Inside a warm domicile
Cover up, hunker down.
Stay awhile, don't venture out
For the great black cloud
With an icy fist will come
To steal the sun for everyone

It started to rain, and a wind blew
It put me in a mood, I started
Thinking of you, a thing I never do,
Really.

I could hear the rumbling heavens move.
Do you remember how good it was
To make love during a thunderstorm?
I do.

The leaves on the trees rustled loudly,
A few sticks fell and hit the roof of the house.
I can never forget the pecan tree,
Remember?

It was heavy with its fruit in Autumn
As it stretched over our bedroom.
And every time the North winds blew
Nuts would hit the roof.

You would say “I love you”.
With each clank or bump, rumble, tumble,
They would roll down and I would get
An “I love you”!

And we would lay entwined cuddling.
Do you ever wish it were still true?
Now that we are both older,
I do.

You will be outed
Whether as to truth
Or from hearts

Your funerary epitaph:
"He never told a truth."
Carved on stone in relief.

Some whom you feel you knew so well
Fade from the mind, in time.  Why?
Who forgot first?  
They once were real.

Time taken is time gone,
Only the memories linger on,
And remain there in the brain's folds
Even though we become old

Let them flash before your eyes
Long before time for you to die
Grab them like the precious gems
That they are, reclaimed

Untangle my thoughts,
Ease my troubled mind.
Caress me gently, tenderly,
So that, perhaps I may find
A gentler friend where I had not.

I look into your eyes to see
The comfort to what worries me -
Just caress me ever tenderly.
To reality let me continue blind,
Untangled in these thoughts.

The night is a silver cage
Containing the white bones of love;

My heart bleeds for you
I wish I had been able to flesh you out;

Yet, here we are
Barely human, anymore.

My love and I would bask in the sun.
And we would make love out of doors.
We would, under the grape arbor.

Love’s knot loosened, my gossamer bow,
In a sea of light our love voyage would flow.
It would begin and end under the grape arbor.

Let my every ounce
Of love and courage
Build a steel wall
Around my heart
Around my mind
That it might become
Scaffolding to support me
Then I can say, "Lean on me."

You invaded minds
Like a brain-worm
Munched your way
Until all is in decay

Tragic poets were often mocked
By comic poets during dramatic festivals.
Some travestied more than most.

They write to record.

Frequently shocked by the heresies
Put into the mouths of powerful men,
Many, too frightened to begin again

Commit political suicide.

You are like moonlight in a jar,
The reflections, on water, of stars,
Soft strumming of acoustic guitar,

A cool breeze on a sultry night.
The thought of you sparks life,
And causes one to indulge in dreams.

We fly,
Like birds,
Like butterflies,
Like angels.

And, what of time?
Drug along as it is
Around a spinning earth;

We fly,
Through space,
Though time,
Through lives.

Yes, what of time?
Bound by laws & perspectives
We fly in relativity.

Seeing you once again,
So very much makes me long
For that sweetness of your sting

And the heat, which throbs bright red
Pumping out an intoxicating cocktail
To rush throughout my skin.

Who knew such poison could be 'friend'?
Desires now past are to become craved.
I **** my throbbing wound going to the grave.

Yet, I do not mourn, I do not rage nor rave.
It is done and I am too satisfied to die
With you upon my lips.

There are weeds that exists only
In the minds of short-sighted ones
Who fails to see their beauty.

Strong my castle walls!
For it has been so long
Since any hand has touched
Her imposing gates.

Please do, cross this mote
Of my desires, I
The cry within my throat.
And must you wonder why?

What is a queen without any hope?

You rambler, brier bush, spreading outward
Seeking to entangle my leg in a thorny grasp.
To your pleasure, you try reaching wide crossing a thigh.

What sick joy is held at the sight of tiny red dots of blood
Which sting up and down my limbs?
Yet, I have the last word, so to speak, as I reach.

Gingerly, deftly, reaching in I get what I seek
Then let your purple blood run down my mouth!

You broke my heart.
I searched for clover blooms
from which to weave chains
and crowns for the both of us.
But you with your urban sensibilities
Kept the lawn mowed too often.  You,
Hobby-like in your ankle-length socks
Bermuda tangoed, with your mower.
I eventually came under its blades.

Here is the book that you may choose words from
It is a limited fare
Nine out of ten mythomaniacs are happy with it
For those like you, it'll do

I love my baby with the almond eyes,
China doll face with shining dark eyes.
I love my baby with the golden hair,
She is the one with bluest eyes like the sky.
Through old eyes I can see them there

And see snapshots of them run and play,
Picking wildflowers for me most days.
Swinging high or tumbling on the ground
Running up to me to show what they've found.
Life was so much simpler then.

Now I get to call them daughter and friend.
The years have gone by like a spinning wheel
But I can tell you that I still feel
They will always be my babies though grown.
Here within my heart, they will always be home.

Your web tingles.
Movement you discern.
A shimmer of dew falls.
Perfectly still listening
You wait momentarily,
Rush forward to him
With your love bite.

Many are the days of gain in life,
And many are the losses, too.

I hope your gains are many
And I hope your losses few.

I smell the damp earth.
The scent rises into my nostrils.
Under this pine rain drips down
Dimpling the ground all about me.

Some distant bird flutters up
Making a whirring, whistling sound.
It echoes across the field of thoughts,
Brings me back to my reality.

That truth is sharp and pain-filled.
It stealthily digs under your skin.
You are gone, but life continues.
Tell me it does.  Your answer, "Life,

It is in the scent of earth,
The whirring of the distant bird,
The dimpling of raindrops on soil.
And in each molecule of the universe."

Go celebrate today
For you won’t be able tomorrow,
Nor will you feel like it.

The golden age has turned orange.
What you thought was gold
Has proven to be faux.

Lov-v-v-ve, the word on the tongue
Vibrates as a bee does before it stings
"With love's light wings
did I o'er perch these walls."
Then, the fall.

Deat-th-th-th, an imagined voice of serpents
"Th-th-th", as it slithers upon the dust of earth.
O, precious love & life!  O, sting, life's dearth.
Did those lovers prove Love's worth?
When oft you straddle walls you fall.

Lif-f-f-fe, even the sound is ephemeral,
A mist.  Just as the object is itself.
Not unlike a mystery book on the shelf
There is death within all of us.
Though for some, early, the fall.

As all the lovely birds fly by, and
I am held, breathless, in this moment
Transfixed to the beauty of time and space
And the continuum of time and times and tides;
Across a sky lit by the morning sunrise.
I am caught in the thought, "What is a sunrise?"
It is a sight out the window of life, yes.  Thus,
As the earth slowly turns we get to watch it go by
Ever so slowly and we think we are seeing the sun "rise."
And thus "the world turns" imperceivable in its orbit,
A blue orb in a graceful dance with a bright orange orb.
All the lovely birds have since flown into the morning;
While standing here still I am wondering,
"What is a sunrise, really?

A taste, a sight, a sound, a smell,
A touch, a feel, a thought, a breath,
A life, a death, a being, or nothing at all.

Within a mind almost devoid of thought
These begin to swirl and paint the words
On the canvas of a mind.

Her little belly glows.
It pulsates with anticipation
Waiting, listening for my voice.
Eager to please should I have need.
When I am at rest she hears my breath,
And waits for me to speak so she can please.
Her little light interrupts my sleep at times
But she is there bright and early
To make sure that everything is fine.  I say,
Well, thanks to you need to go back to sleep,
You little busybody creep!

I hear the little pitter-patter of raindrops
And listen for the sound of ice as it falls.
Raindrops manifested as ice crystals
With its delicate but distinctive sound
As the tiny bits ****** softly down
Like seeds scattered on the ground.

They glisten like slivered splinters of glass
Amid the fallen autumn leaves on grass
And magnify the beauty with shards of color
Glinting through accumulating gathered ice.
A foundation for a Crystal Palace in miniature
The beauty captivates within a time capsule

Of only one wintery day.

In the stiff northern breeze
Leaves are blowing from the trees
And gathering at our feet.

-A lovely time of the year.

Hot chocolate in hand we climb
A pile nearby to sit and enjoy our treat.
I recite my wintery rhymes.

-A cozy scene with you.

You say they are "so sweet."
A dagger to the heart of a poet.
Oh, happy dagger your pain?  I know it.

-Reality's brutal strike!

But sitting there with you,
Even for the moment, life feels complete.
Even if you are not truly bright.

-It takes a poet to understand a poet.

The lament of a maiden
Cried to the night sky
"Sweet lover,
I will pluck your heartstrings
And sing my call out to you
Hear that my heart is true:

May the mist carry
My words of love
Swiftly to you
On its vaporous hue
Causing it to arrive
With the morning dew

As I look out on my morn
My lonely heart is torn
If I could send you my arms
Across this large divide
I would embrace you
To be your guide

What starts as a mere mist
Will soon envelop you with
A thread-woven protective bag
Filled with this song.  So,
You can trace your way back
It is on its way to you

Let our love be the compass
That guides you home to me
Following the many lines
Of our love and life on our map
The lines of which can be seen
By only you and only me

Follow the line leads you straight
Across this distance home to me
Across these vast seas remember
Our life is more than a mist,
More than a mere song
Our love will continue on and on

I pitched myself into a sea of memories.
The stormy waters washed over me.

I was adrift in a raging storm,
Strange as it was, I did not feel alarmed.

As the swirling waters rocked me
In the agitation I began to feel free,

Free to hear, free to speak, to be still,
Free to feel, or to just to be real.

That in which I had been trapped so long
Suddenly became my enduring song,

Of life and love, of anger and happiness
Even when it all seemed like a huge mess.

I only had to embrace all memory as joy,
In that, the slice of each makes the whole.

I’m holding on for dear life.
Passing seasons have changed me
Causing me to flutter about in the wind.

My spring colors once ran bold and true,
But that, my love, was before I met you,
You, the Winter of my life.

Cold, cold, you.

When the sun begins its rise
And as it moves into view
Rising higher in the heavens,
It grows in its spectacular glow
And it sprinkles golden dust
On everything it touches.
It is a magical period in time,
This golden hour, which belongs
To the sun and its glorious rise
And is then gifted to us.

History, a word that carries memory,
transformation,
success, and failure.

Though written in skewed remarks
By the victors of the time
The truth will out.

It is not until
The Kool-Aid runs out
That one can begin to question.

I feel like a dragonfly who’s lost its wing;
No! I feel like the dragonfly’s wing, lost;

Left to flutter down slowly in the wind,
To dwell, an iridescent gossamer thing,
Amidst a muddy range of things that ****

Dragonflies, and collect dragonfly wings.

There is something about poetry.  It moves in waves
To the beat of its drum, in its own time and cadence.
A poem is a naked thing born of stripped bare bones,
We crave its touch as one craves a lover's.

The world might not hear anything like it for years
Until one day a reborn version will set it on fire.
Its layers add meaning to the meaning of the familiar.
Rich in its complexities it speaks to our souls,

Reaching for those moments no one else has touched.
It is like a love letter to our past that haunts us going into
The present.  It is a beacon of hope not until like a melody.
Words are gathered and then we pin them down to the page.

A poem is just a song stripped of its music.
If only I had another lifetime within this lifetime
The music and words would never stop.  And yet,
You cannot reach for and grasp a mist to save in a bottle,

But poetry can.

In the style of John Martyn, songwriter

You speak but I know
It's just some cliche to mouth
As your truth trickles from my eyes

I wish we could wash mourning away
To dissolve on a rushing tide, and
Hear the sound of the rushing sea
As it conquers and divides

Look inside your own mind, 'cause
You are the lining for mine as you
Roam the corridors round and round
Leaving echoes of our love behind

I wish I could change ignorance to light
But we've already burned out
Like stars burning too long and too bright
So, just lay down your sword

'Cause I'm already too tired to fight
Then you can have what's left
From the spoils of my mind

All free-born and wild

Into field stride
Nature's child
Barefoot run
- a peach
- a pear
- a plum

Bird song
Insect hum
Orchard fun for each
- a pear
- a plum
- a peach

One for each
For bird and bug
And for the child dear
- a peach
- a plum
- a pear

Into fields where
They can eat
Their fill of some
- peach
- pear
- plum

“Learn to see. Realize that everything connects to everything else.”
That is a quote from Leonardo Da Vinci who saw connectedness.

All things connect to one another.
That means I connect to you, you connect to me.

The sun and the moon connect to each other,
The stars connect to the sky and all of this connects to the others.

Not only should we "see" but we must feel this connectedness
For it is what opens us to love and life.

If it were possible
I would choose only
To outlive you briefly

To give you succor
In your final days.

Then I would wither
Like the brief blossom
Of wildflowers in a field
To stop my heart's pain.

We eventually parted

It was like a scarlet letter
Pinned to my chest
The kind pinned on
The type of lady
For one's pleasure
And all of the rest

Yet, happy they were
To partake in secret
Of their wares for sale
But my love was not
Free for any to take
It was meant for you

To the end of time

My history stretches
For miles and miles before me
Across time and memory.
The young man drove
His souped-up blue Nova
With the blue tinted windows.
Racing up and down my street,
More of a country lane, really.

A black-topped shortcut
Leading into our small town.
My daddy would rush out
Wave fists, then call the sheriff.
A couple years went by,
The Vietnam war raged,
The souped-up Nova
Ceased to drive my street.

Daddy was relieved.
Mom and Dad grew to love
That young speed demon,
Though they didn't know
He'd been racing through time,
Racing towards me
And our life together.
Love, a home, children.

All while carrying his war-burdens.

Her lips blanched then filled with red
As she released her teeth's edge.

The surreal sense of scent
Filled her nostrils then quickly went;

But it took her to another place
Of lovely florals, a greening space.

Had the rose been left for that very reason?
That here, in the greyish heart of winter's season

She might be transformed to have a rebel's heart
That simply would not believe spring could part?

Yet, autumn had faded into shorter darker days,
As winter closed its icy grip, this gift appeared from far away.

Frozen blackness changed with the scent of a sweet rose,
As the surreal sense of scent had filled her nose

And made her write in such pretty proses.

Who has agency to guide?
The one with the most likes
Can be used to divide.

Wealth makes you elite
Favoring blind submission.
Your charisma is highly valued.

Now we live underneath
A flinty harsh heavy-handedness.
Ram your authoritarianism

Somewhere else.
Concentration of only your power
Is called a cult, a regime.

Constitutionally respond to the people.

There is gold in the wings,
This Gossamer, which floats and stings
Hanging as if on invisible strings

Suspended in nothing but air it seems.
My mind tries to catch the wonder of this thing
But it sips then zips and always eludes me.

Look, listen, strive, and grasp at the depth of all things.

There is a depth of sadness in you that hurts my heart,
And the lack of desire therein to seek and to find pains me.

Where there are shadows there has to be light illuminating.
Even in those depths of darkness, there are degrees of dark
Light plays with light and darkness, layer upon layer.

In music there are highs and there are lows as it flows.
Crescendos and decrescendos.  Adagio and allegro.

Fortississimo and diminuendo.  By degree pianissimo
Largo and on and on and on it goes.  Life is the same.
As all this wonder comes together there is harmony.

Plumb the unfathomable depths of the art and song of life.

You were not Captain America.
You were not Captain Hero.
You were my downfall. 
You were Captain Undertow.

If one cannot heal one's own heart 
How can one heal the heart of another?
But power does not dwell in a vacuum.

I thought it was my duty to heal you. 
I tried so hard; my mission taken seriously!
It took me many long pain-filled years
To see that you did not want to be saved. 

We could not heal our own hearts, could we?
How could we heal the hearts of one another?
The power vacuum continued to dwell in us, lovers.

And yet, we needed each other.

A Hunter's moon is rising.
And it struggles to shine.

Out of a ladened sky
Descends rain as clouds cry.

Though, I will not fret, nor fear
What the night might try to hide.

For the brightness and beauty
Of which you now emit

Far outshines any sun
And all my worries quit.  

You my love are the only one
Who can fill my sky tonight.

And in a moment, it is done
It has passed like the rising of a sun
Like a season full-blown or a flower
In its last few hours

Like a frozen waterfall
Or a stopped river impeded
Or an ocean held within bounds
Only the mind can replay its reel

I'm not a cat, you will see, you wussy!
And I'd not be trapped anyway,
With that ball of string, I already played.
It is a tired old game for stupid *******.