pure,
budded
and
unopened.

snow
kissed
tongues
with
white
icy
wh­ispers.

bonfires
of
scented
cinnamon
sticks
and
apple
rinds.

eskimo
kisses
nestled
in tightly
wrapped
arms.

logs on
the fire
glow against
the
bronzy
autumn'd
sunset.

dripping
from the
weathered
eaves....

the remnants
of
what's pure.

humanity
these days,

often
leaves me
in
bewilderment,
awe
and despair.

hunt,
go ahead
for food
of course
but,

why shoot
a bear?

that's just
trophy
hunting,
pound
your chest
little *****
syndrome
in my eyes.

i literally
look at
those that
trophy hunt
as wolves
in disguise.

be you
of course.

just remember,
God
nor I..

your
murderous
behavior
will we
ever endorse.

i clearly
put much
more value
on life,
any life
than you.

i am
thoughful
enough
to know
that
once we
draw our
last breath..

there are
NO REDOS.

**** for
food?
Jesus
approves.

******
for sport?
from heaven
to hell
your
forever home
moves.

i am a flower in bloom.

uniquely grown,
with unique characteristics.

make no mistake.

i can bloom without you!

by myself, alone,
this can happen,
it can indeed.

i am fully capable of watering myself with help from nary a soul.

in today's world,
you really are better off.

i mean....

who would you trust,
trust to water you everyday anyway?

When you are happiest.
remember it.
If you were happy once,
it can happen again,
if you allow remembrance?
Storms of different levels
pass through our days.
Some linger and rage forever,
or so it seems.
While others race through,
like a thief in the night.
Never allow these storms
to destroy the sunshine you once knew,
your remembrance of happier days.
The sun will never shine
as much as we all hope.
Alas....
It's easy to forget the sunny days,
and the storms we seemingly never forget.
But ,the one thing you can never allow,
is to allow your sun to permanently set.

jenny,

back
in
1981,

we
all
knew
your
number.

tommy
tutone
sang
about
you
passionately
in
song,

and
your
number
is
one
he
made
us
forever
remember.

867-5309

i
kept
calling
you
b­ut,

you
were
tommy's
girl.

tommy
always
sang....

"i need to make you mine"

we
will
never
lose
your
number
jenny,

you
were
obviously
one
of
a kind.

i seen faith flowing forcefully,
endlessly,
   into the gutter.

hope fragmented,
  viciously
  splattered upon the earth.

  trust is a cold piece of steel in  ones hip pocket.

  just to live is becoming tiresome,
  almost a chore,
always looking over your shoulder.

walking away
  from the
sun,
      you will
always have
   company

in the
  still of
the night... .

   your lips
were the
  definition of
delight.

  in the
still of
     the night.. .

together,

  your lips
were.... .. .
   oh so tight.

i.. .
...

   i never
promised you
      the moon.

i only promised
   to howl
at it
        with you.

love... ..

  ahem,

love often

     shatters

just like,

   a frozen

red rose.

    fragments
of love

    everywhere.

when you

   f
     a
   l
       l

in love
with a dreamer-

don't forget
    this truth.

you also
    f
  a
      l
l

in love

   with their
nightmares too.

You touch me
without using
your hands.

You touch me
without saying
a single word.

You touch me
as if
you were the wind.

You touch me
like rain
as it falls
down my cheeks,
like a
snowflake
that lands
on my
eyelashes.

You touch me
like the sun,
a perfect
sunny and 75.

You touch me
without being here,
without me
seeing you.

You touch me
and,
my heart
feels you...
my soul seems
wrapped
around you.

You touch me
every morning,
every evening,
every way,
every day,
to let me know
that you...
and everything
will be
okay.

when i
  stare at
Saturn's rings,
    i think
of you

       and

  i wonder that
if i could give
    you one of
its rings....

would you
   marry me?

the ebon
  sky was
dark
    tonight,

because....

every time
   that i
think about
      you...

    stars
  
    f
     a
     l
    l

from
  the sky.

plural
possession
should
never
leave
you
feeling
singular....
lonely..
alone.

my
words
aren't
memes
or
pictures
with
recycled
word
schemes.

my
words
come
from
me,
falling
from
my
lips
like
leaves
from
an autumn's
tree.

each
word
carefully
selected,
each
word
meticulously
reflected.. .;

dissected.

peruse
them
like
the
*****
memes
used
over
and
over
again.

peruse
my
originality
that
i've
inked.. .

with
my
very
own
pen.

i

         often

  wonder

how

  emptiness

             is

        always

so

      h      y
        eav

at the
  very bottom
of a pint,
   there are
indeed answers.

at the
  very bottom
of the next pint,
   there is
no longer a need
   for answers.

i seem to
  prefer the
unreality of
   reality.

because reality
  is just
miserable
     reality.

look
  realistically
at all of
  the people you
around you.

the reality
   of their
selfishness
   like i do.

Ha!
  it would
make you
  miserable too.

i fight,
    EVERY DAY
i literally fight
to understand
   the shadiness
of the people
   i am forced to
share my
   reality with.

the pints
   at least....
help me,

   to forget.

my wounds
  are many.
some will
   never heal,
some too deep.
  some wounds
that i just
  will never
understand
or feel,
   some that
my soul is
  forced to
keep.
  actions of
guilty others
  are my
deepest wounds
  because they
weren't
  self inflicted.
my loathing
  for those
'guilty others'
  inside me is
one helluva
  conflict.
never judge
  one's outside
unless you have
  lived on
their inside!
   inside
is where....
   most people
die.

there may be
  more life
circulating around
     the inside
  of a
winter's
   slumbering
tree...

   than me.

i.. .

   i feel dead
already.

i
wanted
to wait
for
another
kiss

but
your
lips.. .

are
something
i.. .
.. ....

i
never
want to
miss

despondent
  with layers
of suicide
  enveloping me.

  vibrant
colors of
  death above
me and
  below my feet.

hues only
  mastered
in octobers
  and novembers.

leaves and
  their exquisitely
beautiful demise
  had me pondering how
   beautiful
death could be.

   would i be
the leaf glued
  to the wet
pavement
  forever or
  would i be
the one
   picked up by
the wind
   to live again?

i wrestled
   with death
under that
   autumn's tree

it's there....
  i learned about
hanging on
   and serenity.

Pieces
Of
Every
Me

my crutch,
it got me
once again
this week.

the pain
left for
a day but,
at the bottom
of those
bottles were not
the answers
that I seek.

the one
person that
I feel could
relate,
could understand...

they'd rather
be angry
without
understanding
that,

I am just
a man.

the years of
torment that
I was put
through without
making them
feel like a
monster of
some kind

but whatever,
I have come
to accept my
unhappiness
and simply endure
this life until
God tells me
to leave it
behind.

I have never
run away
from
responsibility
of any kind

I go to work,
I pay my bills,
I stumble
sometimes.

I'm just
a man....

I wish...
eh,
maybe I
don't care
if you
understand.

What will be
will be

and one day
soon I hope,
of all of this
wretched life....
I will soon
be free.

Eventual
happiness
does await
me...

with Jesus and
nary a soul
to judge me.

out...
and
free,

at long last,
alee.

she's
  
  a song

that

     you will

never know

        because

you never

          listened.

i
don't
fear
what
the
world
thinks
of
me -

i
fear
what
i
think
of
me.

I mean,

I can write a country song about what a "hurricane" is s'pose to be ...

but,

I can't make her materialize and..
sweep her off of her feet ....

life
will
*****
your
hands,

it will
*****
your
mind,

it will
*****
your
spirit,

but-
don't
allow
this
life....

these
people..


to
*****
your
soul.

as
starlight
rains
upon
me,

i
reach
for
handpicked
memories.

the
talcum
powder
moon
rubs
my
eyes,

ocea­ns,
their
waves
cresting
tsunamic
our
galaxy's
disguise.

its
beauty
hides
behind
the
stardust,

its
attraction
lures
mouth
agape
lust.

meteor
showers
are
a
cosmic
******,

the
moon
falls
asleep
with
a
few
soft
notes
from
a sax.

why do
squirrels
try to
cross our
streets
and die?

why is
life seemingly
taken away
in the blink
of an eye?

why do
green leaves
turn yellow,
brownish copper
and reds?

why do i
feel life
so DEEPLY
that sometimes
i would
much rather
be dead?

it's a
balancing act,
wanting to
live
life,
that is.

sanity and
insanity,
God's and
the
grim reaper's
kiss.

my struggle
each day
is as real
as
these words
that with you
i choose
to share.

i'm happy,
i'm unhappy
and...
my poetic
bi polarness,
just doesn't
care.

most of
my days
are toiled
through
and,
few
feel
worth living.

my poetic
verse that
i share
with y'all
is all that
i feel
like giving.

words of
   advice to thee,

never judge
what you
can't see.

they may
be a
soul...
as tortured
and wounded
as me.

I feel your lips on my shoulder

I quiver , you tremble

not sure I can take you getting any closer.

The warmth of your breath in my ear

a whisper of love
butterflies in mass, together as one may be near.

Effortlessly my hands glide through your curves

as
we climb the mountain together

the moment has taken us to a crescendo of nerves.

The summit , now in full view

the sun, it glistens from the sweat of our bodies

we are now one, no longer are we two.

The loving wipe of a brow

eyes that tell the story

a fulfilled smile , a deep breath

.....wow.

yellow eyes
kick the ball
jaundiced lies
walks into walls.

blue and black
discolored skin
bruises of attack
violence and its din.

red fingers
shave and a shower
trickled blood lingers
lights off- i have lost power.

green emotions
stand in the doorway
envied poetic devotions
snow was a storm today

orange peels
there's candy over there
i left flats on the wheels
staring coldly without care.

purple cheeks
blackened hands
rotting flesh reeks
body heat this icy land.

brown water
sewage is often words
prose sometimes falters
flight of poetic birds.

white button shirt
teeth full of decay
feelings often hurt
sweetness often stains.

black mist
under the bed clown
death has no list
smiles are upside down frowns.

i
wish
that
i
could
tell
you,

like
soured
milk,
so long
overdue.

like
birds
that
fly
south
before
the
snow,

i wish
it
had
flown
from
my lips,
long
long
ago.

like
a
rose
in
full
bloom
and
the
bee
that
buzzes
above,

i'll
have
to
fly
away
in
peace,
just
as
a
graceful
dove.

some
things
can
never
be
spoken,
some
things
can
just
never
be,

some
thoughts
get
treated
as a
lifetime
prisoner,
...

never
to
be
freed.

You may,
  sit upon me
and ride a ride
  that you feel
deep inside.

  Sitting upon me
    is an ******
that...
   you will
never hide.

As the
  Autumn leaves
    die....

their life giver
  is STILL
   alive.

Graffiti
   expresses
an artist's heart
  that may be
"up against a wall"

Autumn
   my love,

will you
   marry me?

We are
  hand in glove,

I'm on
   bended knee.

I am breathless
  in your
    beauty.

If I were blind,
   you would
    make me see.

Intense
   would be
the love
  we share.

Together
   forever,
a lifelong pair.

Yes, I dreamt
   of her
     once.

And that once,
   just wasn't
       enough.

last Christmas
   we came
together,
     for an
unexpected start.

last Christmas
   is when,
i decided....
   i gave you
     my heart.

last Christmas
    the cold
snow
   was an excuse
to unite
   our bodies
for heat.

last Christmas
   was the last
time i was able,
     to hear your
heart beat.

last Christmas
   right or wrong
is a song,
   that reminds me
of you.

last Christmas
   i think....
reminds you
     of me too.

please....

never give
  my heart
    away....

please stay.

A physically saturated pluviophile is a soul that craves to intertwine themselves with the very deepest parts of thee.

In the eyes and heart of a pluviophile,
the rain is sunshine on an otherwise grey and cloudy day.

Make no mistake;

I am a pure breed when it comes to being/representing a "pluviophile".

The rain elicits the very deepest part of me without one moment's struggle.

It's a cleansing.
It's an act of purification.
It's a new beginning.

     A feeling of     new skin
and afflictions
  washed away.

A few still moments
  to breathe in
    the roses of
life.

  If you can not
=connect= with a
  "pluviophile"?

You're not
   'all wet'
but rather,
  as dry as the
saharan sand.

Come get
   wet
      with me...
        in
  the
     p
       u
         r
           p
             l
               e
   rain """""""""""
              '''''"""""""
    """""""""""""""

"""""­""""""""""""""""
        ' ' ' '    ' '
           '  '   '
               '

On the night that we met,
like a mid summer's torrent,
I fell for you.

You, bathing in a
full moon's light,
I was powerless
it's true.

Your eyes were
one with the sea,
vast and deep...
I was drowning
    in you.

Arrest me
and take me
to live
in your paradise....
where all that's
left is to
  woo woo woo.

the sounds of rain.

  yes, yes indeed-

it can ease any pain.

take my hand and let's embrace this storm.

    twist our bodies tightly and keep each other warm.

serenity,
  
    tranquility upon one's ears.

a time that i can hide my tears.

  puddles beneath my naked feet.

     i dance alone upon the street.

my heavy clothes can't weigh me down.
  
     the deepest puddle I will not drown.

a smile replaces a once had frown.

     i smell and feel the rain all over me.

      my mind in rain....it feels set free.

I remember how
  we began -

     you smiling,
and me...

       falling like rain.

I watch as a lifeless limb drifts down the river of life.
I watch as a storm cloud races across an otherwise empty sky of blue.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch a brilliant flame extinguished and waft away a wisp of smoke.
I watch as a leaf falls from its tree never to be one again.

I watch these things, I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch as raindrops fall from the sky,
I watch them nourish God's green earth.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the firefly bring light to the evening sky,
I watch the spider spin its masterpiece,

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the sun fall beneath the horizon as darkness takes up residence.
I watch the moon but just one half, the other half playfully hides.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the bird out on the wire and marvel at its balance.
I watch as stars fight to outshine one another in a beautifully moonlit sky.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the envious, as green as the first summer's day,
I watch their greenness turn to red, as rage has now consumed them.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the homeless sift through trash,
I watch this as my heart is heavy, my eyes begin to water.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch the evil get rewarded and carry on unscathed.
I watch the good have to fight epic battles just to live another day.

I watch these things , I watch....
I always watch these things.

I watch a mother hug their newborn,
I watch the cycle of this life,

I watch these things , I watch ....
I always will watch these things!

Hand in hand we walk together,
God's grace warms us from above.
It's Him I thank each day I wake
for blessing me with all your love.

You're the sunshine in my morning
and the bird that sings my song.
In this life when I am troubled
it's you who keeps me strong.

You're the wind beneath my wings
as this eagle takes to flight.
You're the stars that brighten up my sky
in the darkness of the night.

You're the mother of my children
and the air that gives me life.
My truest friend of all...
my heart, my soul, my wife.

Above the canvas a stuttered quill.
A mind sits thinking, not overflowing just full.

So many thoughts,
so much to write.
So many emotions I always have to fight.

I'll take a deep breath and then think for a while.
My aim will be happiness and to give you a smile.

I write my poems for both far and wide.
I open my heart for you all to peek inside.

Then when my quill, I lay finally to rest.
My peers and my lovers will be my final test.

My heart raced -

until I left your bed.

You made mention of it.

You're a heart attack -

for someone unathletic.

Wheat fields that sway in the breeze.
So stunningly peaceful.
A sight to set the heart and soul at ease.

Adrift on calm open seas.
The sun so warm on your face.
Nary a sound to be heard, pure tranquility.

Watching the spider spin its web among the trees.
Silk laden beauty as the morning dew glistens off its every thread.
Refine yourself , in treasured moments like these.

invigorated
  i awaken
     each morn'
with-
    nary a word.

some folks
  will never
    understand.. .

a
  wing flapping
    morning bird.

as dawn
  breaks
    the horizon,

i have
  the energy
    of a hurricane.

i attack
  the fresh day
like an
  onslaught
     of rain.

the rain
  gives me
   the chance
to lick
   and groom
       my
messy mane.

   i leap
from my bed
  with a
    scratch and
a roar.

  i am what
   you call
a "bion"

  a word that
i am sure
   you have never
      heard before.

as an admitted
  pluviophile,

    the sounds
of morning rain
      excite and
arrest me.

   these things
i speak of
       are free.. .. .

    as a poet -
our frame
     of mind is
always front
  and center.. .

   we are
       open books,

we are doors
  that need

        no key.

in life,

   we just
feel things
    more deeply.. .

           better.

Life.

Second to second it's a mystery.

A secret garden of roses at times.

A highway to hell in others.

Strangers that are strange.

Friends and family even stranger and more obscure.

Faces that disappear into the quicksand.

Marionetted Pinocchio's lies, their truth.

A cardboard box, the homeless.

Passers by act as if they are invisible.

Carnage of war, parent's and children's bloodshed.

Peace, a thing that will never be.

So what's it all about?

These "lessons" we are allegedly... supposedly... to learn from.

Even that garden of roses has thorns.

When "it's over" is it over?

Do I waft around aimlessly some misty foggy figure?

Do I decompose and fertilize the land?

Is there a purpose for me sitting in this chair?

Is there a purpose for me writing this piece?

Smile to frown takes but a split second.

Reality is I am but mere dust in the wind.

Reality is that bed of roses has been over watered by tears and the sadness of which is called "life".

I'm here right now, today for some purpose?

Perhaps my purpose runs out today, who is to say?

It's deeper than the deepest ocean.

This is not for the surface thinker.

The bowl of cherries thinker, the life is but a dream sweetheart thinker.

I'm the heavy guy on that see saw right now.

i love her because
  she is frail
yet,
    mighty like a
mooring against
  a hurricane's wind.

i love her because
  she can finish
my spoken
sentences with an
exclamation point
  at the end.

i love her because
  she is beautiful
yet,
   never acts as if
she were.

i love her because
  she's a simple woman so faithful, honest
   and pure.

i love her because
   after church,
she's
  my sauce on
    an autumn's sunday.

i love her because
  she's
the one that i want
  by my side
as the sun fades.

i love her because
  heh...
    they don't make
many of her.

i am her drink,
  and she is -

the straw that stirs.