'tween dipthong and *******?
from ******* to *******
it seems coherent
which do you use to wipe
left or right
hand

I wash between so it don't matter
but, some people
eat right and wipe left,
it's more the sounds of a word
that tick, than meanings
sometimes

I've a cololrful example somewhere
buried between the coyest sounds
out in a field.

where once I had a choice to shine
long ago the desire
I find I now have this need
to rhyme

once upon the day
where memories
reside now
in close distance, a cemetary,

a crematory shall be awaiting
my body soon,
a part of life
I've seen flowers bloom

in glory then the next day be gone,
friends aqcuaintances
smile
then their faces done.

life is temporal,
and so speculating on the end,
I find peace somehow,
recommend it to you all!

had my soul taken shuttered
into selfconsciousness
by a photographer dad
the lens pointed at me
through my puberty
I wonder if some civilizations
or cultures are correct
that you can capture one's soul
contain and display it
too much
now
in this time
a selfie
is extremely disturbing to me
so I search Google
Images for who I want to
be

and the maple trees  get blighted
the woodwind has stopped
the coral vanished
tides rising
along each coast
winter a memory
polar bears ride ice flows
trying to go somewhere
colder
an electorate getting ******
on bare eductional opportunities
in our land of
falling for a tv president
selling propaganda and lies as
promises
we have no one left to blame
time to look inside
make a plan
watch the sky for mushrooms
the courts for help
and then you lost someone yourself
when she gave out her last breath
that someone only her
you could debate with on all that
you sat muddled in the
melting ice numbed
and cold
tapping that last maple tree with your hand
under an elect trump sign
as the banks came and foreclosed
Walls treat fell like a pine bitten by a hot blast
of lightning  Russia came
all other's kept out
oil flowed it's a business
you knew that
life is
you took economics 101\
it's just so soon before I had prepared
now I pay
i do for
all the
partying
it does get
too late

sharing a cigarette a Marlboro
after we are done
the sheets all wet
her cuddled into my shoulder
night about to turn into day
that lull
that time of pure satisfaction and sleepy eyed
attractions pulling the dark sky
down raising
a new bright horizon
safe and sound
looking out the French doors at the distance
that glow beginning again to peak above
the treeline
oranges and cream for
breakfast again
my sweet

gonna go into the animal treat business.
Ever taste the **** they sell?
Tastes like PlayDoh mixed with blah!
I am gonna buy a heap of
flour and paste, the white Elmers's stuff
some forms to mix it into
the shape of a bigdog *****
I mean bone,
season it with chicken broth and mix it with Ramen noodles
hey they cheap, I have lived months on them for twenty dollars
and I know a hungry animal
would like them better than the t-bone treats I bought
that tasted like cardboard
and paper , they did look
good, though, and only a dollar?

i like the word epicenter
heard it one night all cranked out trying
to get drunk the juice like water
my nose sweating
amped like hell
wanting to disassemble the VW
bug
find what that sound was,
took apart the carburetor first,
sniffed and stood for half a second said, nah,
not the prob
looked into the glovebox
was sure the bug was in there,
a few screws later
the dashboard was on the porch
and still I had no idea what
that ******* sound was
walked in quick circles
thinking , almost,
it had to be the radiator
or a fanbelt or the tires!
Yes !
I took them all off, carefully snooted around their
hoses the perimeter of the fanbelts circumference
the radiators fins
the pressure
got to me of the tires was perfect,
had to be the ******
I sniffed down my throat went that
chemical taste like antifreeze
I took her out
the transmission
inspected her tip to toe
the servo thing the
valve body
went full bore into the
torque converter
it torqued
converted
now I was getting worried
it was the mirror was loose of course
I took her off
it was coated with a white powder
did a line straight to
AutoZone
for a mirror cleaning
fluid , they looked at me funny.

spirits around, might be in the bonfire
or the keg,
or the grappling teen couple
in the brush,
the sliver of the moon,
the howl of the cats biting neck cries
mating,
the melted bottle red
hot as hell
in the embers left
in my eyes the next day,
the taste of rotten camel ****
on my tongue, the
headache throbbing
the smoke merging with the fog
of a beaut!!

I find some amazing things when I am
not looking for them, they seem to find me:
forty bucks in the parking lot of Dollar General,
when I walked  there with a pocketful of change
to buy a cheap cigar, so nicotine
deprived,
a dog left in the country by somebody,
the best behaved most loyal black labrador,
when I was lonely as ******* hell,
and she is now my shadow,
kittens in the laundry room and a
mama looking up at me like , I am sorry,
when I had lost my best friend the week before,
her a cat lover and animal hoarder,
and I calmed the mother cat and said I know
you are in heaven Marge, Thank you for
letting me see!

feathered air light ***** beauty arms turned into
wings
I see your escape
your circling above the
whole world free
a day to soar a night to roost
a nest to build that
aves  thing
beaks taking strings and curious
objects
the tiny thread that
I was held
earthbound with
I imagine I am too
with you
soaring

the vehicle of the uberstressed perhaps
her ventricle an aorta
pumping out
pressures
has to be an outlet
Iamb that I guess
makes me smile to think
I may be
that was not lamb by the way
(Lamb) the two are  identical
this was but an  
rant turned into a discourse
on the physical properties of
a type font
I apologize i myself prefer roman
numerals
CVILI
nothing...
but a syntax error
greater values
should not follow lesser ones

I want to write a foot
the basis of the stance
his root
the very stable substance
immutable
with toes arched calf
a glance down at it
like a sculpture
basic
a footprint
a painting
an ideal foot
of structure
just right
ripe for the
purpose
the basis of it all
the things we
all stand upon

his heart like a 20 oz framing hammer
his fists a sledge
his mind keen as a straight edge and razor knife
his body made hard from long hours
a grip like a pipe wrench
he would shake hands with vise grips
his gaze unnerving
but smart
he could see through the blueprints
when he laughed , which was seldom,
he shook the foundations.
When you needed his help,
he was there.

just wait one minute
the theory of art
can it be like VanGogh's
stars be monumental
for the sake of drama ,
is the winsome guitar in my favorite song
just  a prop in this play
of a rock opera?
Can it be art is just a
short way of saying artificial?
Does my heart sing her song
play a song of ethereal  longing just for a
effect?
And does art
in her theory stand for artificial , is my sight
so shortsighted?

when it makes me feel naked
when I see myself truthfully
if I am bare and vulnerable before
the world
then am I am truth
and me in all my real
I hold nothing back ballet
in the sun
****** well shy no more
one line not clear enough
all it's ugly before you

if you read these words
and shed a tear for you
not me my heart will
butterfly into the ocean sink
if you see yourself floating
amongst that foam
the surf
the spray
may you think again
that is you
my dearest  care me my
you in me

if you are afraid to be a one man band
you must be afraid of life and eternity
when the orchestra and the choir stops
it is all up to you
you have to sing proud loud and resonant
sing that song you can
no one is gonna sing along with you
in the end
close your eyes
and sing loud
cry out

i've never found the season nor the universe around
that kept the childish round around
the system sounds of echoes calming circles
the carousels the only being that of us
banding together in circus wheels
the return the gaze of delightful
open eyes

certain signposts came signaling
long along the pauses we came unto
they came in songs
voices
singing for us
our deepest feelings
our hopes
made our dreams seem less lonely
our blues less blue
our skin less burnt
by all the sun shining
our tunes less off key our heros sang
for us

I catch me childish
when I mean to be manly
fidgeting
see her as so much
more than I might handle
see how the feelings rise
when i need the power to handle
her ******
calm calm i say
she is so much

I've not the first clue to the propriety
of poetic words
not a glimpse at what the requirements
for poetry are or were
or what the special qualities are
the accepted right words the needed
suggestive verbs,
I just write as right as a painter
with large strokes in a house painter's brush
with latex paints and- a roller

among my own little code
the tangled wrong
words the  misspelled verbs
the visceral metaphors
changed to fit a rhyme
the cerebral farthings
spent too long on
calibrated dipthongs
the following along a
tangled story
then there it becomes a dialog
a discourse in how to breathe
to me
I breathe different than you
I take  deep breaths
pause  then
let it out
that might not be how you do
I caress the softness
make a bed for the hard
word
unto as soft as hard  
can be softenened
into the next day and how it looks
again
from then

all the love in your eyes
the pleasure
the deep magic of your sighs
unspoken but magical
all the morning stars awakened
this love I kissed
those lips
those sighs I heard
the tenderest moments
in your arms
I sighed too
made me desire
you all the more

less love to suffer
I give you my all
the tragedies the utmost
for you I sit silent
listening
to the broken calls all the hurtful
triumphs the cat calls
the boastful
slaps in my face the rants the
insaneness
but stay
steadfast
in my hope for you
my love is like a dogs
no matter how far away you go
or to whom
I await
and when you return
I will leap up on you
lick your face race around \
wagging my tail for you came back and
I was worried

I must say that life is good as it drains away
took me a while
to fully realize her beauty in her pain
her smile in all her cries
the softness in the hard refrains
all the good in the days
i saw as wasted
time
life plays no games
it comes around
and slaps you in the face
sometimes
wakes you from
that dream
you sleep
within
gets lost in
awake and dreams  but
the real thing
you'll see too
one day
then realize
how much you've
saw
and seen

on a walk down the river
midst the cross creek amongst
the tangled webs of overgrowth
there by the brook trickling
the willows leaves waving
the brambles grabbing
the soft sound of water
rambling
to a destiny
I heard a song one day
barefoot and young and indisposed
to elders or society
influences
and thought it magical
and beauty
and heard the grateful grins
of serendipity
I think

by the window
I stood yesterday
awaiting
her to come back
I prayed to see
her on the horizon
i waited from
sunup
to sundown
and never caught a glimpse
I stand today again
at the window crying

somewhere there beyond the night
behind the bright sunshine
in the middle of  the field
where the cornstalks stood and the wheat waves still
stand in the blue light the red night
the white
clouds is a dream
of America
and no man not one
can
take away the fastness
the strength the two hundred years
of welcoming
of free speech
of immigrants awaking in a land free
to her hand above
holding that
torch for
we are America,
let us remember that.

amid the sad squalls of young cries and the seagulls
there amid the jubilee
came from a siren a song
saying singing
let her cries make me
strong
dear lord
like a hymn a black revival
take me now
I am ripe ready
have seen the worst
the vile the man hanging
from the noose
just a young man
had nothing did nothing wrong
then
came that sound
again
if I give up
it is gonna happen again
take me then
to the fight to
the instance and let me die there
I will not let the future
be like this
and it sang
and some died and the song
still resounds
in this day and time
chords off key and discordant
yet haunting
me

I would like to think we were here
before the moon
before any dinosaur
before the sun glowed
laying together
in the open resonance
of space and time
and our souls when the earth
spun around and the sun shone down
were but a place for us
to spend a moment in flesh
for a time
a second to hold on to
for the rest
of eternity

ravens and black birds all along the precipice
awaiting the dive the encore the serenade,
crows in a row along the wire,
above the vultures circle round
the sky full of death
the ground scoured until
the black cloud lifted
above  my head
the darkness went away in wings of
light then
when the sun rose all the sudden
and if I didn't
some one else would be writing
a tome about the black winged
maybe my good friend
Jim
or Susan might could
or might they may have just gone on

developing a relationship recently with Hoagland's
terse views of reality. please don't, he cries emphatically,
knowing the grasses and roots take on their own mortality,
he has believed in me for a long time, I nature
in quotation marks,
Lucky was real
to me in that word that verse
he described her wasted gray
and I shuddered
turned revulsed
but respecting the man.

pants
it all begins and ends with thread
just when one thread unravels the
enormity of the situation depends
on exactly where
one day i
will sew up the rip
in my crotch of those blue jeans
that left me open to the public
on main street and figure
out why I kept
tugging
away at that
one
string
in the first
place

the love came acutely depending
on the angle one viewed it from
if veered left if it was helping
the poor
if viewed right tilted obliquely
with a chin up proud
that was considered
gravy on the grits
a determination to not work
and in the stance one took proud with
deference to those hungry waifs and kids
starving the right may be right
in the long run
welfare might
provide a disincentive to work,
to provide,
but in the meantime,
I am going to do my best
to feed those starving young.

weaving quite tirelessly
on an antique loom
she peddles
the warp threads
into a room
of weft
her hands
busy with it
shuttling her craft right to left
her foot
keeping the beat of a craftmaker a musician
even

once upon a time
the fairy maiden made time
out of starry dust and bedtime rhymes
and Santa had a long beard
and Easter eggs were left by Hares
come saturday
about July
they all had left and
all we saw were empty shells of
hoping for once again the holidays
that season
I sat in my room
wishing for Santa to come again
not for presents
I wished for the Easter Bunny
to hop on in
not for goodies
I wished for the
cheer the holidays seemed to bring
to my family the whole world.
I sat in my room all the
way until October again,
when the gargoyles went up
the pumpkins
appeared then , felt
almost good again.

I heard from a long lost friend,
and
I was relieved, alive again,
I thought , in my self sympathy,
that he or she had quit me.
Now , I see they were the one
feeling alone , so much more than me,
and I should have reached out to them
more forcefully.

the moon leaks beams down the stars
squirm around the clouds
the black background
grows wearisome
the sky sits in a wet spot between
all of it
and tries to calm
her *** into sleep again

here between the kaleidoscope images of daydreams
and hypnosis finding the freudian thing
lies the real thing or I suppose, I have no
scientific research, no clinical studies or
medical knowledge,
just a hyperbole state of my
lack of credibility, so if ,
I were to get on late night tv, and sell ,
say, an elixir, that proposed to cure your
*** of acne and hyperbole
would you vote for me next
presidential election?

that deep forgotten thing out back
musty and forbidden to go near
with that wood rotten smell lid
that is what that smell is
I am sure
not some body thrown down
eleven years ago
when that woman,
the nasty  neighbor my Uncle,
who had a hunchback and was , they tell me, severely
psychotic, hated because she chased his cats out of her yard,disappeared
to never be seen again,
or could it , nah! He was harmless lived with a hundred cats -
cared for them like his children.
He hunched around , never could have
chased her for he limped like Chester and she could run like the wind.
I saw her once , run so fast a Siamese cat had to dodge left and right to get away from her.
Come to think of it,
I think she liked Chester-errr my Uncle.
She wrote many a letter to him, left them posted on the door.
In fact, he kept every one of them
on his wall in his bedroom.
Right in the middle of the pictures of all 100
of his cats.

the window to my right all fallen broken busted the sun shines in
I sit in grief it is all breaking down my strength
the scattered pieces too much to pick back up
all shattered on the floor
shimmering like diamonds once again
I can't bear
to left look again I am too scared
that that window too will
fall and break my heart
again.

as we question the temperature never
satisfied , too hot or cold.
the wind too hard
or not around,
rain is drowning
or barren desert.
love and friendship
should surround,
and it is often too,
more of a good wind
a ripe harvest
a 75 degree measured
sun up kind of thing,
the true friend,
I hate to say it ,
will tell you when you
are depressing everyone.

in which vein
or string shall I pluck
that murmur that shot
which heart shall burst
at my words
as I overdosed

i need to become
my own sullen editor
say no at times
delete my rhymes

in the meantime I suffer the indignity
of truth in brevity

what was  in the longest sleep I have ever had?
dreams of mistletoe or camels
the brunch with the Dalai Lama
or George Harrison's hair
in my hands,
and had I any dream?
I don't know....
just rest
for me,
a quiet peace.
a piece of God.

Jo Thomas sat on the trestle
pulling her hair back
wagging her feet
to and fro above the river's
below.

Recalling the boy she had met there
five years ago
and how he had left
her

It seemed , to her,
like a lifetime
since she had held his gaze
in hers.

It had only been a month.
But, to , youth, to
young love
a day
might be a century.

She heard the whistle,
two of them again,
he used to call her from the woods
with a shrill hello.

She felt the tremble
of the wood
she just sat there.

She wanted to belong to him.

So Jo Thomas
gambled , perhaps
they could be
in eternity.

to all my titos come of age
you speak words I understand
stand at the door wanting out
howl at every moon
need
to recreate
I get that
but I'll be **** you
may pull the blinds down
climb up to the top of the window
look out
at bighead
or whatever feline stud
is out there
arch those backs when I pet you,
it aint happening,
girls

lift ,curl
press
squat\

hello mirror on the wall
flex,pose
breathe out
compose

poetry is so much
an exercise
so much like lifting heaviness
except

it isn't

that rented ******
the several flow
of life

I've the fondest memory of a silver lake
the shimmering gleam
on that pond
it made a concrete impression
on my suburbia raised impression
made
a bit of difference in how I see
the world now