i write at night
when the world goes quiet...
           the time is right

meanings, reflections
       all that's been acquired
flow to words keynotes to times...
      that have expired  

the comings and goings of
          things now a mist
soon take life's reckonings
              that seem to persist

a place, a face... bumps and clicks
clocks filled with daylight and
          slow-burning wicks

shuttered terraces ablaze
  in the sun
closed and forgotten
      march on a breathless run

candid and dry to the touch and feel
memories unopened depart from real
her hair smelled of lilacs smoothed to a shine
events with her always astutely sublime

but soon, as in late August the skies start to change
passions and fires begin to rearrange
uncertainty now ruled in a lofty place
where her radiant poise dwelled in permanent grace

seen always as a dancing sultry delight
hot breath in harmony so adept in the night
tenderly she did slide to a pondering past
now lost, her square mouth smile will always last

we speak with a face of resolute absurdity
spit bullets of futile calumny
  hushed in silence bereft of theater
alluringly fresh when a newness is nearer

a rash of a tumbled tinkered mind
just having left her square body behind
  a **** and a pat, lips pursed no longer painted
ignored by the night so readily tainted

but you ask how can that be for you, for me
it was meant to surrender like an ebb tide sea
surely adrift her romp will soon flush back
like a swan song riddle or gold filled sack

Imogene, Rita, Ellen or Jane
bouncy full bloomed bosoms, in a ***** rain
more sorrows and spindles and silky skin
less time to make sturdy the morning's din

songs and sweet nectars to drink a splash
humming moans and heaving sash
eyes closed filled with a roaring constellation
memories ablaze filled with deep elation

what face we just talked about here writ
in previous verse not subject to theory or wit
just a mind's plainness as usual as can be
a moment casual as tweedily dah and tweedily dee

I am the mighty magestic Tetons
the delicate of wisp of a dewy frond
the swirl of confusion and emotional rot
  fourteen ***** pans and pots

moments of passion left in despair
the coolness of fall in the night time air
lost keys and found money
sticky fingers when pouring honey

drawers filled with odd here and there
an hour of pleasure, a moment of fear
a clean, smooth cast of a singing reel
a fist bump after a hard-fought deal

lines and memories of an aging face
  a restful release in favorite place
membership benefits in a local club
  the earnest rebuke to a careless snub

hats thrown high in jubilation
relentless tedium of life's stagnation
curiosity when facing an obvious fact
the surprise erupting from a plot's third act

relativity found as expressed by Einstien
  the makings of men so elegant and fine
sureness that comes from passionate study
the way life can be so slippery and muddy

shouts from the courtyard above it all
the steadiness of desire or suddenness of a fall
nations in strife or surging with glory
the long journey to the end of a story

measures taken in an earnest goal
  how ignorance and deceit takes its toll
children's laughter that tinkles and shines
agreements broken and meetings of minds

deride, deceive...
  your almighty dreaded crumbling path
escalate and receive
  momentary gifts unrivaled wrath

what stays straight
  ignoble, steadfast illuminated so bright
turn back now, ... or wait?
foaming clouds in darkest night

I heard tales of unmet joys
rivals of men and chances
   faced with anger and misguided ploys
far away passions, angry glances

thousands of days shackled together
pomp and passions unruly tools
lying in pastures amidst golden heather
all made and sealed for irreverent fools

It will not do a sin
to chat about
and languish in
having nothing, no clout

just ruffian disarray
flagrant derision
   falsely sternly facing dismay
what a boast and sad decision

going left and left alone
casting down a common strife
nothing found under that stone
so emptied of a stern life

but heaven’s sake and sure
a past is not common
   you most make, do make more
written in time a bright omen

moving fast, in fast form
  let it be known now to all
it is not heritage nor the norm
for getting *****, from such a far fall

as a bough is mighty
  languished aloft
just prancing about
  so gullible and flighty

hers’, here taken in jest
prized and tendered
softly surmised
head facing north, breast west

sultry but forlorn
enigmatic sternly, stanch
arise mightly nymph
          heaven’s first born

allured and made red
  foaming in strife
murmuring, giggly tick tock
humming bird like, toe to head

I’ve given all but prize
hence forth rattled
pursued with delight
left flatly, left back in a sullen surmise

I think back I’ll go
for tenderness lingers
safely treading once more to alight
  minute by minute I remember and know