It pleasures me
That she reads me
Inside her serenity
Parked on our bench of antiquities

I, whom gazes over there at her,
Later in the dusk of candlelight
Shall remove her pink dress
Tiss then
I shall see she derives her pleasures
As I read her

Saturday, in the dark
Just another day alone with my art
Paint brushes turned all red
As my heart bled onto the canvas said
I painted my life in blood
As I fainted
The brush in my hand fell
Pointing to a poem
My last written word
Called
No more Sundays

In a motel room
With a bottle of whiskey
The Perfume of my ex lover in the air
Her negligees all wrapped around my neck
Hung by love
As I fall
All my poems scatter
Rigamortis sets in
One day
Will my love of poetry matter?

Having a whiskey
With left over dreams
Walked through the park
Empty bottles kissing my feet
Snow flakes falling on dead trees
Dancing in the moonlight
Me and my whiskey
When the full moon fades
Far away in the dawn sky
On this cold winter night
Shall be my turn to lye down and die

Some say the glass is half full
Some say the glass in half empty
They all focus on the job of the glass
No matter the contents
The glass is there
In sadness or happiness
Toiling with duty and abuse
Next time you see a glass
Wrap your hand around it
In comfort
For there is nothing in this whole universe
That is not joined and one
Feeling both pain and love
Remember these simple words
Then you shall carry humility like a medicine gun
Curing all that ails mankind
As one, the universe is never blind
Do not be the fool, instead be kind

Like a shock in the night
I woke up with a fright
I am seven
Not even eleven

I am a child
Wearing a three piece suit in cheese
I got older you see
Mind stayed young even though my first love stung

She was seven
She was smelled like candy heaven
I dreamed to kiss her
So shy, I always missed her

How can it be?
So old in the knee
Yet those in control report back to me
I am seven, no more and no lessen!

I was sure I was eleven
Or maybe even forty seven
Yet here I am on earth
Not even in heaven

Beauty has faded
In the likes of me
Yet Stella is a pretty as ever can be
She was the one, even at seven

That sent my heart straight to the heavens!

Into a poem
Feel the wetness of streaming prose
Wonder
If love shall be the towel
To dry away your tears
As one goes from here to over there
Young to old and old to wise and wise to demise
When the wine bottle tumbles from the table
Jump!
Catch the wine
If there are two hands entwined
Even a poet knows
Lay down the pen
And share that one glass of wine
Touch
The romance of time

Wrinkles and Tears

I saw him
Alone over there
Ugly and full of wrinkles, I stared

I saw him
Alone over there
His coffee cold, I stared

I saw him
Alone many times over there
Contemplating the emptiness in front of him

I saw him
Sipping his coffee
With such focus and contemplation

I saw him
Alone over there
I asked the old man "Mind if I sit here?"

I heard him
Full of life and memories
With such energy and glee

I heard him
As I learned of life and history
We became friends, his gift to me

I heard him
As he proffered advice, laughter and wise words
I listened to the deeper beauty behind that wrinkled facade

I saw…………………………….I saw
   A hidden tear did fall


We often took walks and whiskey shots
He filled my soul with a history I never had
His kindness was gentle his words comedic
I soon learned he was never alone
For he lived in a happiness I could never acquire
I now had to ponder a delicate question

That first day, in the coffee shop
Who was truly alone?

Now I have the answer filled
As I shed tears at this old mans tomb

Where there is darkness
There are no words

Where there is a void
There are no words

Where Oceans touch the skies
There are no words

Where fusion turns back time
There are no words

Where angels gaze
There are no words

Where tears mix with blood
There are no words

Before the explosion
There existed a litany of  beautiful words

That lay by the way side
Unused

Inside four walls
Imprisoned from life
For life
One escapes the shackles and bars
Within owns one mind
Left to wander
Unbeknownst to the guards and keepers
The mind travels beyond the highest walls

The free man
Burdened with sorrows
Regrets and grey skies that oppress
He, of all men, can wander too and fro
Botanical gardens and cathedral ceilings
Art and the classics to feed his hungry eyes
Exploring the world and the depths of his darkness
He, whom shall never be captured, never caught nor imprisoned
His incarceration was not a place, nor four walls, it was his own mind
For Sadness
There is no escape
At all