I watch the trees
watch their fearlessness
strong in almost any breeze
steadfast planted
tall proud as ages gave
her strength
giving shade
in the harshest sun
I query the leaf
what made your maker
so strong and brave

slapped me in the face,
a thought did,
of a smile from afar
watching me scramble eggs.
with cheese and diced red onions,
wrapped up in a fried flour tortilla,
and how I dropped three eggs along the way for missy,
my labrador,
could only fit half my bounty on each shell
so the three orphan cats got their share.
and Missy got to clean my plate.
And I know she saw it all, saw the whole thing, though
she is 800 miles away.

the blue cast of the moon on tree limbs making
bent by dawns awakening and lovers eyes
the color change a bit from
midnight to dawn
a difference of hue
the color spectrum
changing from bright opal to emerald
mixed on  the palette
by feelings and temporal
the senses are so
ephemeral
they see the world in
emotion's
colors

seems I must write of star beams
and moon glow
when i want to write
of your elbow
your nails
how feminine and gorgeous
the turn of your thigh inward to
the place the space sacred
our place
shared alone
your neck arched
your earlobe in  my mouth
my chest on your breast my hand upon your sigh
our arches met
with cries

relative to distance from the equator and
posited on the globe eastern or more west
the signs of love seem to be so similar
from the top of the globe to its utter bounds
the rush of blood the excitement
the grip of hands leading to a kiss
a kiss is wordwide
it is secular
the lover's bounds hold no GPS coordinates
as to their peculiarness
no bounds as to race either
or *** or religion
seems to me
love is wordwide and incurable
it happens in rich and poor lands in
health and sickness
forever and ever
;

sounds like a wedding
vow

somewhere over the rainbow- has been taken:
Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum sonatur. (Whatever is said in Latin sounds profound.) -has been said:
The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot- has been flown:
The peace of your soul awaits you at the center of your own being.-has been meditated:
I give up. All the best words have been taken.

On that last Sunday,
the last day of my life,
I hope it rains,
I hope the skies cry.
I pray thunderous a roar
erupts and storms evolve,
but I guess I would be happy
if just one person
cried.

we all all ALL are great!
I hate nothing but disagree, that nature is wondrous and heaven has to be
earned. nature is cruel.
I have noticed , her cruelness is obvious. Nothing
about life is ever fair.Our being here is enough. Enough to claim our fair share.
It matters not your heritage color creed or ***, your identity is guaranteed
by your breath.
Anyone who disagrees is
ignorance
small
un-evolved.
Tell me how you can call another an ape or less than you.
Tell me you  hold yourself as superior, and I will pray you wisen up.
tell me your kind holds some place in history better than
anyone's.
Breath red blood, skin , of all colors, nationalities,
ethnicities, religions, none are differences. We all breathe. We eat we strive to procreate. We claim our rights as fair in the sea of nature's indifference,
who might claim a rabbit for a wolf's dinner,
a wolf for a Bear's. My forefathers and yours are dead. They fertilized the
ground we walk on. And their bones and hearts made soil that we walk on and toil on as
equals today.
There can be no different argument.

grab up a whole bucket of them,
sweep all the floors,
the smallest bits the ****** the
pieces of broken people,
bring them here,
the sinners , because I have been one,
and the floor I suspect,
would be clean of souls,
shiny no people left,
just an earthen loneliness,
a holy scene, a dance floor empty
a shrine:
is that what we propose for God's
sake?
An empty world ,
an empty place?
I do not judge , yet I do see,
that those that do are often the one's
in need of forgiveness.

to the core
somebody else is always worse off
I don't consider myself a saint
just a soul that hurts feels breathes,
as to the definition yes,
I get personal satisfaction
from it
I sacrifice, not in the sense I harm myself,
it is the problem of hell,
and I can do  my part.

in the imaginations of people
I was there
the extraordinaire
the sitting sipping coffee shop watching
the young lovers outside try to separate
so hard in the dusky neon lights
the washateria lonely
an old woman folding laundry at 11 pm
as I sat outside rolling butts into smokable for a minute
fireflys
cleaning the ashtray out
the stalls of the convenience store
not even sitting down
so ***** even I the hobo would not
checking the Mcd's bag for fries
I found walking home at 2 am
the favorite of my memory
is seeing
on my journey
a guy at the grocery store
help an old couple load their groceries up
he didn't see me admire his charity.

I must say , another day draws nigh,
I hate to go , I want to linger,
catch that glimpse of loneliness
shone so far away in red white
and blue of course,
her paints
her name \her lingering smell
that first taste of lips
right in that
space I saw her standing there
watching me
as the night touched the day

ebbtide between high hello and            
goodbye almost
just a period
more an ellipsis
in the flow
of eyes meeting
greetings and goodbye
the rushing
to and fro
of moonbeams
with open flowers
in the sun

don't require
don't push me dear
with your perfect symmetry
that fire lit in your wise eyes
to write the perfect poem,

I am immature
I just now desired the lushness
have not acquired the geniusness
quite now

I have desire an intenseness
the flame the spark
but not the reqirements needed
to match your brilliant flame

I try , god knows,
it may take a lifetime
to touch your depths the way I know
I need to

will you still be there
my flame my fire,
my desire?

When
quality catches up
to need?

among the changes sneaking up on us
our bald spot suddenly appearing a day in
the mirror and the gasp of the selfie taken
you had no idea you looked that bad
you could smell the decay
thought it was the cat's litter box
you noticed yet in the grocery
the faces looking and wondered why
thought it was your ***** lil' secret yet
it was public
and other's noticed before you did
it is all such a surprise
for the decay all at once to suddenly sneak up behind
your back and yell "HEY!"
Like rotten lettuce on display
near the red onions,
the things you bought for dinner that day,
the packages of ten cent noodles
splurged
you did,
on the spaghetti sauce
and one small thing of hamburger.

ready for a new chapter , already,
a change of season, almost,
a different horizon, perhaps,
ready for a new hope, I hope.

This green leaf is ready to fall
off the limb, become compost
or be blown far off
into the distance.
Just give  me destiny
or what resides past the filtered
reality, today and tomorrow.

let me be the soil again,
dust or, maybe another leaf
more vibrant just opened,
with stomata uncluttered by polluted
nicotine a fresh unwrinkled skin,
a stem hard pointing my being up
into the sun of days
with strength again.

Yet, I remain attached , fearful
of turning loose
the very thing I get tired of.
May  will bring the answer.
Or June.

she looked my way coyly
I said hey she
smiled
it was on
I walked up to her
and said my name
what is yours
and she answered
yours
so it definitely was on
I kept my cool
stopped talking in case I stuttered
just sweated discretely
and tried not to be a fool
she was angel gorgeous out of
my league
and had come on to me
when she said two hundred dollars
I kissed her ear and said honey
not tonight
can you be here
again in two months
when I save that  much up?

summer sunsets in Northern Michigan
along the falls of Tahquamenon  
memories now
the campsites fire at dusk
rising embers into the sky
sat as stars
the shimmer off the falling water
rushing to go downstream to fill
Lake Superior
with new life as always intended
brook trout
brown and coho
just below the rush
raging
smaller smelt
the caviar
of a beer batter
there I grew
in a way to know
nature
her ways
her live and die
callousness
she is beauty
but severe
too great to take in
all at once
it took me forty years
to grasp
and appreciate
what it is and
what it was

to he who owed a poem of gratitude
to those masters of old an ode
a debt to their platitudes
a tribute for those

whose wisdom creative spirit
their modernity in an old time
period reached to me in this
21st century

I speak of well known
geniuses
the Poe the Cummings
Whitman

Bryant Plath and
Emily
whose loneliness
is an apostrophe

and those who cast words
into the ether
heartfelt little
heard

I touch my ear
to that
ground

decipher faint trembles
of earth
******* delights
seldom heard

I sigh....

bleed not out which is what many do
just trickle
down my leg my arm
i guess I have no courage left
to just say that's it
i bleed slow
in small rivulets
like asking for acceptance
for the small crowd the
hero
or heroine to fly in
and save what's left
but it isn't happening
I lick my wounds
and go back
to another
false hope another
dream
make my floor catch
the drips

my song is a worn out tune that sings and
plays a worn out harmony about this time
of year, but, in June when full bloom of the Jericho
and  Mulberry  bushes and the harp sings with thrushes
melodies
robins flitter
and squirrels are gay
I dance along the very edge  of the starlight flickering the
moon's edges
a flitter
dance with gaiety happy
along the edge of the farthest
galaxy

out of my left eye
I caught , I thought,
a glimpse of you disrobing
now, you had your dress
around your legs showing me all your
best.
My eyesight is 20/100
at best, and that was peripheral,
but I know a breast
a thigh when I see it, I hope.
I had no time to
to put my spectacles  on
when you said come here.
Oh my!

there where dark is sleep among the tall pine
forests
a bed of soft pine needles a pillow
the sun and moon kept out
and silhouetted in the morning dew
the current steams in the cool
around the bend forever
makes a curtain
for the dream
the characters the trees
no villians but the
armadillos and possum
the fox the villian
the wolf
who is hungry
?
all of them
and me and you
we have to have nourishment
and play
or I do
I play
I play amongst the teardrop drips
along the cliffs
right beyond the limbs
that hang down
evergreen
in mists
of            
the base of the mountain
we all
are under.

a tear or two left
let me take my handkerchief sodden
*** it up and wring it
it will bring hope
hopefully for all
those who have none
or those without food
might it feed
or those
who have given up
a bit of peace a touch of human hand
the very need they seek
or a seed
for the future of mankind
to see  
how
it could be

the best of times;
they rhyme
in a sense,
make hearts calm
in a way,
the poets tend to make
sense
of that,
write of it
though it
is all there
anyway.

I have this need this desire this certain
walk along the park mentality
where  words fall from trees
the meanings from small animals
the sense , that creativity
art, if you will,
comes just from trying,
or walking along a riverbank in the beckoning
of a spring shower
or a thunderstorm
threatening to strike
all down with a whirlwind  tempest,
almost , but, words and loci
are much calmer, the aforementioned was but
feelings, I consider
every feeling , call it in,
consider it as reasonable
a second or two,
then reign the unmentionable into words,
strike the pose
as Poseidon,
blow wind  words  into the sails
of Genesis, into the breeze of
the mountains,
smoting verb snow covered every
mountaintop
the very verb filled valley
with uniqueness,
because,
I can.

were I to lose myself tonight
nowhere else could it possibly be
then in your fine skin your sweet smile
your embrace

were I to find heaven
I don't think of any afterlife
I would not see your smile your kind eyes
you and beauty

were I to die tonight
with your memory I would smile
brightly forever more like a sailor
welcomed home

after his long course  
his long time without love
his long journey without shore
be he parched and full of scurvy

the sustenance
without a kind
life without meaning
there on a shore

of little hope
just barren rocks
and harshness
sand piling up in heaps over
his head

so I said my piece
my welcoming
I await yours

the jams came on
that ringing cymbal
the driving bass
my buzz came alive
my foot started thumping
my fingers strummed
I mouthed the lyrics
I was part
of AC/DC
made me leave my seat
and dance
all three kittens ran and hid
Missy just laid there
like , oh this is usual for
a Saturday, you *******,
you should have been
here two years ago
when he could move
without limping

it's when the dust gets as high as the baseboards
or the rust corrodes the pipes
and they start leaking
I get buzy
whip my swiffer sweeper and knock the crust off this
apartment
grab my pipe wrench and start tweaking
on the leaky faucet
it's when the electric gets cut off
I can't see the dust or the water
dripping
is when I get lazy
set still
I don't care
a **** bit

when when when comes around
and then is then
and then when is now and then I like
win the lottery
then is when when will all be good

was

running out of thunder
Saturday
I find myself feeling small
it is not supposed to be like that
tonight I used to be all full of it

the show became  tell
she slipped her black negligee
over her shoulders
let it fall delicately to the floor

took my hands in hers
placed one on each upturned
breast put her foot
behind my calf
pulled me forward

whispered, superman,
in  my ear,
this girl was a pro
I swear.
She knew all
my weaknesses
I call her Kryptonite.

I call her every day.
She rarely answers ,
anymore.

I remember December
as being faster this year
the christmas carols
the smell of turkey ham
and mistletoe
as one night
all my shopping was done
in November
after 11 pm
maybe next year Santa
might bring me a rock
or  have I been
bad
again?

I sent a leg UPS to
my mom
she needed one
she been all gimpy
for twenty years now
sent my brother
my *******
my dead dad
a hallejuah
my son a missive via
twitter
he aint responded,
my ex her alimony
check written
on rubber ,
a used one,
called my girl
she was busy again-
she aint got a job but
sure stays busy-
my dealer ,
I sent a Christmas card
birthday card
called him on our anniversary,
he was my best man
at my wedding,
we borrowed his
Porsche
for our honeymoon,
hope he don't know what we did
with his gear shift,
I sent the IRS
an IOU
again.

ten wings on five
black birds
sitting together
on the mulberry tree
set flight
all at once
startled
just one set of wings
the ones
on the woodpecker
his *******
stayed
pecking
as
the stealthy yellow
and white striped cat
clawed her way up the bark
closing distance
he just kept at it
some insect
peckpeckpeck
or the wood itself
and the cat her claws
driven into the bark almost
at the same intensity
rose almost to the limb
that held the peckerheaded
intenseness
of the stalked in
his one-sighted business,
as the cat,
on the limb below ,
close close as breath quickened
back arched
hunched
woody flew off.
***** willowed, scented the
limb the ****
crack of the *******
and
licked her paw.
No loss.
There is always
tomorrow.

nearly the hour the hand flies past when I need sleep
alone, I seek, a connection
a phone to ring,
I twitter tweet post fly all my wings,
share plus heart
flutter away,
and I wait.......

where looms my heirloom
which lore tale of story has my shore
what fountain contains my bounty
of lifelong happiness?
has my proverbial ship
sailed and I missed it?
Is the sand but dust the sea just water?
The sun just light?
The hopes only dreams?
Our my pursuits only vain
my promises  meant nothing.
The knife I sank in my chest
just a metaphor?
Ah
there lies the theme,
the juxtaposition, the irony,
of wishes in a fountain ,
go on, throw that quarter
in there....

somewhere
between the sky and earth
in a far distance
might have been
those words
I heard
two lovers young
caught up in passion
or a good samaritan
helping the poor
a mother perchance
cradling her newborn
a father proud of his son
it came 'round
like a prayer
a proverb
a hymn
a song
into my ear just then
somewhere
in all this someone
i just feel it
feels what I do.

invent
if I were a bit more
genius
silent poetry

words with no ink
quiet
songs that strained
your deafness

paintings in
your mind you saw as
feelings
only

statues that stood
nowhere
but you could see
were

masterpieces

I found you would I not
stumble in words once more
be swollen tongued deaf dumb
and blind
maybe
it is better
perhaps to
keep striving
to search lifelong for the end
of the rainbow
to have a goal a reason
to keep that bit of mystery
that longing
for if I were
one day
to find you
there amongst the tangled reasonings
the vines with thorns
thistles unpleasantness-
might I just die?

serenaded by the breeze
season's came
then went the trees still there

i realize i am in the beginning stages
of oldtimers' disease
when I have to **** every half hour
and the toilet bowl is mysteriously empty,
every time?
I have checked out the flush valve-check;
the fill valve, too-check;
the handle
the seat,
the bolts on the floor-no problem;
when in a burst of enlightenment
I remembered....
I have not filled Missy's ( my gorgeous well balanced love of my life Labrador)'s
water bowl in two days.

I was the youth wave once
groovy in the know
hip
then my twenty ninth birthday came and
I was still alive
not ready yet
to give it up saw
quite a future
in disco
then the ball dropped
on fifty
still I grooved
and held up my medallion
a Peace sign hung proud
around my neck
hair all down my back
a green Army jacket
on my arms
and  yes, still bell-bottomed jeans
and Roots boots just a little
protruding;
I just tie-dyed a new t-shirt,
sent my water pipe out for cleaning,
put CCR on the YouTube thing
tweeted
on my page ,
I am still here to all them
know it all youngens
who text at the speed
of light going through every
redlight

it's all so twisted
this reality
cold
like ten thousands of summers
has made no difference
we think things are important
take a stance fight with all we've got
to in the end
only realize
things are so
unimportant
unless it creates
food for empty bellies
wisdom for those  darkened:
My cat taught me that.
I bought my three titos
the store bought toys and they played with them
now they have replaced them with
a piece of carpet pad.
And Spot is having a ball.
To her , I guess,
the pad is a mouse and she is happier
then when I spent twenty dollars.
I see lessons in her.
The proverbial child
that got a birthday gift,
but, had more fun with the box.

can you believe the sand is so warm
so gritty beneath our toes
and
holds us up?
It's like concrete with
feeling, so far away from
the suburbs type
walkways streets paved everything,
It gives a little
shifts when your weight
goes from foot to foot,
striding , leaves a trace
unseen walking down
same home after home suburbs
streets the same subdivided parts of
living, plots lain out like
cemetaries do,
only missing the headstones,
facing east.
I get hot walking but
enjoy the beach.

dance fire in the wind
turn consume the ash flicker
disappear reignite above where you were
ignite the breeze spark
fall then flutter more
blue orange red green
your tails appear
then vanish
as warmth
as energy
as life

I have a higher shelf a pinacle that
seems empty , barren,
one made of mahogany over the ones
holding copies of Shelley, now unbound,
stocked with mementos and keepsakes
made of pine but servicable
upholding my precious things
carefully sturdy ,
to the left , a tad dusty, leaning on the
copy of Michelangelo's David bookend,
is  "In Search of Lost Time" gathering,
well, dust , now,
next to, with my fingerprints
outlining the title ,
on a timeworn cover, leans,
"Tom Sawyer" ; I can see a cane pole
figuratively jutting out from
the shelf. Above on the second shelf from the top
sits a rock, just a plain river worn smooth
everyday rock, that to anyone else would be
nothing, but, to me it is more precious than gold of the same size.
I collect special things.
And the top mahogany shelf
is empty
reserved for only vivid
memories
of
Grandma  
of that girl long ago
of when my children arrived on this earth
of a smile
from all the women I have known
also, although, invisible
only worthy for that shiny shelf are the hearts and souls
of the best people ever.
And when you visit, think again, about an
ordinary smooth rock,
and an empty mahogany
shelf.
A rock or an empty shelf
can be more
than it seems.

more toes in the river bank
more jaunting through the clover field
more watching the sunrise
more catching your eyes in mine

moresmilesmore laughsmorecakes
icecream
more popcorn spilling when crying
at sad movies

less work less hate
less white on walls I want
colorlesscubicleinsanity

less cell phone *******
the notifications the calls
Less taxicabsskyscrapers
concretemortuaries

more flowers
more handshakes
more hugs more sweetness
more of feeling

less of reality
Tv
moreoldmovies

more tears

If you have ever written a poem you realize
i wrote this title before developing a poem
I had no theme or outline pre prepared
no grand vision just this
ditty running in and out my head
it sort of worried me until
I just had to chronicle her
type her out and email her
share her everywhere
so happy people the we'll
say well adjusted happy people
or just my partner in nether world
feels indebted enough
to plus
or ignore or propose
I give up poetry
for ever.
Anyhow any ways
the smile cannot
be erased from my face
the jiggle in my belly
goes on and on forever