Raise your eyes and look into the warm sky
Birds are once again on the wing
and filling the air with their searching cry
while little children run, jump and sing.
The warm sunshine heats the morning dew
awakens the sleeping flowers and trees
nudging the vibrant colors to view
the air is abuzz with the busy bees.
Yes, springtime has come once again
to brighten and enlighten our lives
while we awaken the happy spirit within
and sing songs that renew and revives.
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Voices
Whisper in the breeze
Promises of hope.
How can I hear,
When savage storms
Rage in my soul?
Thoughts
Echo through the silence
With images of tomorrow.
How can I see,
When endless rains
Blur my vision?
Feelings
Penetrate the darkness
With tales of love to come.
How can I care,
When eternal winter
Petrifies my heart?
Wishes
Ride on dying stars
Spreading scent of Spring.
How can I notice,
When the ashes of my dreams
Still smolder...everywhere?
Peace
Awaits beyond the Edge
Promising an end to all.
How can I refuse,
When my soul lies dying
On the battlefield of life!
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Love,
The union of two souls
Until death
Disolves the bond
Suspended in time
For an eternity
Endlessly searching
For the other
Darkness prevails
Through the ages.
Light,
New life begins,
No memories remain
Of the bond
Once so strong
Until
A look so deep
Disolves the illusions of new life
Seeing the essence of the others soul
Recognition...
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Why
Why me
Uninvited soul
Pure essence of life
Innocent and powerless
And I could feel you
growing
And I could feel the
life within me
You were a product
of my love
And you were loved
by me
The one that killed
you
In the name of a
Cruel world
Forgive
Me
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Journey the sea of emotions,
I am the captain.
Breathe the air of uncertainty,
I yield to no one.
Cross the desert of pain,
I discover strength.
Fly the sky of reality,
I conquer my fear.
Dream the mirage of future,
I accept the challenge.
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Reality...
An illusion of our imagination.
Temporary and fluid.
Limited only,
By the depth of our creativity,
And our willingness
To see the possibilities.
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typing onto a page of nothing
meaningless words to some people
strong beacons of light
in other's eyes saying
hold me, i'm scared
don't let me fall
for if i do
i'll get hurt again
i won't get close
so i can't get hurt
the pain, agony, emptyness
The Hurt
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There is a fungus between my feet
to tell the truth I think its neat
every day I watch it grow
Spreading slowly from toe to toe
I no longer shower
so I can let my fungus flower
it's an experiment of sorts
and I keep daily reports
sometimes it does itch
but you won't hear me bitch
I love my fungus it's true
and I will until my foot turns blue.
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I'm on edge
toes dug into the ledge
time to jump and die
or live and try
a simple solution
or a life of confusion
the decision made
fear begins to fade
wind through my hair
as I take air
with gravity's pull
adrenalin flows full
in one heart beat
fallen 20 feet
I look down to see
an air bag below me
I land safe and sound
not indented in the ground
firemen surround me
like a cat in a tree
the sanitarium becomes my home
ending this poem.
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I wear my underware outside my pants
and people look funny at me
I wear them outside my pants
for all to see
I keep them clean, totally stain free
just as my mother told me, they should be
I wear them outside my pants
so that if I have to got the hospital
my mother can be proud of me
cause I kept my underware clean
and totally stain free
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I have a big bag
of old white sheets
stained from use
lying in the bottom
of my closet.
Numbering in the dozens
they stay there in a retirement of sorts
and if they were human
they would be remembering
back to their gloy days
telling sordid stories to one another.
But instead all is silent
in my closet
or maybe,
I'm not listening closely enough.
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Every day I see him
as I drive to work the crumpled little man
wearing crumpled clothes two generations old.
His face engulfed by agelines
and an everpresent smile on his face
his slow methodical walk
taking him to his destination
that remains unknown to me.
For I always drive past
never stopping to ask where he is going.
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The way I feel leaves me no doubt, my dear, that I
love you,
But I can only wonder if you truly love me too.
The way my body trembles when my fingers brush your
hair;
The way my heartstrings echo when you tell me that
you care.
I can’t express the gladness that I feel when you walk
by.
I feel as if the summer breeze could waft me to the
sky.
And I could walk a cloudy pathway right up to the
stars,
Lighting up the Milky Way, pretending that it’s ours.
Alas, my love, this fool may wear his heart upon his
sleeve,
While you, dear, on the other hand, play only make
believe.
What will it take to melt your heart and fill it with
desire?
What must I do to capture you; to set your soul on
fire?
I’ll sing for you a lovesong, serenade you from my
heart.
I’ll write for you a sonnet of a love that’s torn
apart.
I’ll build for you a lovenest and I’ll line the walls
with joy,
I’ll build a lovely nursery and furnish it with toys.
If only you could feel the love contained within my
breast,
Then surely you would come to me, forsaking all the
rest.
I would bring my heart and soul and lay them at your
door,
And we could live in ecstacy, in love forevermore,
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To those who have been there
Peering,
Staring,
Through, the metallic White,
bitter and cold hospital corridor. Created to preserve
life
(Preserve?)
To chain our fleeting souls
to this hell,
Rather than the next?
Or was it to create life?
To birth a child?
Was it to pass into this world an angel
every two seconds?
To replenish the gift of life with every thievery
of every death?
This hallway, it calls to me,
“Your scheduled tour has been
canceled,” its veiled Voice pronounced.
“Would you perhaps wish to schedule
Another? Or do you Desire a self-
Guided Experience?
Is that what you desire?” What does it mean ‘to desire’
Anyway?
The stench of Anti-septic spray
holds me Still in the hallway. I can’t see the exit
from here. It must be behind the stairs...
I.
My first endeavor resides through the First Door.
Voices of happiness, tears of joy float themselves
into my stare,
Blanketing the vast silence of Her evening. Death’s
cancer-fingers
failed to grasp one wife’s life
saving the slice of His knife For perhaps a more appropriate
time.
For now, she rests, benign, Chemotherapy has stayed
Death’s hunger.
But, He shall grow hungry soon,
His chase shall quickly resume,
Outside, the light of the moon,
Floods into the praying room.
II.
A darkened Man,
Calls from the hallway,
an inviting finger entices me to follow His bouquet
of black roses
crawls its path into the Next Room. Emptiness screams
through the shadows
of teardrops falling into hands,
Shaking.
This newly-widowed,
shudders for her beloved. Memories pour through her
Mind
into her Heart,
where they will forever remain.
Time pauses for the moment,
as the past forty years are replayed Again & Again.
Remember when...
And her eyes open to the hospital bed
And she wishes it was her instead.
Now that he’s gone, she is dead;
To her cold and empty house she is lead.
Shut this window,
this thunderstorm of Colourless Blood! Blind me.
Please...
III.
Pain slaps my face like
angry hailstones of October Evening,
shoving me onward.
A woman in labor screams at Everything,
and I swear that I can feel her pain, too.
The air:
Perfumed with the soft fragrance
of Creation.
An infant in mid-birth screams with his
Mother;
in unnatural and gross harmony;
The harmony of Creation fills the air.
The harmony of Creation fills the air.
A curse is lifted, and another born;
The birth of her son, tattered and worn.
His cord is cut, sewn, and tied,
He can’t speak, but still he tries
A pain known only
Once...
IV.
Further, I travel onward,
Following the incessant rotation of a gray spotlight
Shining true; a dead soul,
Prisoned and chained to his body;
iv sustains this version of hell through
his right arm,
A hospital gown shelters his fever.
Alive, but only by
MACHINES;
A charade of life preserved within
the lives of others.
They chart out his “vital signs”
EveryDay,
What the hell is a vital sign?
He cannot think;
He cannot cry;
He cannot feel;
He breathes through plastic lungs
and eats through plastic tubes. Indeed, a plastic
life embodied within
a carcass.
He is already dead.
Outside, his family whispers of “the” funeral...
V.
In the doorway,
Next Room,
Stands a child, maybe nine years old.
“Mister, why is Daddy dying?”
Why is Daddy dying?
A quick glance into the room paints
the same picture.
His wife turns away to wipe the tears from
her green eyes;
She doesn’t want him to see her cry.
Older brother stares out the window,
down into racing headlights, blurred by the
Raindrops spattered on the glass.
The pavement reflects the street lamps below.
“Mister... Why is Daddy Dying?”
He begs for an answer.
How can I possibly know?
what do I say? what do I say? what do I say?
his innocent eyes peering through my heart for an answer...
“Don’t ever lose hope, Son. Daddy will be fine.”
“Really?!?” his eyes light up like Downtown Christmas
lights...
I just lied to Innocence; prolonged his father’s death
because
I’m too damn stupid to know why a person must DIE!
I need to get out of here....
I need to....
I need...
?
Shadow and body fumble forward,
(single-file line, please)
The Hallway Finally has an End;
Termination.
The End.
The Mirror stares at me,
Straight through Time into my future.
A feather of pale crimson wanders through the door
Of the Last Room.
Empty.
This Room is Empty.
The bed nicely made of placid white sheets;
Shivering, as the thunderstorm winds
chase themselves through the open window.
Everything Sanitary;
Everything Guilty;
Everything Ready.
An Empty Room;
all Ready.
Mine?
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EXTREME CLOSE UP - bag lady's shadow draining down
a park bench
PULL BACK TO REVEAL shorn sheep staring down at their
wool
CUT TO a flock of Starlings reflected in the cow's
moist eye
PAN ACROSS water
ZOOM IN ON barnacles still clinging to a dead whale's
belly
PULL BACK to a rusted car frame half-buried in sand
on the Mexican beach
DISSOLVE into momentary dolphins woven in the curl
of a wave
CUT TO blue glaciers
SOUND OF a finger snap ricocheting off the ice
CROSS FADE into MEDIUM SHOT of an arcing hand scattering
seeds to the white chickens
SUPER IMPOSE shot of a farm boy practicing his trumpet
beneath a migration of geese
CUT TO CLOSE UP of a horsefly buzzing in a pair of
clotheslined pantyhose
DISSOLVE to cat watching a toadstool filling with
moonlight
CUT TO funeral parlor
CLOSE UP on a cut lily curling into itself
SLOW FADE TO BLACK
- END
CREDITS ROLL
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Morning breaks glaring,
Over the jagged horizon,
After the night's storm.
Sea churns like a cauldron.
The sun shines angrily on the day.
Wind whips the pelting rain.
Creatures of the day seek cover.
Sun beams boldly down,
Refusing to hide the day's doom.
Dark clouds rolling in,
A fiercer storm than the night,
Is yet to come.
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little scraps of paper
entertain me with heavy lidded
promise
most certainly, I can remember
my past
the walls are huge, cavern deep
trenches
obstacle course remorse
My God,
who am I?
this question is just
a sign post on the road
of breakdown,
like a mile marker it meters
the sanity, measures it in tiny
bite size capsules, guess reality
is just a swallow away
it is with utter dismay that
I search out these passages
of memory, once or twice
a rekindled image will come alive
and I will see myself doing things
that seem insane, or unreal, but
are ultimately too real. I seem to find
myself in the oddest of places;
an ice cream drip, or an old man’s pant,
dog bark, or diesel smell, they take me back,
tid bits of my past link to form a new image,
I need to collect these things before it is too late
in the days before my father died of cancer
I would watch him silently in his chair
he would barely move, much less breathe
I thought he was ignoring me, or perhaps
just enjoying the last harvest, but I
understand now, he was gathering his pieces,
all of those memories like marbles in a school yard
some lost, some dirty, polished cracked, all his
the only thing left, he could call his own.
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I slam dance
with my demons at night in a mosh pit painted sin,
see him at your feet
waving
the little man
fuck you
grinning
that’s memory, one of my brood
he torments me, and grills me with
desire, guilt, and longing
he’s got a little VCR on auto-record
and auto-payback
he just pushed me back to ‘82 look,
learn, lust, a shroud rises his show begins...
weak in the flesh
I surge for drugs, sex, anything
that can spark the synapse
I maintain innocence which
is another curse in itself
it was inevitable,
my curiosity was always the more dominant,
jealousy was always the weak sister sneaking, hiding,
waiting for a chance
Pete and I take turns taking
bites out of Lisa, nibble, lick
suck, fuck, whatever does
the trick. We gang up on her
like bullies, one in front, one behind
she’s a victim, making us her slaves
we are machine in passion, juggernaut
piping hot, wet, we can’t get enough
of ourselves
our lust knows no bounds, l
iving room mattress marathons saunas, Jacuzzis, orchards,
they all lay claim to our mark we have become animals,
spurred on by blue movies, white line fever, and alcoholidays
it comes to an end soon enough,
our bodies racked with pains, our minds, confused,
deludes guilt tainted lust blues
we are all victims of too much zeal,
morality bent, our rent has been paid
in quarts of cum and contortionist envy
that little sister of memory,
jealousy, she pulled the plug
on our escapades, memory, he plays it
back when my leash gets too long,
she, waits the wings, tipping the domino
whenever she can, he, keeps the VCR
rolling, another page in my life,
another brick in the wall called Lou.
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my dreams, slide and mist together, a sea of lucidity wrapped fantasy fog massages out nibbles crinkles of truth or dare I dream of broken players, bums and kids, broken teeth in shattered maw, lint from my open spaces or dust from too much heaving in heavy places my dreams, a kaleidoscope with losers at a loser's ball
I feel the pull and tug
the rope is thick, fat with blood
it grows as an angry snake
set forth to spring
I am raised from the waters
of slumber, gentle hummings
humid sucklings dance my
man, he is rejoicing in your
tongue play, he is meat
for your feeding, he is dinner
after supper when the tummy is not too full
I see you, but mostly feel you
and the sun beats through the blinds
trying to test our resolve, but we are deep
and you trace the veins of my man
with ice cream patience, lapping
and capping his head, with yours
treating your treat to a Sunday best
I am caught in twilight dreaming
awake, yet still hidden in fugue rapture
you lay on your back, inviting the bee to taste
clover, honey suckle sojourn, I plant kisses
along the neck, down, everywhere you expect,
I am now fully awake, and I see how my
oral meanderings have brought you to
the edge. I delight upon your delicacy you
have served up, and eat, a man ravished
by only night, yet starved for your release
you buckle and meet me more than halfway
drown in your juicy nectarine, deaf in your
freedom, I can hear, but mostly feel your
contractions, your fire is raging out of control
in need of my man to further the spell
I settle on top and lower into you
feeling the head, pointman, go
slippery in, bloated in glory, my man
is electric, nerves are lit up, your moans rise
in entry celebration, feel the pitch as I push it
like a magician’s sword, stab, retract,
every inch, echo pleasure
I play you like a piano, maestro every chord
notes thick like jelly, hang in air, resonate
your keys are pounded my dear,
with cock sure strokes,
every note hit, my cadenza is madness, rising
firestorm, I fuck for all my dream players
who never hit a home run, the kids toothless,
the bums worthless, I fuck for all who cannot,
let them live through this, let them know
revenge, for all the dreams denied while
dreaming, they live this moment
in my awakening eruption, I salute them with
release.
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I follow on the heels,
of your star dust wings,
every glimpse
broken patchwork
of a mirror
gone berserk
I glitter gamble
away, myself
every foray
after you,
feel your heat, fire
perhaps a drop
of honey dew
lingers my lips,
after a kiss,
more than not
it is a hot biting
flash of salty sweat,
my own blood
from my own cut
I see rainbows
where you have walked,
monuments where you stand,
the air smells spicy citrus,
a footprint of your soul,
on a handhold of my world
I limit my love
to three ton boulders
and my quests,
to Mt. Everest hills,
anything else would be
too easy
My passion whip
sparkles at my scars,
prods my motion,
common sense is not needed,
where dreamers
lay down
to dream.
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