If I acknowledge you,
If I say your unknown name
- For unknowable it remains
Will it honor you in some way?
I stand on this shore looking out, aways
Into oceans vast from where you came.

They took you from your home
Bound into servitude, alone.
- Alone, alone echoes
Friends, family, community, gone.
How can I take you back to your home?
Can I mingle blood, bone with dirt?

My blood and your blood mingle
Could not that ancient soil mingle
- from where you came
Onto these shores which I stand on?
Will it honor you in some way?
Is it enough to make your memory stay?

Or will it too, like you fade away?

Bare
Synchronized pants
Hands caressing
Yours on my face
Mine trace your body
Eyes caught
In deep gaze together
Held

Hip to hip
Rhythms of this - together
Moments came and gone
And back again
Constellations of
Bare emotions
Real as reality
Can get

Viola, with suddenness the cry,
"It is spring!" they all sang
In chorus oh so sweet.
They spread their wing
And as sweetly they sing
Opening wide their tiny beaks,
(Yes, some even stamped their feet!)
Singing loudly, for all the bright world,
"Spring has finally been reached!"

The homeless man
Across the way
Is going to wake up
Dead one of these days.

Then like a worm in my brain
It will begin to eat away.
And I will tell everyone
I saw him day by day lay

And rarely move.

Tiny, almost minuscule. Hollow *****,
The weight of petite feathers, silken sinew,
Sown into tensile strength, beguiling.

Beauty in song. Greater than giants.
Chirping out lovely textiles of golds and silvers;
Strong enough to hold universes in place.

Sweet like sugar. Sweeter than honey, elixir
Of baby's breath.  It ***** in air, exhales
Through an ***** the size of a raindrop,

Pushes out sucrose-laden vibrations
Which pour into my ears, my brain, my heart,
Until we both pulsate in an oscillating Self.

A fearful thing
Has taken wing
And flown straight
Into my heart

The place it pierced
Will forever sting
A bruising wound it creates
Will always leave its mark

And my heart will never heal

I am fresh out of love for you,
You who have crushed it from me.
You pecked a hole in my heart
Until my soul all drained away.
I am fresh out of love.

Hazy thoughts
Like smoke dissipating

Clung to
Yet too soon fleeting

Like one of your cigarettes
Snubbed out

Whiskey breath
The scents are all I have left

That brief smell after the long dry spell,
Earthy richness released in sun warmed soil.
The scent emanating from rapidly drying grass,
These are the incenses from the ground.
Traces of the earth on which we all ride.
One of my favorite sensory sensations.

With the changing of sunlight into moonlight
Supple dappling of changing shades dance on every surface
And rays quiver in and out of existence.
Another day is dying an exquisite death.

beyond hippocampus'
strong connections
representing behaviors
so well-practiced they require
almost no thought at all
grooves etched into grey matter
tendrils on neurons
transmit messages,
wrapping themselves into knots
that sounds a lot like
love and life and reason

Here I am standing within this moment.
I feel the echoes of time's tide
Lapping at my feet, washing over me
Reaching the top of my head.
My brain suddenly comprehending
What time actually means to each of us.

Dear Bigot,
Best check what DNA
Has to say.

Many of us have
A little wink-wink
In our background.

Besides being horrid
You might condemn
Yourself!

Some poems are like naughty children
Who have grown into their young adulthood.
They simply drop their clothes, a quick reveal.
Other poems are like the dancer of the 7 veils
Who peels layer after layer in the slow reveal.
A poem is like a beloved child, good or bad.

Some are happy, some are sad.
All are born from those who parent them.
Indeed, they are the fruit of our mental lions.
They carry our mental DNA 'til our dying day
And hopefully well beyond.

Claim them, love them, nurture them, train them,
Good or bad, naughty or nice, boring or full of spice.
There are no ******* poems for you; they all belong.
Each to its progenitor, each for its parent will long.
Boldly claim each one of them as your own.
For they are all our children.

Taste the lily pond
The eye holds volumes of tears
Strange looking mixture

The bunny rabbit
would climb from her pocket
and hop around on her lap,
And we would all laugh.

Joy at seeing a remarkable sight,
She had a tiny little rabbit
Which lived in her apron pocket.
We believed it to be true.

For we had seen the tiny babies
That she would often save from dogs.
She kept them warm and fed
Until strong enough to be set free.

But this little one was always there
Living in her apron pocket and never grew.
Only as we grew did we come to understand.
She always had a hanky or tissue.

It magically transformed into the creature.

We climb the stars
Make honey in our hearts
Mad as a jack rabbit
We leap into dark holes
Walk among winged creatures
Quiver in our skins
And swear that we can fly
Feather light on love alone

(I borrowed part of a concept from Nolan Bucsis.)

You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.

I told you:
"You are killing yourself.  Don't you understand?"
You did.

I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.

And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.

You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.

They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.

You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.

It is still cold outside.
I step into a warm patch
Where the sun's rays caress.

You reside in those spots
Where I begin to feel, again.
Then the warmth of you returns

And I feel your loving touch.
But I must go on, as do we all,
Making and collecting memories.

When you crawl into a bed of roses
you get up close and personal
with the lovely flowers and their smell,
but you also get scratched, bloodied and torn
by the thorns. It cannot be avoided.
We must let love apply the medicine
and help us heal.

Moaning, aching, memory
Exquisitely painful to touch.
Why do I reach for that place?
Cease, hear my command
O, ears open! Tormented mind!
Comfort I seek but do not find
Each time.

The blue of his eyes swims and mingles in a deep sea of love.
A love that knows no bounds inside my red velvet heart.

How poignant it is to be punctuated with such drama and passion.
A full round moon smiles down watching lovers do what lovers do.

It is made to blush.

upon my daughter's visit, yesterday

The day I felt you swimming
A little flop inside
Was the day my heart-bird came
Within to reside

The day you came crying
And kicking your way into this world
Was the day my heart-bird
Built her nest sure

The day you told me that for you
No more could be done
Was the day my heart-bird
Burst through my chest

And headed for the burning sun
Never to return

Isn't ironic how some become enraged at you
When you stop drinking their poison, begin to choose?

You purge and wipe your lips, then walk away,
Escaping the drama of the day-after-day-after-day.

And that is when the thought of your escape
Suddenly chokes in their throat.

Then the tricks and threats start piling high.
You have taken their drug, cutoff their supply,

Now they must find another dealer.

Stand
On the shoulders of the giants
So that you might see
The places we are going,
The places we have been.
Stand to be seen.

Stand,
So that you can see
The future you,
The future me
Looking into the past
Standing in the future.

Standing
You realize that giants stood
Upon the shoulders of giants
And all walked with purpose
So that we all could climb up.

Don't let that be for nothing.

The day is under way,
So, here, just let me say,

Good morning moon
And good morning you!
Good morning sunrise, too.

Good morning skies above,
Good morning flowers that bloom.
Good morning to all that is loved,

All that is true. So, gratefully I say
Good morning to you.

You left a trail of breadcrumbs
That would lead back to you.

Hungry little bird that I am
I ate them one by one, and all,

Every single one,
And here I am.

You have heard someone say,
"That's going to leave a mark."

At the moment of impact
We know how they feel.

As I gaze out at the beauty
Of each day, in that moment

Its impact indeed leaves its mark.

Imagine this,
Just because you can't
See a teapot from outer space
It doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Conversely,
There are far greater things
In heaven unseen.

One day is very much like the other
But you know what if I have my druthers

I'd choose just one perfect day and make it stay.
I'd analyze and dissect it every day.

I'm sure I'd find new facets along the way.
With gratitude and humble heart, I'd pray

While giving thanks for that very day and you,
Thus, you can see in this way it will always be new.

She was so crazy she thought
She owned the dawn.

She thought every birdsong
Were sung for her.

The sun's shine,
The moon's glow,

All for her.
You taught her differently.

May my ribbons of passion
Tie you up in pleasures
And bind your heart to mine.

Though we tangle each time
With sweet kisses that toy
With one another's hearts.

Bound through struggle
That knot the ribbons tighter
With each hand, lips, touch

And are fused each to each in the joys of pleasure.

She rested upon his words.
Conversation-lips slip
Beneath to touch the
The painful realities of her
Loveless comforts.

The world was never real
To her.

She rested upon his strengths.
Restraining sinew knew
Of warmth, he offered up
To touch, to hold within her,
The leaps and bounds hope.

And,
This world was never so real.

I heard the whisper on the shore,
Walking along the hot, dry sand.
It burnt the soles of my bare feet.

The hot, humid breeze singed my ears.
Autumn, autumn is calling, it hummed.
We hear her chant from far away.

My friends in Australia called out to me,
It carried across the vast oceans and seas,
"We'll send her your way, friend, but

Only when we're good and done."

Sweetly you I remember
And with deep gratitude
Sweet, sweet, and true
You and your tune
Indebted memory
Trembling am I each time
Like the quiver of a bow
Memory, and I have come
To know that I
Must keep myself
In this precious refrain
Until impulses pass
To hold you once again
Though try as I might I,
Memories to constrain
I am unable to keep myself
From sweet remembering
You, again and again.

To smell the lilacs in first morning light
Dew descending and shaking free from the tree
Splashing sweet infusions and splattering on me.

Even the fog rising is perfumed.
Fists full, I make my way back inside to find a vase.
A home perfumed by wafts of flowers is a heavenly abode.

It is a beautiful notion, but lilacs don't actually grow here.

“Often the Muse will not respond to direct and logical requests.
She must be lured in with the playful and gentle.” – Jill Badonsky

Step one: the lure

O, muse, love so true,
You Precursor,
You appear as prelude
In all that I do.

Where are you now?
Why have you flew
To unknown places,
Strangers you never knew?

Do you, come back, live here!
Remain, here, forever friend.
I will create a safe place for you
And it will be just you and me.

What could extinguish
The last glowing coal of love
Whose embers still faintly cling
To that flaming life it once had.

And who would deny it life?
I cannot, and so I shelter it
From rain, through storms,
With gentle breaths, I keep it

Forever burning in my heart.

As summer pants its hot last breath
Autumn comes to give her rest.

And winter looks for spring to green;
Then summer once again ​we see.

Within the turning of each new season
Our hopes and dreams are given reason.

Time does not shape her,
For she holds it like threads in her hands,
Weaving moments, stitching hours,
Gathering days, weeks, months, years
Into centuries to be rolled out like fabric.

She makes her cloaks from the substance
Of time and wears ancient stardust in her hair.
She is old and she is new; time does not shape her.
Never allow it to shape you, folding you
Like some worn-out garment to be discarded.

While it is in your hands to do so, you shape time.

Love, it's a beautiful thought.  I find,
However, in my many long years wrought
That love is what you make it.  

It is an animal you ride
And whose spirit you break in its taming.  
Love is what you make it,

It is there for the claiming.
It bucks and throws you off, and yet
With each fall you get up and each time

Climb back onto a more ruled beast
And you, a more seasoned rider.
Love is how you break it.

So, try to enjoy the ride.

Words are powerful,
Kaboom!  Like a bomb
Going off.
Writers matter.
We the people.
Books change hearts,
(Those that are reachable)
Minds, lives, the zeitgeist,
And the future.  
That’s why,
Big men with tiny minds,
Have sleepless nights.
Authoritarians
Fear advocates & writers.

Among the shadows
Of the darkened room
In a reflecting glance
I see an assemblance
Of me
But it is no longer
A youthful me
That I see
I suspend a sense
Of this reality
In order to see me
The inner me
The real me
The encapsulated self

If I had a bicycle with a tiny wagon,
I'd give it to the homeless man.

The one that sleeps under the overpass
Then moves to a spot at a building near me.

He could use it to haul his bag and lawn chair
To that place where he spends the day sleeping

In the open air on a cement ledge of that building;
And does his ***** business in the corner where 2 meet.

Who decides what beauty is?
A trend-setting, shallow puff of smoke?
Here today, gone tomorrow narrow thinking?
Taking with them what ideal supposedly is
As volumes of Truth go unread by the self-appointed.

Judges are too often bought, paid for by industries.

Each ones true beauty is purposely hidden.
For corruption is a filthy film over minds,
While truth is purity, bright and honest.
Rub fists into blighted spheres to clean them, then
Go, let your mind's eye begin to see more clearly.

Wings spread
Wonder flies
Into eyes
Across faces
Into hearts
Minds explode

Swallows soar
Insects hurry
Into beaks
Savored flavor
Swallows swallow
Each Sustained

Had I been older
And you younger
I would have fallen
For you like bricks
Tumbling into the heart

We shelter in place with our shadows
With eyes darting back and forth in fear,
Wondering what might come creeping near.
Thoughts haunt us in every place and every space.

Painful detritus blocks the doorway of release.
We can only wander from room to room in grief.
Trapped within an encumbered mind, we find
Blacked-out portals of foil-covered windows, all!

Our fears only serve to make us each feel small.
But we are not small, not at all.  We can win the race
If we allow Grace to shovel a path through the mess,
And Hope grasps our hand and leads us out.

This is why it is said: We all need Hope.

Light, perfect light,
You cannot scoop it up,
Get a sponge to absorb,
Collect it in jars.

Beautiful, just right
Light, it is ethereal
And cannot be captured
Nor contained.

But be assured that
With each new day
It will glow again
In its perfection

Across the morning sky.

She sits at the top of the tree calling.
Searching and calling for babies grown.
She wants them back, those who have flown.
She has decided she no longer wants to be alone
So, she is calling, "Come home!  Come home!"
But they are gone since they are grown,
Just as it should be.  Yes, they have flown on bold wings,
While she is left behind and day by day is growing old.
So, she will build a new nest.  And she will sit and try to sing.

Alternate version:
She sits at the top of the tree calling.
Searching and calling for babies grown.
She wants them back, those who have flown.
She has decided she no longer wants to be alone
So, she is calling, "Come home!  Come home!"
But they are gone since they are grown,
Just as it should be.  Yes, they have flown on bold wings,
While she is left behind and day by day is growing old.
So, she will build a new nest where she will rest.
And she will sit and try to sing, alone.  But not for long.