when we
locked
our life printed
path palms
with
the bitter-sweet sweat
of mutual passion
seeping
through
in the innocent
puberty
of a summer night
and
looked up
at the vanilla satin
and rayon light
giving us a direction
i cannot
fathom
or attempt
to think
and
feel on my happy
down feet
its
weight
upon our earthly
light born hearts.
Two hundred
hearts beating
at once in
this moment
how it
would be
if there were
more than
five gray-haired moons
negotiating
in a big way
to fill
the romance
waltzing
in our fingertips
right into
the cedar drawer
of our personal
magnetism together,
this unusual
immense
attraction
to embrace and wedlock
as many
"moon struck minds"
enter a heat
on fire
filling
a big space
a passion
from the seat
of a generator
to an explosion
of matching!
In my
meanderings
and full,
eager expansion
i become
to many
picturesque
sudden
and legally illusive
no ugly
reputation
for inflicting
hurt
but
you my friend
carry
this coat of armor
this
personality
of rigid
proportion
of approaching
with
an alligator skin
to say the least
our meeting
could only
be
of you
being you
until deciding
to change big time
and
me being
free
leaving that
lonely place
behind
from where
i rest
my seasonal wings.
Or
have a
"federation of the hearts
and share our space"
me out
on a limb
and loving it
you doing
what you do
so well
what was that
again
the thrill
of discovery
my knight in quills
we may
not touch
as others do
but
for this time
we learned compassion.
Maddened decay of humanity
Wedding canopy leads to prolific angers
Small children playing, lose their life to quickly
passing cars
No one bears to look
No one dares to change
Thoughts are attacked
In an effort to save the graceful integrity
Of the Good Old Party
Sadistic gatekeepers keep cameras rolling
Same mistakes once again
Tending to a garden of disenchantment
Flaming youth burnt to ashes
As writers cease to use their thoughts
WE ARE CONDEMNED FOR BEING OURSELVES
WE ARE SHUNNED BECAUSE WE ARE OPEN-MINDED
Insomniacs, go take a nap
Insecure? I can sell you some
Useless products of the mind
. . . But majority rules so you've no choice but
to ingest that which has been
bestowed upon thee
Tell the world you're hungry for change
The starvation will kill you
She speaks nervously
Hands shake
Plagued by anxiety disorders
She obsesses over things she'll never have
Things she deserves
Like true friends, and hugs
But in this world of ours
One of shameful conformity
She's an outcast
Victim to a society of hippocritical followers
(Though we are all one of those fools)
She found her way into my heart
A kindred soul
Bespectacled with painful eyes
My admiration of her is infinite
Though at first, I admit I shunned her
Now, I know
She is a beautiful creature
As a bookmark, she uses a pressed flower
A lovely, fragile piece of dead life
So carefully held in her trembling fingers
As she looks up at me from a romance novel and
smiles sadly
"I'm trapped in the pages, just like this baby's
breath.
I guess the words are my escape."
ESCAPE
There is magic within her
A pointdexter princess
Whose elequent aura surrounds her gracefully
As she staggers clumsily through life
I hope others soon discover what I've found in her
A kind
Gentle
Honest
Person
"Esther, if you ever write a poem about me, will
you call it
Ode to a Pressed Flower?"
Passionate explosion
Waiting to be released In an explicable moment
Of instant gratification
I always thought the burning would desist
As soon as the satisfaction
Exhausted me
But apparently
I was meant
To coil endlessly
In its red flames
is every penny
a poor man's dream?
an acceptance
worthwhile
do you accept
what's become of you?
you sit
unsteady
stumbling
staring
sandscape thoughts in a mind-altered consciousness
remember that day
you rescued me from insanity. . .
with a leaf?
dying to be a man
but condemned to little boy tricks
someday danny, the world will be yours
someday danny, you shall be free of the chains
that confine you
someday danny, you shall be free of such regressions
until then danny, this is for you
in a dream
I walk through woods
along a path worn familiar
by so many walks
my home is tucked away there
among willow and pine and flax
a small cottage filled with simplicity
a favorite book on the nightstand,
turned to a favorite passage,
the tea pot on the counter,
a special gift from my children,
a hollowed peice of driftwood
given by you, that day on the bluff
overlooking our ocean,
and an old patchwork quilt
for chilly mornings on the porch...
and there, beyond my rose garden,
grow meadows of wildflowers
riotus colors, muted blues...
in full bloom...
reflected shadows in the pond
waters stillness in early morning
so soothing as I wander along its edge
I saw you in a painting
my dream, my mountains view...
someday I will go there
to that place so far away
in search of you...
You come on so right to those who's souls
have been wronged.
You feed off their pain 'till they come along.
A mysterious man with a hunger you must feed, You
do all you can
to fufill the need.
Living in a world filled up with fantasies, where
no one belongs
you aim to please.
You play the game so well, it comes so easily.
Captured by your spell,
they fall down on their knees.
So secretive you are, no one will ever know
the mysteries you keep
hidden deep down in your soul.
Your a beautiful man living in a dream.
Luring in all you can,
then tossing them out to sea.
Tho' they can see that you will do them wrong, ....still....eventually....
they come along.
For pleasures divine they sell their soul to thee,
'till you leave them behind
to find new company.
Yes they are all wise to your scheme
but oh the ecstacy - that with it you bring....
....Just before you make their heart bleed.
Tease me
please me
tell me some lies.
Then leave me
guessing
why....no reply.
Hold me
love me
tell me you care
Then poof...
you vanish
into thin air.
wine me
and dine me,
say you like what you see.
Then on to the next
fool.
Forget about me....
I wrote the editor of Zyzzyva
my poetry submissions looked unread,
folded together crisp as hotel sheets
as if he'd barely had the time
to transfer them to the SASE.
In anger I asked him where he got "new" writers--
through nepotism or cronyism?
(I admit this was impolitic of me.)
The gracious editor, H.J.,
no doubt referring to his literary bible,
wrote me back, "If your comments had been
in the public domain, I'd sue you for libel,"
and that he was returning my poems
wrinkled like lizard's skin
to prove they had been read,
and that he didn't like them
and wasn't that his right
and why don't I get a life?
Being depressed that day,
I asked my wife whether his reply
was politic or persecutory.
She held my crumpled poems up and concluded,
"He doth protest too much and is deluded."
Too bad his taste is so sure-footed
my poems will never be recruited unless,
of course, my reputation rises through other journals
that he prizes.
Then over drinks, pontificating to a friend, he'll
say,
"I knew he'd make it in the end,"
my little triumph over a little man.
