As his fingers
laced themselves
around her neck;
he found it-
hard to breathe
himself.

Rain on
Monday.
6am
will find me
at my
favorite spot
by the water.
In search
of a muse and
and
writing verse.
Rain for me,
smells like
freedom.
I live for
writing verse
by the freedom of the river
in a 6am rain.


written by me... ..

On my mind
constantly,
you are.
Confused
I am.
Why?
Why when
I wake up,
you are
on my mind?
Why, during
the middle
of the day,
you are
on my mind?
Why as I
lie in bed
ready to
fall asleep,
you are
on my mind?
Why when
I am dreaming,
you are
in my dreams?
You have been
a muse for
many a
writes because
you,
are on my mind
constantly.
It's dangerous
to even
think about
plugging myself
into you
even once in
the realm of
reality.
I yearn
and literally ache
to touch
every inch
of you.
Is this love?
Is this infatuation?
I am
not sure.
But,
I have never
been more
afraid of
anything in
my life than
how afraid
I am of
touching you
for the
first time.
No words
could possibly describe
the way that
my body would feel or
the way that
my mind
would become
enslaved
to your words
and your
movements.
Constantly,
I dream about
our sunny
and 75
intimate moments
together,
constantly... ..
breathlessly.
Just you
and me
giving one
another each
nanosecond
of our attention
to each other.
Constantly,
you are
on my mind.
Of course,
right now
you are.
Right now,
I am picturing you
in a black
silk laced teddy
leaving all the
right parts of you
covered and leaving my
imagination to
run wild on a
tachycardic
heart rate.
Excuse me
readers while
I wipe the
drool from
my chin
once again.
I ache for our
eyes to meet
at
******'s door
and tremble
in the arms of one another's
exhausted sweaty bodies.
And to just
lie still in
that moment
as one until
we fall asleep
and I dream
of you
once again.



written by me... ..

She loved
tasting me
with her
eyes.
Because
her body,
was never
meant to
be mine.
Even though,
our attraction
was
pure
animalistic
debauchery.



written by me... ..

We awaken every day to history.
History under our feet, touched by our hands and mystery.
Moments that will never repeat.
Moments of love and also great deceit.
Inhale aromas that passion our senses.
Exhale the day filled with bridges and with fences.
You are an individual creation.
Understand that every day in the flesh is a celebration.
We aren't sand in an hourglass.
We are memories meant to last.
Yes, today the sun will once again set.
Make it a day that is empty of regret.
Close those eyes of gentle streams.
Save the best of today for you in your dreams.
Tomorrow will come through the blinds as the sun's rays kiss your naked skin.
Tomorrow is more history, another day for history to begin.

Sin is sin.
And,
you repent
your sin.

You don't
boast about
your sin
or
march
prideful
in your sin.

You don't
push your sin
in my
children and grandchildren's faces like it's normal when
it's not.

You only do
these things
if you
follow
satan.

So if I
see you
doing
these things?
I will know
and
understand
that you
follow satan.

Left wing
politics
are trying to destroy
this country.

These same
folks
"pridefully"
waving
rainbow flags
have never
waved an
American flag
their
entire lives.

As a
matter of fact.
They scream
to whoever
will listen,
that they
hate this country.

Don't like it?
Move!






written by me... ..

toes embracing paradise's sandy beach

we watch... .. .

as the tide rolls away

and
moments of life
flow out
of reach


the moonlight
and
salt air on her skin

at
this moment,

her beauty had me tremblin'

a moment,
that we
will never soon
forget

Eyes.

Eyes,
they can
tell us oh
so much if
we dare to
peer deeply
enough.

More than
a
"window to
the soul"
but rather
the meeting
place for
everything
about you
in the universe
to go... ..

and to
grow

into an
unforgettable write
by
Edgar Allen Poe

and a place
where,

me, alas... ..
is filled with
very little
woe.

Behind those
eyes are where
life lives
and where
life dies.

Stare if
you must
because,

behind
my eyes is
an enchantment
of
paradise's
skies.

It rained.
It rained upon the mature tree that lives along the river's edge.
A defiant tree that grows against the wind's best.

It rained.
It rained upon the mature man walking his young prancy pup from garbage can to garbage can.
Empty bags to start,
but at the end,
2 full bags in hand.

It rained.
It rained upon my 94 Sierra pick up truck that faces the fog stricken river.
Rain drops glance methodically off of my windshield and at the moment, my shelter giver.

It rained.
It rained so worms would come from hiding and wiggle along the ground.
Wiggling worms that are snatched up by 6am birds with nary a sound.

It rained.
It rained to replenish this paradise and to quench a thirst that never wanes.
A thirst for plush greens that can be admired from every windowpane.

It rained.
It rained on me as I toil and persevere to provide.
It rained and muddied me, a man that puts his pride aside.

It rained.
It rained again this day.
It rained without apology.

written by me... ..

Quite a few mistakes i've made,
proved that I am human too.
as a child I was an ol church boy,
that's just what I would do.

I grabbed my grandmas loving hand,
she'd pat me on my head.
I'd listen to the preacher preach his gospel word,
to every word he said.

I'd kneel before the greatest man,
i'd pray for everyone.
I'd feel just like i've done some good,
when his preaching
words were
done.




written by me... ..

satan is running amok
these days

he captivates the weak
in deceitful ways

torment and torture reflect
the saddened
skies of grey

pray for light as powerful
as the sun's rays

to shine upon the darkness
and heed what Jesus
has to say

the landscape slithers with
snakes that once had
called you friend

fall to bended knee and pray
for their soul to surpass
the ebon dead end

as a child of God we must,
good or bad
we must defend

pray that all lost souls
eventually......
will find their way
once again

judge thee not the one
that cast aspersions
behind thy back

they know not what they do
'cause the shadows is
from where they attack

their blackened eyes
their blackened heart
it's Jesus that they lack

love them anyway
and know .....
you've remained upon
God's forgiving track

we are not thee judge
we are not thee jury

we are not thee lamb
we are not His fury.

As old age grabs hold

Better use it or lose it

Because your time wanes

Swerving is my life.
To myself I keep it.
Jesus is my bended ear.
My bleeding he cauterizes.
I stay away from main arteries.
Both hands on the wheel.
I'm blind at night in the rain.
Yet I drive.
One night I will hit every artery.
And Jesus will look away.
To myself I will always keep it,
of course but...
Time to step away from artificial healing.
Jesus will continue to bandage me.
To Him I must look like a patchwork quilt.
You can't save the world when you yourself need saving.
The swerving needs to stop so all of my scars can heal.
Reopening old wounds seemed to be my thing.
I keep that to myself.
Jesus will one day tire of dressing and redressing my same old wounds.
And I will be one mess of a patchwork quilt.




written by me... ..

Forever flawed

    I am

     Forever flawed

    My fleece is soiled - ***** unlike the Lamb

             My feet don't walk upon water

           The blind I can not make see

        I'm just a man, a father

  Growing each day like a mighty oak tree

                    Yes I am flawed, yes

      Whilst I may be soiled of sin

           Indiscretions many I confess

I simply pray to not visit those again

         Sure, I'll trip on sin every once and again

                               But....

              Jesus understands the places that I've been

                    He knows my heart is pure

   My flaws are many, but with Jesus I endure

         Wounds are made to heal

              Scars are meant to last

  My imperfectness is a done deal

                   But forward I look without forgetting my past

With wings on your shoulders all dressed in white,
your angelic garb and color, they fit you just right.

In the distance a harp, it plays a heavenly melody,
you close your wings to protect and fully envelop me.

Dancing on the clouds like two foolish men,
laughing and smiling on our stairway to heaven.

I reach for a star, no care if I fall,
you smile at me, now you can have them all.

Dreams are subconscious realities of the mind.

Colors are pigmented pleasures for the eyes.

Fresh cut grass is the garden of Eden when we inhale.

Life is great anticipation just waiting for exhale.

Nevermind ones wounded pride.

It only seems to unleash a living beings animal inside.

Fill yourself with love.

Give yourself to Him above.

The weight of the world can sometimes find us.

Breathe, not only because it is a must.

But breathe because in God we trust.

Scars will still remain but freed of pain.

Leave the anchor....leave the chains.

Please...oh please, come out of the rain.



written by me... ..

if only
love were a tourniquet

if only
love were a chemotherapy

if only
love were bombs dropped by a fighter jet

if only
love replaced hate as our full time memories

if only
love would stop violence at every sunset

if only
love were something to never regret

if only...


written by me... ..

your ignorance,
it
tripped in front of me ... ..

it fell down

i stepped on it like i didn't notice it

"ignorantly",
i then kicked it down the gutter

where all of the ignorant live

hope you enjoy your home....

in the gutter of ignorant bliss

you ignorant
*******

The rays of
moonlight
through the
curtains,
highlighted
her body
that was prone
on my bed
in all of
my
'push button'
places.


Like;
Duran Duran
I was suddenly,
"Hungry like
the wolf".

And also like;
Duran Duran
what came next
was my
"Reflex'.

I mean... ..

After all;
like
Duran Duran
there was
going to be a
"New moon
on Monday".

Destruction lies around like broken shards of glass that flatten your tire and direct you to a tree.
The bird with an injured wing awaits its inevitability on a 8 lane highway.
I hear the vigorous shaking of the ball bearings in a spray paint can before it explodes.
The motorcyclist at a red light with feet rested on the ground gets plowed into from behind by a drunk off duty sheriff.
Life is so fragile.

I left behind,
petals of her
favorite rose.

In exquisite variations of
color.

She sees them.

Her face now,
flushed in
hue of rose.

written by me... ..

A tree top melody, it softly whispers.

The morning courting has begun,
a tonsiled serenade.

A once thirsty earth is now content.

The prior evenings heavenly offering, its downpours more than this earth could ask for.

The ***** browns;
the fallen and fossilised leaves now just a memory.

Nature buds and blooms;
Spring makes itself at home as life returns to green.

From a naked tree;
a bird takes flight and effortlessly flies....
A worm its reason for flight, an unsuspecting nourishment.

A topaz sky, clean and void of any cloud.

A streak of white is all I see,
the exhale of a jet as it moves on its super sonic way.

The table from where I sit and write this?

It basks in the warming morning sunrise;
my very own, "sunny and 75" !



written by me... ..

If they
don't
like you?

Trust me,
you are
doing something
right.


written by me... ..

ahhh,

-the rain.

often,

just in
time
to wash
away the
pain.

to
hide
my tears...

or try
to,

in vain.

the rain,

it feels
mystically
powerful
to me.

cleansing,

refreshing,

a downpouring
of a
new free.

after
a
delightful
summer's rain...

the more
clear,

my eyes
and
my soul
can see.

when I

look at you

... ..

fantasize,

the sweat
pours out,

from each
and every
pore

Honey,

you will
never make me
jealous
with that
stooge

I mean really

Hahaha

A runover he is...
with truck
deliberately
in reverse

Spare yourself
the
humiliation

On my death bed,
he could only
half me

Jus' seein' you and my pulse begins to hasten

You unclothe your body like you're at Daytona racin'

Oh girl :
your bikini lines how they got me faintin'

I'm splashin' that lotion on ya that I know I'm wastin'

You're my summertime treat and I can't wait to taste you

my body,
my mind,
they are
a palette of
deep tumultuous pain and twisted
wicked pleasure.

a poetic sea
of spontaneity
with
climactic
beginnings and
endings that
women with me;

will measure.

measure you,

and see if your
words are merely
words or if
you too can become a ****** poem in need of
censure.

a poem i am,

that stands tall
through the mist
along side women that ache to be
caressed and
seduced inside
the mist and into a blur.

a poem i am... ..

albeit abstract but,
gets your juices
to stir as you
read
'this poem'
for perhaps... ..

which there may never
be a cure.

once read;

reality steps in
and selfish passion needs to
endure.

with our bodies;

we have written
poems on summer nights in ***
filled sheets and
bottom lips that
drip with sweat.

a poem i am,

that has never failed to make any
woman wet.

fifty two years and none of the five will i
ever regret!

let's write another
poem in tomorrow's
sunset.

a poem i am;

a poem that you,

unlikely... ..

have
ever read or met.

Index finger laying across tightly pressed lips as I drive down the Boulevard.

I watch the fluffy cotton fall down to the earth.

Snow globe picturesque we are shaken once more.

No complaints from me I mumble to myself.

Once again my eyes, my heart and my soul are afforded life's beauty.

i watch them,

standing outside
the funeral home;

smoking
trivializing
laughing.

"another one dead"
"another life over"
i can hear them exclaim.

"i remember when"
"i remember how"
"i remember the way he"
"i remember"
they continue....

cigarettes litter
the ground around them,
cliches and promises break the silence.

then,
a few hugs,
a few goodbyes.

until they get together to stand outside the funeral home once again.

only this time,
one of them is not present.

Therapy oh therapy,
what shall thou mean to me?
Will I be attentive at all,
or posture myself with a sneer of scrutiny?

Shall there be some type of revelation or epiphany to
bring me to my knees?
Can I arrive at being the man I once was, unbroken,
the man I again long to be?

From the gallery of peanuts will it be judgement free?
I am not approaching a burning bush,
you certainly are not HE.

Will this therapy set free what feels like a tormented soul in captivity?
Can this fog be lifted enough;
provide a path that I can finally see?

The price if not can be steep,
eternal darkness may well be the fee.

Approximately
two weeks
to live
the
doctor
whispers.

Two weeks
doc?

Okay.

Boy oh boy... ..

So much
to do
in
two weeks.

Last will and testament
Life insurance
policies
in a row
Funeral
arrangements made
Bucket list
completed?
Don't care
don't have one !

Telling people
exactly what
you think
of them?
Not done
yet but I
have
two weeks
to do so.

Get ready.



written by me... ..

One folk
writes like
Poe.
Another folk
writes like
'Joe'.
'Joe's' words
are
ham sandwiches
for the hobos.
Poe's words
are poison
inside the
hater's veins
that systemically flow.




written by me... ..

Maybe,

maybe
when my
heart beats,

it beats
because
of you?

So many nights lying awake in bed, in my home but I am not even there.

I am always someplace else by myself, away from life's realities.

Respecting the quiet moments and writing down the thoughts inside my head.

That's happiness,
that's contentness for me.

No need for millions of dollars.
No need for unnecessary status symbol cars.
No need for a mansion to lay my head and call home.

What would be greater is if I could be who I am.

All I want from life is peace and quiet.
Alone time.
I adore being alone.
It's the only time I can be me.

Just give me my mind and a writing instrument.
That's when I am always perfectly fine.

I'm a hard working, very simple unmaterialistic man that appreciates simple things like peace and quiet and alone time.

Give me those two things and you can keep everything else.
The only person that can make you happy is you.

I've known that my entire life.
So, I don't like when I ignore myself.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock and then guess what?

It's all over.

Either wantingly or unwillingly, it ends.

Now you see it, now you don't.

It's like whack a mole.
One day you pop up out of bed and the next you don't.

Every choice that you make in this life is like russian roulette.

Your next choice could be your last.

So at least, choose to be you whether others like you or not.
Afford others the opportunity to remember you for whom you really are, good or bad.

I do this with my writing.
If I acted it out?
I'm a multi century dormant volcano.
I'm a vigorously shaken soda so,
let's just not go there.


So now anyway, it's time to rise up out of bed and go out into this strange world filled with strange people and be filled with anxiety and unhappiness.
[And yeah, I know that you think that I am the strange one and that's okay]

It is time to go mingle with others that do not understand you,
and strangers that you do not trust, even a little.

And let me tell you, wearing a half assed grin is quite tiresome and exhausting around others.

But alas, I'll just go through the motions until I get back home where I can happily be me once again.