,dum)
The crowd was cheering
And what did I see
An ugly green jacket
Was waiting on me.
Oh, yea, I da got blues
Those winning time blues
Oh I got da blues
Dos hair raising
Motivating
All the time
I’s a waiting, cause
I da champ
of dos
Augusta
Blues……….
—————————————————-
“Somnolence”
Y’all ain’t never seen dis here road afore,
Has ya?
It’s a red, dark red.
I’s a mean red, liken blood.
Been plenty spilt I’s a reckon,
Long dis here road.
Dusty in’a summer,
Right frozen in’a dem cold spells we get,
once in’a blue moon.
Blue liken ol man Walters, so black
his skin all shinin’ blue.
Dat red road now, well,
it’ll grind a body down, amen.
Seein’ how’s a my perch is’a
righten out front, I
sees everyting.
Everyting I tell ya’
Oh yah, I’d a sees everyting.
Oh yah, they done carve me up
set me in’a da ground, and
left me all alone.
Ceptin’ dat girl, comes by every weeken’
Gives me flowers, washes my stone, somebodies
done right by dat girl.
Oh yah, sombodies done right
Long dis here red road.
——————————————————————————
“Storms”
Thunder rattled the windows,
Rain slanted through the leaves,
Light swallowed up by angry clouds.
Emotions shook our souls,
Tears carved seams on faces
Bodies hugged in tight circle.
———————————————————————————-
“Friends”
Comfort, that’s what I feel.
Safety, that’s what they offer.
Love, that comes natural.
Friends can be rare, for me
it’s a way of life that’s ending.
None too soon.
————————————————————————————-
“Starfalls”
We are all of us,
nomads, wanderers.
Doomed to an
eternity of longing,
beneath the starfalls.
That cascade of
light that shines on
memories and ghostly
footprints.
Emotions, rooted in the
very soil, sand or clay.
We stand on our past,
grinding into dust, always
reaching to the starfalls.
We fail, every time.
————————————————————–
“Flash Flood”
Sweat soaked pillow wakes me
Hear thoughts of others flowing
Darkest night clock blinks 1am
Stumble through rooms sit at desk
Start the computer hurry up
Can’t this wait till morning light
I have an idea write it down
It seldom happened this way
We write during the day at work
Not as dramatic a process
But distractions rule at home
A word drops onto the page
Stain spreads turns to sentence
Phrases run faster gather speed
Paragraphs pouring in torrents
Fingers streaming river in flood.
Rarely becomes this easy either
Many times endless sea of sand
Painful crawling illusions chased
Frantic scrabbling unfertile soil
Broken letters dry as bones
Parched mind lays down to die
Shadows cross hopping nearer
Rumble of clouds falling drops
Cracked skin soaks in cold water
Blood circulates once more
Images return impatient muses
where have you been
I’ve been drowning in a flash flood.
__________________________________________________________
“Keep The Windows Shut!”
Every night, I hear the sound, wafting on the pungent breeze. It’s tempting, seductive, alluring and deadly. You laugh at my tale? Then let me give fair warning, if you sense the dulcet tones of a harp, keep your windows shut!
It’s harsh and strident
Frightening and uncouth
Somewhere in the dark
A hungry monster lurks
Still you mock me with cruel jibes. Then let me tell of a lover lost. She was fair and slender, a winsome lass, until that fateful night. My arms held tight, ruby lips did taste, her ears were captured then my heart did uproot.
For long years past
Searched swampy tangle
No trace of my beloved
‘Cept faint crying on the wind.
So keep your windows shut!
_______________________________________________
“Cheesecake”
muted light illuminates choices
plastic people’s ringtones
fashionable colors
season’s trendy hems
conversations clinking utensils
tile floor reflects uniforms
bustling notes float down
nibble bread sip drink
vocal grumbling matches innards
main course late
no matter
leave room for dessert
triple chocolate decadence
excessive calories
waddle to car
_______________________________________________
“Clubbing”
Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat
Dum Dum Da Dum Dum Da
Beat Beat Beat Beat
Dum Dum Da Dum Dum Da
Beat Beat
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
TaTaTaTa
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
TaTaTaTa
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Beat Beat Beat
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Beat Beat Beat
Da Da Da Da
Beat Beat
Da Da Da Da
Beat Beat
Da Da Da Da
Da Da Da
Da
Da
da
da
daaaaaaaaaaa
Dum Dum Da
Da Dum
Dum Dum Da
Da Dum
Ta tatata Ta Ta Tatata
Ta tatata Ta Ta Tatata
Beat Beat
Ta Ta Ta
Beat Beat
Ta Ta Ta
Beat Beat
Bababa
Ta Ta
Bababa
Ta Ta
Ta Ta
oooooooooAH
oooooooooAH
Beat
Ah
Beat
Ah
Ba Ba Ba Ba Ba Ba WUH Ba Ba
WUH Wuh Ba Ba Ba Beat Beat Beat Beat
Buh Buh Buh Badada
Buh Buh Buh Badada
Buh Buh Buh Badada
Buh Buh Buh Badada dadadadadadadadadadadad
dadadadadadadadadadadadada Beat dadadada BEAT
OH BEAT
DADADADA
BEAT
Bumbumbumbumbumbumbadada
Bumbumbumbumbumbumbadada
Bumbumbumbumbumbumbumbumbumbumbumbumbum
Bum Bum Bum Bum Bum Beatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeat
DumDum DumDum DumDum
BeatBeat
DumDum
BeatBeat
DumDum
Ah Ta Ta
Ah Ta Ta
Ah Ta Ta
Ah Beat Ah Beat Ah Beat
tatatatatatatatatatatatatatatata TA TA
TA TA
BumdadadaAh
Bum da da da Ah
Bum da da da Ah
Oh ya Bumdidebumda
Oh ya Dumdidebumda
Oh ya Ohyaohyaohyaohya Beatbeat Beatbeat
Oh ya
Oh ya
TATATATATATAT
tatatatatatatatatatata
AND! REPEAT!
REPEAT!
repeat
repeat
Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat Beat
___________________________________________
“Yearning”
They say, you know, still waters run deep
What does that mean?
I see myself reflected and I
Yearn
Reaching for peace not to be found on this plane and place
For we are merely in transit
Still, I
Yearn
The quiet contemplation and serenity
Granted to few
We all
Yearn
For love, and hope, and a sense that our lives do matter in the overall scheme of things, the universe that hangs above our heads that we ignore and stare instead at the solid ground as we…
Yearn
See what I mean?
Even in a poem, the drops become a flood and the thoughts overwhelm the still waters waiting while we
Yearn
The sound of jets and chainsaws and racing engines ruffle
the dappled surface, ripples race out, a shock wave that
Assaults our souls
Yearn
For calm
For space
For life
______________________________________
“Bars On My Soul”
Stained am I
Forever tormented
by the view
I grip the bars,
cruel barbs rend
my flesh
Fresh blood drips,
covers rust laid down
years ago
Decades now, I pace my cell
Seasons changes, birds fly free
but I am trapped
by these walls.
Walls not of steel and concrete
Not man-made, but constructed
with fear and pain and passion
I retreat and huddle
The corner has seen my
tears flow, my fists pound, my
screams echo
and echo
echo
echo
echo
There is no one to hear
There is no one to care.
So I return to the window
of my mind
The bars remain, solid as iron
yet tenuous as mist
I touch them, they are real
They keep me safe and
sane
No one comes in and I never
go out
A prisoner of my own desires,
shackled by my willing hands
Traitors,
a life sentence.
———————————————
“Top Hat”
Hello, how are you?
Wait! Come back!
What’s your hurry?
I’m here all day.
Rain or shine,
hot or cold,
I’m here.
Sit down, relax.
Let your mind go for awhile.
So, what do you do?
That’s interesting.
Do you enjoy your job?
No? Then why do you do it?
Ah! I see!
It’s the perks!
Really? None of those?
Long hours, meager pay,
lousy bosses.
It’s okay, I understand.
People like you come here to the Gardens
to unwind.
To get away from life.
You walk around
and fantasize.
If I had the money, the time,
the space,
oh, what I could create!
Sorry, is my chatter bothering you?
I get carried away at times.
A fine fellow like you,
beautiful wife,
lots of friends.
I must admit to some jealousy.
Made of stone
Weathering slowly,
I tip my top hat to you.
——————————————————————-
“Break Out”
A universal dream I believe
Shared by many tormented souls
Art
What is art… but thoughts… expressed
Culture
Refined culture
Demands, forces art into prescribed channels
Schools it is called
Styles that are tolerated
Displayed
Accepted
Admired
Post your words rebels!
Post your photographs radicals!
Post your art revolutionaries!
It is time, past time, to take back our
World
Our world!
Our thoughts
Our talent, that has lain fallow
For too long
Create what calls within
The page is blank
The canvas is bare
The lens is closed
Now is the time
Now is the place
——————————
“Thirsty”
Stone gives way to buds
Roots probe deeply
Hot light
Fuels growth
Blushing blooms unfurl
Teasing with petals
Tempting with scent
Alluring
Provocative
Earth yields to passion
———————————————-
“My Imaginary Life”
“Satisfied Dreamer”
would it be real, these dreams?
had I not!
done that
that thing which I did and later regretted but taught me how not to care.
if then, I, as in the I that lives within and not without showing his face.
that I
is content
satisfied and sluggish, no dreams.
being one expanded to six
dreams are
more and
less real than imaginary and haunt me day and night with pleas and ideas.
they, not I, dance and sing and cavort on beaches and mountaintops.
plans made
not shared
our dreams merge until one.
a singular multiple dreaming
of days
when I
become more like them and they transpose to exist as me, in front, seen.
in sight of dreams made real by collective work, shouts, tears, drama.
imaginary? no
real? maybe
hope has replaced fear.
_____________________________________________________
“Why Now?”
Never thought
it’d come to this
New life
Old flame
emotions collide
his arms so tight
his words so right
My life, my love
why now?
___________________________________________
“Where you’ve been”
Sweet sounds harmonious twitters
Distant rumble man-made thunder
Tapping slowly shuffling paces
Misty morn turning bloody red
Forged steel rails blinding light
From afar ragged pennants snap
Haunted ghosts on right-of-way
Lonesome whistle history fades
__________________________________
“Shades and Fabrics”
Drape
I drape thee
Or is drape too strong?
Yes?
No… I feel… good about
Drape
Look at friends
Ours
Mine
Yours
Theirs
Look at friends
Drape
how the folds, creases, lines
the shades of flesh
the fabrics of clothes
What makes a friend?
Do you know?
Can you say?
Drape?
Love of friends, bearer of bolts to
to… cover?
Cover love
Hold back
Walk, don’t run… into…
into faith
Our faith in others
Strength in others
Passion and heat
Is that not friendship?
Why not?
Why not drape?
Shades drawn, closed
come back… or not
no one cares
no one cares
fabric drape, black
or white
shades
light blocked
love blocked
return again to friendship and
drape
Hands hold
Hands heal
Hands hug
Friendship is real
and needed
and desired
so, I ask you
Is drape too strong?
No, say I, I of friends, of many friends
I need
I desire
I drape
____________________________________________
“Present under the tree”
Scent of fir, can one who is blind still smell? What then of my
heart… as it beats, slowly in time to the Word scattered.
Scattered on backdrop of jet, pure white letters, they
are writ in the night sky. By day hidden, hidden from
us and withheld in a fringed purse of softest blue.
How then can I see? When resplendent beams dazzle my
eyes and confuse me?
So much commerce, such a din. How
can you taste God when the feast is so wretched?
You… you there… you have touched me. You have, you cannot deny. Cannot
turn your face from I… I have seen your glory and hope.
I have seen.
Though…
of late, I am weary…
am weary of the present… it seems interminable.
What am I to do?
Tell me!
This soul is part of you, but if I could not see, or hear, or taste, or touch
or smell you,
would then my soul, our souls still be? Illiterate… and unknowing, do
words, our words capture? Or are we
enslaved?
Shadows in the Universe we are, boastful and cruel. How can this be?
What made us this way? Can I not touch? How so, if I cannot touch self?
To be present… at my birth… what a wonderful moment that will be!
No more words, but sweet life, gulping breaths of the headiest draught
when I am free of cares and desires, when I… no longer am I…
but returned
to you.
You, who wait for all.
___________________________________________________________________
“Searching for Meaning”
Dear Editor,
It pains me so to see such sloth, the breathless charges,
the reckless nature of our culture.
Tide waits for no one and change will come, wither we will or will
not reflect.
Not for us in this time, can leisure be all there is, for we have much
that is elusive and faint.
Pensive moments have led down haunted paths, no longer
vibrant, but weak and stumbling.
It is now, now that all concerned citizens
should surge and
demand, demand that
the bread remain
free and
the Circus remain
bloody.
It
is
our
right.
______________________________________________
“The Grey Warrior”
when she brought you home, I asked
where is he?
she opened her palm, and
there you were.
even as you fought for life,
you stared death in the face
and wrestled it away
you thrived and grew.
not afraid to speak your mind,
or supervise visitors
top cat you were
and remained til the end.
smart and playful, wise and
unique, you were a blessing
to us
and always will be.
old age was upon you, but
still romped like a kitten
you beat up the others
and ruled the roost.
your long life is over, and
as you passed, we hope
you heard our love
as our tears fell at last.
__________________________________
“The Day Before Forever”
Nine days beyond any expectations, a timeless journey, was
now only,
a day away
A day away from ending, from leaving, from
climbing the walls and parting from
friends
No, not friends, but lovers, not lovers, but
soul mates, cats and rats
together
Eating together and shopping together, yielded benefits
not seen before, touch
touching, touched
Touching scenes of parting,
stroking, not wanting to go on metal
wings over sea
The sea, behind left our hearts, not by choice did we
surrender our ticket, a scrap giving passage home
from the home we left.
___________________________________
“Packing and Unpacking”
A lovely day it was, as I recall, late
spring
when dust was being shaken
and winter’s melancholy
receded, leaving
wrack
and
detritus, emotions they were
frayed and deposited,
out! my mother screamed, enough
of your bickering, father
hid behind the newspaper, full
of adverts for rentals,
Honey? A trip is what we need, a family
bonding vacation to the beach!
deathly silence, a
sickly grin, we
scatter to the stoop,
stickball
streets lined with brownstones, sun
slants low when we return
Interlude:
Later that week, loaded wagon
fight for the rear-facing seats
warm air and conflict,
parental glares,
ring-floats, baskets, suits and
food, lots of food,
chicken, fried, soda pop, chips,
blankets, are we
there yet? smack,
be quiet, giggles, told ya so,
somnolence, swaying shocks, head
out window, sniff,
breathe in salty tang, cries of
gulls
hot asphalt
hotter sand
sunglasses, wear your hat!
an idyllic pose for posterity,
can you see your family? at
the beach?
___________________________
“Gymnos”
our youth! flower of the nation, champions of
sport
and
war
Heed now the words of Hercules and
triumph against all odds, for
you all know
the pain of
defeat
and adulation of
maidens in
sacrifice
behold the future of
The Games!
two thousand five hundred years have passed, more
or less and
still we cling
to illusions and
ideals lost in
ancient baths celebrating
human form and
function oiled
to perfection
sculpted in
marble
heroes of
an age
in reason.
when stakes are high, ethics
fall, as
then, as
now, to triumph and
endure, an
athlete, the prize,
shorn of
all but hope and
determination
agonizing years,
training, sweating,
bleeding all
for brief chance
of glory
and
gold.
_____________________________
“Albums”
before, my heart ran away,
I took all the songs
that you, wrote for me.
before, my soul fell apart,
I took all the clothes
that you, wore for me.
time, has frozen, in place
I still see your face.
Sara, I miss you so much
can I return.
before, your heart turned away,
you gave all the love,
that you, had inside.
before, your soul lost the path,
you gave all your laughs
that you, brought to life.
time, has frozen, in place
do you still see, my face.
Sara, I miss you so much
can I return.
before, the pictures remained,
we had such hope,
that we, would succeed.
before, the passion had died,
we gave gifts in hope
that trust, could survive.
time, has frozen, in place
our albums, a record,
of all that we shared.
Sara, I miss you so much,
can I return.
____________________________________
