Holler from across—way yonder…
Endearments and farewells;
Leporine leaps lithe laughter,
Love letter greetings grandiose!
Open lotus welcomes Sun.

MmmMoan.
Y a w n.
Purrr...
How I adore our meanderings.

A Morning of misfits

Love waking to the sturdy fur of you,

Sac, pecks, abs, inner thighs,
unclad body heat.

Tho' the world outside feels absent,
your hardness
your breath
Is present
Against yesterday's 5-o'clock
shadow.

We breakfast on such sensations satin
thousand count threads
sifting and gripping sheets
creating silken
dunes of flesh creamy hues
soft mounds our twist
tied
tethered limbs
then opening passages with kisses
and humid licks
our lips:
camelback & cobra songs
to Sahara
Heatwaves
where we worship obelisks
until slumber
has rendered us
stardust and sphinx
Amused and fused our flesh
in hymns
this Sunday morning

I am
Stretching with both my hands
behind me
Clawing
buttocks raised (waiting for rain)
as if to be seen & named
one creative breath
Sunday's schooling shame,
yearning for his embrace...

Heaven forgive me
for the heaven he gives me...
Now
Exhale Olympus
Our Fallen pillars
hush.
Good morning, Love
I am

Stretching.
Eyes open wide
Stretching
Reaching out
Behind me
Reaching out for you
(Inside me)
if only briefly
knowing
the whole **** Truth…

(How I adored our meandering.)

I also Read the moon
And walk along through Aurora Boreal.
A Luxury to be able to
Read / at night / stories of the moon...
I’d rather swim in Northern Lights
Dreams of earth, her Gaia soul
All as one Life.
Each die must be rolled...

Her nickname’s Blue.
Home to you too? Tell our troops
World peace is Now
Old clocks have tolled
Oh Dreaming Aurora, An eye so blue, like
Waves of ocean tears falling sky, the color is Truth.
How we all love you, few don’t try
In this star filled night,
I read the moon, a point moot,
Auroral Dreams of you—true love.

(My strangest brew not yet come true. Could sure use a hug.)

These creases of ours—
tales of dragons and white ships.
Neatly folded sheets.

To be without you….

It means nothing to want

Attention.

Seemingly i'm told
i am jaded

my eyes - Abyssinians’
searching for red laser
points
on walls
from pedestrian faces,
since none nor no
one will
never / ever do.

But to be without you
means I am
Nothing.   Wanting  

Attention

Nothing   Wanting
You.

Are you in them rivers?
In those herds?
These lakes of
                     Lips
kissing the silences of melancholy?

Means nothing to
want…

You're poetry

Feeling
      much much more
than
        pedestrian...

Genes from Pig & Bat!
Gasp for air behind your mask.
Welcome to the war.

Listening to the ***** din of Sin

City streets

It’s concrete weight after hours.

The window ajar

to let the outside air in

while chain smoking to the whirring sirens'

soundtrack

of harpies' in heels

clucking and squealing

(laughter as sharp as their stilettos)

midnights past

black rubber tires burnt

From black boulevards

vehicular collisions'

sounds stalagmite, metallic

crunch

against the hum of sleeping traffic

signals

this hollow city like a wide amphitheater

with the occasional Harley motorcycle's

Growling thunderous fuss

waking car alarms

               (Loud choirs of infants’ high pitch wailing...)

Yet the desert night's siroccos moan

outside my 2nd floor apt. window,

in dark rooms

where silence is a deep listener

and my mind a curious wanderer,

where the walls

not only keep out

but carry every conversation

in such a cryptic void

a spark is gleaned,

a firefly wisp of an epiphany

we are not separate

you and I

        city and fly

        burrow and groundhog

        dam and ******


we are unread books in dark rooms

waiting for the absolute

truth’s boon

we find

in one another

to be known

to be keenly seen

Igniting past horrors

louder pains

from this city that strips us;

our pages like Window panes

ajar...

No matter how ugly the chapters

we will have known

joy being


Your emblazoned story

is also mine /

Up north & southern highs

swamp willows

breath and sultry kiss.


All humid human wish

Sweating the nights awake

Until dusk is dawn

light draining the sinew,

All screaming sins since

Now made few…


Steaming steeped shadows

shattering length wise

In lieu

On bright carpets made of morning

Green grass and dew

still

our day to be / written New

dream like

fireflies

In dark rooms,

These simple stories

                (a night sky full of story…)

Each light the eyes touch :

Fireflies in dark rooms.

Linger, loiter longer
Leviathan,
These Lovelorn Lanes Fast
with lustful highs …
Fly
Farther, furthest, way Far away
To Starlight
/sweet nothings,
Interstellar sighs of space/ time
Feel
/the Empty /pain
/bleed.

Except great expectations’ need
To accept, expecting none
It’s Not for reflecting / empathy
To tragedy then forgetfulness,
On purpose
Life’s strange viscosity
Motions forward….

Oh monstrosity!
Wishful obsessions, stiff upper lip...
The Silent servants’ musk,
Aftermath of drunken trippin’
The rush of us who trust, slippin’
On the white,  
               snowfall man melts
The poles and hell rains down,
Hush now, The storm hither comes...
Torrential

The colossus of silence beyond
Jupiter’s red eye
The yearnings surpassing blood,
The gargantuan greed
The need for love
Some are On sale  
A Commerce for feeling
        Galvanized
The Giant
Drowning in his Whale Songs
    moonlighting the deep...

The Anglerfish
Amidst the pitch cold vastness
Go there
The other ocean
The infinite canvas
             The Void of space,
Deep Emotions pace
Times asleep & awake
            elsewhere
Swims my assuaged dreams,
All of thee:
Makers bright,
Meteorites brief
The flash of freefalling lights
Like my hollow heart’s leap:
           Blind,
           But for a feeling,
The monster that I trust.

Leviathan.

Family “Face-Time”:
Holding an Apple iPhone,
Sam sung birthday songs.

One of few
words that has no other definition
but itself both
written and referenced
with many synonyms similar
a muse universal and familiar
adds shade for heated
hearts all quite
Red
like a rose
it is it's own unique beauty,
long stemmed
Thorny
Blood red
Love
it is nothing but...
everything.

not Lust or Covet, for they are too brazen
and carnal with their hunger
unlike Love, which fills the need
steadily--in time, relieving the craving,
leaving contentment
then feeding others without requirement
of payment...

not Adoration or Crush
because they are still children
without the understanding
or capacity for self-sacrifice
which Love is familiar to
like years unconditional
this trust is a marriage between
naïve and wise...

not Passion or zealous Desire,
due to their one-sided tunnel vision
without compromise or sway,
almost indifferent to all else
but the prize at the end;
for Love has its eyes in everyday
at all times in your corner

not Like or Fondness, for they are weak
in emotional life,
half devoted and half way gone
waiting for the other
to finish a simple thought
indifference is not a line to cross;
because Love cares for both
itself and yours and all others
"love thy neighbor as thy brother"

love is willing to carry the weight
always keen to always wait
no matter how long
or how late...

It is so wonderfully loyal
Love is
at times often motivated
by a blindness for only it's devotion;
but true Love
does not worship
and sometimes must let go
to preserve its integrity,
for if it is real
it will return with more fuel for the fire
to light the warmth of our hearths
higher...

Love commits fully
even unto death, whether star-crossed
or over time's deepening breath,
it is defined by each
and all
it's own victory and story...
Still,
a difficult thing,
to fall in Love
and never fully understand
not a word refuse
Not one but Love
Recused

A difficult thing…
To know love is true by
How your heart breaks
Letting go
A most difficult thing...

Wallace, my man Wallace, fell
In love with his wife,
For real for real
Fell in love.

If someone should happen upon
To see the two of them
If by chance passed by
Them two together

How odd a couple
They may say
She's such a little thing
Something so prestine to
Wallace, homeless guy howler.
Who is more himself with her than
Without her.

Mr. dumpster-diver-king!

The two individually are
Themselves genuinely
Together lovey-dovey,
Not an act.

Wallace falls in love,
Says that's a fact
Knowing that it also means
He’s found someone
to lose.

Still, Wallace knew
love.
It's the god-honest Truth.
A lonely man’s church.

Among these godly spires:

Hot streets that gleam
harvesting
tourists from afar
pockets romancing
neon ***** and slots

our tables laid out to serve them
sliding doors and rollercoasters,
they are all ours

i dwell in its butterfly wings

with others who have stood
the fat rain and desert hail
in spring time
Crackling skeletal skeins
of lightning

Oh life, i am on-watcher...
blind from the sights,

sleep stealing summers
heat so disfiguring,
no longer listening
to cassettes in the car
melted like Dali art

the sun is a horrible comedian...
our winters are kite killing
my nose feels as if locked
by Samsonite
Winds wailing below freezing…

Among these lit boxes
copy cats and volcanic hopes
Mirage
through trials and tides
of creative construction of yore
most still stand *****

gambling on dreams
on days unkind, here i am
being pitied
a unicorn

losing / winded / coming out un-even
alive tho trying
to enjoy / her
admirable rivers of new
peoples and foods
fire-breathing signs
she has many stories up
beneath
her evening skin
and silver teeth

while i am young
she flashes me
underground
and
glowing candies...

Las Vegas

is my grease
lightning
and seductive Sandy...

After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds
           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment,
Or stewing in self-helps.
"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...
(Without be-getting a shred
Of guilt).

Cat claws on the dough.
Everyone itches for cash,
“Can’t read your chicken—“

Sirens past midnight
Neon lights' city skyline
Tourists hauled away.

It's Your fault that I love You so **** much.

Strides the stallion proud like so…
Visionary bright in Aviator shades
Each sunrise toward his muse, dust & bone
**** rudeness without excuses made
Gregarious a salesman of gravity, Insider mole,
A Boss—Lady, Or Apple genius (reclusive) *****.
List maker, name taker, A hot exclusive.
I feel you, mr. Guru, your heart’s dream music.

Super dope Uber
Driver, fixer, father, man
Flies for that paper.

Add another O to “g o d”

And the word is “good”...

Beyond the Ort cloud
Awaits interstellar space,
The great dark empty

The vast void between
The Galaxies--dwarf planets;
Life dies to follow.

Time lies beyond us
All we get are quick snapshots
Rings and the Red Eye.

Beyond the Ort cloud
In the deeps 'tween galaxies
Time's great distance sleeps.

Good Night Cassini .

Clamor and climb the city life
Lovely nightlights of needles & towers
A beacon bright brightly flashing flashy city
Miners minstrels & playthings, all that glitters...
Break for the Meadows, its inns & outlaws,
Each hot breath of loss, another moth.
Roll the Die in neon fires—it’s paradise lost.

It is said that even in the darkest of places, deepest pitch of spaces, betwix the stars and distances of dream or wasteland, even in sleep, the Light will gleam, a heart will beat—so life is scene —through eyes we’ve seen, the truth of dark places, Light is found. Sight is sound.

Making strange sounds **** noises, beneath the covers,
Pompous poots from buffet lanes smells like white supremist ***.
Kamikaze!
Evil ******’ stinks!
Sounds right, smells wrong.
Gung-** to go.
Skechers without Tees sketching out
Smells like Mind -******
Not what’s up. What’s the sound
Of Empty,
The same as plenty
Time enough to Experience it
Heart full of heavy
With nothing at all, spiraling
Down
Drinking Kamikazes
Instead.

🎈

Remember
When every touch
with all its good intentioned
kindness
We were once
Tender like our lips at first kiss,
      deeply we dive...
inside / one another's eyes,
Seeing with feelings
Past the weight of fevered flesh:
          A dervish flight
through those walls
layered with doubts, heavy
as the stones
we since turned our hearts into...

Remember when
Every word
          was lovingly spoken,
an uplifting wisdom
like feathers’ wings:
      the soft music of our mouths,
when life was floating
lanterns
and briefly we‘re kept far
A/part
And still you have me soar.    🎈

Remember, when we are finally as one,
     whole, a hearth warm,
and ****
      those wet silences
      become undulating music like
                   the times we demure
our mouths still drinking, singing
instilling lessons
      within the depths of our Heart’s thirst,
which only absolute certainty
calms and quenches…

Keeps a light so bright to carry on,
      knowing tomorrow will come
      yet when I'm with you
I am made new,
Even in the dark where stars
Are borne
         supernovae.
         Remember
when
in the break of morning
As eyes open from trenchant sleep
           (better than adrift or hollow)
Remember, how stunning that view
            inhale—surprised like
Awakening to life's wonder, that...
To thee and thine,
fearlessly I say
                depart and drink in
                the rain
     freedom love,
the sky and eyes will awake..

And if we have yet to meet,
since I know
           Truth and believe in Love,
When I fall for you,
       Thank all the heavens vast, I fell for you,                                  
                      I will fall up...
Because I remember
now,
it's you,
Lovingly    loving    
Love,
who fills my very cup,
floating in the drink
of Us.               🎈
                                 (God how I love you)

GAYS (acrostic)


Giiirl, nah uh, no you didn't...

Anyways, back to moi, how do I look?

Yesterday his name was Manny, now it's in transition...

Snaps her fingers in circle motion, rubbernecking.


Fruit (senryu)

Youth around the "Loop"
In flaming Hot-Pink boa.
Daisy Duke at Pride.

Urban Dictionary : 1. A snack that one might find "sweet pleasure" in eating.
2. A flaming flamboyant homosexual.
#fruity

Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.

Or is it upbringing
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...

"Worthless idiot"
She spits on him
Like her rednecks and niggar ****

Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.

Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows

Outside the picket fences
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo

When the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)

Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide

Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses

Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open

Escape...
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy

Barely half / Life legally blind
And lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind

Home.

"*******!"

"If you ain't fixing to ****, get off the ***"

"****-head"

"Take a whiff,  cuz I'm the ****"

"Eat **** and die, *******! "

"what kind of **** are you trying to pull? "

" **** for brains"

" That's the kind of **** that'll **** up your ****. "

You say you fly

I say you’re high

Don’t even try, you just a duckling

Ugly hide please hide the **’s

Making babies cry, your face don’t know

I say you’re high

When you glamorize mass ******

school shootings

No coming back from this yo!

Acting hard to hide you / fearful

Child these dem streets, Tho’ tearful

Flabbergasted master faker, on the DL

Fugly mocking us - howdy **!

Don’t deny or say it’s fine, bro

If we’re still ****** struggling,

For something kind in everything.

Feel so low from getting high, a muggle ill

Broken system kills

All low or high hopes

Softly Or loud Apollo from The ghetto

like A show Of shadows hunted, marked

Blank tags on toes.

On New moon nights we're all dark,

But what about your heart?

Got soul, but lactose intolerant.

Hollering beauty Within feel not seen

dim lit neath twilight glow...

Don’t ******* me and say nothing - no.

I still say you’re high fo sho.

“**** Fugly mugs on drugs and everythang…“

Why oh why

Speak /Lie / or Trust?

“That’s life” Sang old blue eyes.

To Vegas or bust...

Don’t cry / **** / do or don’t

Then again ... (Pop pop pop! Goes the cop)

****!

(You’s All ****
Fugly!)

Means War Fosho..

Streetwalker quickstep
In knee highs
Click clack tap tap
On the fly
Her cacophony echoes
Down the night’s hollow alley
Cat caught by black
Cadillac
Hurry on in
That pimped out coffin
Streetwalker
Quick
Steps.

A good man
Of godliness, not god fearing,
But All loving
Is full of understanding

Empty hands with all the world to hold...

A good individual
Is open minded
But not ignorant
Like those who look to save
Their own peace of mind
By saving us unfortunates
By speaking for sublime...

A decent person
Has smarts whether street or book
Collegiate or crook
A survivor does not prey

And a good man
A man of godliness
Owns and knows himself
No guns
Nor hatred
Respects Life
Even now when the fittest
And newest to this breadth
Keep
Mindful
Considerate
Still unconditionally
Sacrificing self
For all
Thee

Because that’s what it means
To cherish creation
Even now
When we are howling
And snarling
Gnashing and snapping
With the bare light of the moon

Even we are turned into rats
Running mazes
Piper’d over the cliff
It’s something else
What darkness does
Our eyes must open
If nothing else see
Yourself
More than just being
Human
All dreams A man
We’re— breathing—fire
Yet
Healing
water...
Of Life
(Les Miserables)

We are more
We are meaning
not just
Words
We are energy in form
In this darkness
Beasts of ****** are
Heavy, down on all fours
(No good on dance floors)

Such Animals
Our own husks
Are left to feed the earth

These burdens
We will alight
When we give reason
          A crown
Truth
Becoming
A weapon to cage
A law to enrage
Our very song

A good man
Makes right
Of life
All wrongs
No sides in a circle...

And I wonder if Dr. King would be proud of Jay-Z --in 2019 became the first African American billionaire? (Oprah not that far behind) while millions more in the populace still work for minimum wage, even white Americans. All ethnicities in our "melting ***" it seems.

What is witnessed on TV is all illusion, political propoganda of American wealth. We're kept in line with lies and promises by corrupt leaders, as the country and it's house on the Hill divides.
We watch them celebrate their picture-perfect lives, millionaires paid by our taxing, happier than we (the people) who fight their wars. Even afterward, the wars here against inequality.

None care to share the wealth, to better lives, not even our education; information's omissions, as the News talks down at us, redirecting our attention to *** changed Kardashians. And most who're stupid believe it, or could care less.

So what now? Who's left to save us, to make things right? When even the righteous churches choose their parties, their money's in no short supply. Profiting off of nature, fracking old fossils fueled by greed, getting richer (even now from legalization of our highs) as the planet dies.

It's MLK Day 1/20/2020, I'm asking why --aren't we free at last?
(And I'm not even black).

Machina that prey
Overpopulation's Game
Consuming the world.

Summertimes’ rainfall;
When grass grows tall on your lawn,
Dragonflies come home.

Drink half your glass / before walking out /
The door to your house /
Lets the spirits / know you’re home.

Condoms, oil burners, shattered glass

The homeless homies homemade ****…

Now Chris can't sit still in class

Pounding the pavement with kisses to heaven

All hustlers sell

Dipping Dots

Wrapped in latex

Liquid to vapor overkills

The loss of will

From after parties after hours

Romancing the ******

On the corner

**** hits / schisms / victims;

Asphalt littered with

Shattered flowers

Them chicks on the streets

Ladies of the night

Its matter of fact

Mr. Hightower / boulevard's class

For the hard ***

**** poor "G" learning how

To trample through his ghetto

As she masters each one

******* / hand - jive and mashed

Chris and his gang

Up for sale (hot-**** **** jello *****)

For white Hyperion and

Black, mellow minutes cached

Out / yellow bellied / thin

Such barefooted souls /

No Marrow

Easiest to break

When already hollow...

Spirit without a light to follow

Never will live beyond

Their sorrow /

Nor see another tomorrow…

The hand that always gives is never empty --russian proverb.

A mosaic of broken colored glass
Repurposed in to a High Art
Against the brilliance of the sun
Stained glass skeins color the pews
Without doubt made anew
Alive ain't broken.

(We're Mosaic... as it were.)

I know them ties
That bind. The chain necklace noose
The invisible leash
I never knew
How tightly it keeps
How riptide-like
We're pulled back to
Window shopping
Outside
Myself, without self-help
Freedom cries out
For what's beyond
Outside the window
I'm familiar with that pain
Intimate with that feeling
Of Free
To be oneself
Yourself being
Alive without living
Without the chains
Necklace noose
Your very spirit let loose
Was close to that
Feeling of
Free once
I know...

* *

We are shaped into feral creatures in this wilderness of artifice, cages and boxes,
Hearts and minds locked away, dismissed
We are pages without fonts or even thoughts, graphics
Of our own, uninteresting rocks
Heavy yet empty…
We are made into Other
******
Rather than
Our selves / paths chosen for us to be theirs…werk.
We are the beautiful shiny toys
In cellophane, with Invisible leashes
Unused young and new
Until age flashes and crashes
Replaced by something that looks like
Who?
Are you still You?--to You?

C is for Chances, not choices, taken
Which makes one feel truly free,
To place yourself out there
To let the fates decide
Let Chance, destiny’s child, be your guide
Or C what happens
When we’re open to Love.
C is for cry out loud, give silent hugs...

La poésie est Rose
Limonade par une chaude journée d'été,
La poésie est la sueur qui
Coule dans ton cou
Alors que vous buvez profondément ...

I find sleep quite amiable
less resistant
after touching
The timpani of tigers
like prowling
Your other jungle-wilderness
It’s my undoing
after we have done what we did

Physically akin
Our own skin held close
Mingling / our tender cooing
Gooseflesh shivers
Birthday suits all
Aquiver...

In the miasma of life's (bowels)
howling, bowdlerizing
the sensations of our
everyday heaven.

I find sleep more pliable
after a swim in you
and I taste myself
in the salt
of our commingling
skins
Tingling

Newly
swathed in mouths
and primrose
fragrant waterfalls
thunderclouds
A deluge

Of Seed & Petrichor
in the aftermath
Of our victory
The ******
within and about
our dance of skin—I am washed away
a tiny death
a cry to heaven

I am naked
when you're not clothed on me,
how strange to need you to swim.
I find dreams much better
aloft
my second skin...

(For Pops)

Poppers and pour homme

Video head crisp

And clean

Thirty three...

Ol' boy's first whiff and whippets

Little balloons

Shaped like eggplant lungs...

Easy now

Inhale until it's banana peel

Flaccid...

Laughable word

Whole situation absurd.

...

Now that I'm cut

Built Body bait

In a glass house

Of men

Stuffed / like a clown car

Their fat lip smiles

Artificial

Canine rictus

Taking whiffs

Smelling blood

In the humid beach air...

It smells like a boy's

First play date

First of everything

Daddy fox hole slings

Party N Play

With favors and favors old men

But I was thirty three

But I was the bait...

It smells like Dolce

And Gabbana

Cabana boys and

Poppers.


(For Pops)

Dancing to the beating drums,
Rejoice for the new year has come.
Acrobats and firecrackers
Gifts of red envelopes and gold
Open house full of food and chatter.
Nostalgia won't keep the saki cold.

Date night & starlight,
as we caress the hours
streaks across the sky.

A Buster is busted.

Figuratively disfigured

Mayhap way he speak?

Not just slow

Cuz he got flow

Figured out the Hustle

Keeps on and on and on and...

"This **** Life—brothas Broke!"

Sweet Swisher Blunts

Swish and stunted swoosh

Jumping hoops

(For who?)


Busters are Busted.

Vigorously. Voraciously.    

(Or rock-steady Kool)

And the gangs’

Got gats & silks

Tommy-guns Polishing

(Head like a hole...)

Our whips.

Our babies.

Our Peeps

The War / The Streets

The Word itself, asleep...

Sweet Tea at the ready!

They're thirsty in

CHi-Raq.

F not for **** or for fracking fame,
It’s for face that is saved, for everything else
That’s F not for effed up freakazoids
Framing the fool or the wannabe fricassee'd.
F is for frozen soul, F is the finale of pitch dark hell
Without a tolling bell
It’s the silent sorrow of farewells.
F is for fire no devil could sell
Funk’n soul, none in hades
Doth ever tell...

G is for the gravitas of goodbye
It’s the gun which grieves
Beneath the soil and sky,
G is the goodness of tears
Love proves, falling from one’s eyes...
So long bereft of feeling
G is for guile...

At Shady Meadows,
Retired senior moments:
Bingo & crosswords.

Winged Kiss


A wave of a hand
a wand
a wink
             a nod   or  blink

a winged kiss...

You wriggling your nose
spurns me to rub your lamp

I dream of you
as I often can,
           magically and yearningly
I divine your eyes…

What curse or bliss
(Too much of this)
to be abused by your smile
from the muse of your wiles,
all the while
Truly
in our Utopian isolation
no other image of what must
or emulation of their love or
such none-such nonplussed

"you'll die, oh you just must"
dumb struck crush

while we paint ourselves tender
in writhing naked laughter
our own canvas
signed by us...

and only just
ourselves to Van Gogh
"Water Lillies"  and  
"Starry Nights"
       in your blush...

there I can see the future
of your worth
a masterpiece of our colorful theatre
inspiration's lovely birth

in the museums of my lungs
in my life
the art we shape with time
with touch...

what curse or bliss
this wish
come true

a wave of a hand
a wand

                        Our winged kiss.

It's a somber Saturday with it's overcast gloom,
One could say it sets our moods to blue,
But what's observed among our neighbors
The happy in positive behavior shouldn't waver.

An intimate couple, balcony and drinks,
A conversational wooing with shot glass hints,
It may change either way, the clouds' grey
May cool the weekend fire of their day in the hay.

A small latin family of four and a pinata,
Toddler lifted to it's height by the papa,
Even with an immanent storm above
They celebrate in the fog,
Their mood set to Love
The Good stay good.

How I see love.