Rejected once again...
and I have to wonder why.
No knight in shining armor
am I,
no prince charming...
just a good man
with an open heart,
wondering why.

In a parallel world
we're still together...
hand in hand;
we never walked apart...
and you never died.

But there are no parallel worlds
and you're gone,
ashes to ashes
my hand swings empty,
living devoid of light.

Is there anything
more heartbreakingly sexy
as a lover
walking away?

The way they sway,
your knowledge of their loving
their moans and groans
no longer yours.

Is there anything
so heartbreakingly sexy
as a lover
walking away?

Their morning smiles
and rumpled hair...
tears and stares
no longer yours.

This is not a love poem.
I cannot say with honesty
that I love you.
Words of praise
fail on my lips,
no song fills my heart.
There is only dread...
a shadow over my soul.
That pall is you.
This is not a love poem...
I cannot say with honesty
that I love you.
Words fail me...
you move me so.

There was a man on the bus
today
with hostile eyes...
steely blue and suspicious.

The thirty something woman
across from me;
with black eye and split lip,
her's were wet with tears and fear.

A young couple
only had eyes for each other.
Glistening
with love and desire.

The bigot’s eyes
were all glower;
hostile and condemning,
after all, the couple was interracial.

The old woman’s eyes
tired with many years,
looked back with memories
and forward to release.

The little child’s eyes
wide with wonder
took everything in,
grist for the mill.

As I wander from
from face to face,
I wonder what stories
my eyes offer?

The world ended yesterday,
for all those who died.
It began for all those born.
The end is just round the corner...
creation near.

Listen deeply...
teach love,
touch gently,
breathe justice,
express gratitude,
live peace,
practice mercy...
be compassion.

Forgive us Lord for we know not what we do.
We know not what sins we commit,
or what blessing we confer.
We know not what we corrupt with our touch,
or what we make whole.
We know not what souls we damage,
or the ones we heal.

The topography of your body...
Is the landscape
I call home.
Scaling your heights
plumbing your depths...
your wetlands
and peaks.
If I were blind
I could find my way
by tracing your form
with my greedy hands.

You drove me to it.
Its all your fault,
and no other.
I had no words to express
my love,
my passion,
my anger,
my emotions
about you.
You drove me to it.
Its all your fault,
and no other.
You drove me
to poetry.

Let my eye
linger on you...
taking in your beauty,
your form,
tracing every curve
peak and hollow.

Let my eye
linger on you...
the color and shape
of your eyes
and the moist curve
of your lips.

Let my eye
linger on you...
your turn, your glance
lingering on me
like a deer in a headlight
caught by your eye.

I love the sounds
we make.
The squeaking bed,
our gasps and moans,
the whimpers and sighs...
of grunts and growls
and skin slapping skin
or that wonderful
churning butter
slurp slurp slurp sound
of sex well done.

Her ass was made for regrets,
the way it wiggles
as she walks away.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the warm moist shadows
pungent, tart and sweet.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the curves, the openings and hollows
moaning come closer.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they swallow me
coaxing me out of me into you.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they let me play as I will
until the little death embraces us.

I and Thou
Eye to eye
I and eye
I to I.

Damned are the greedy,
for theirs is a paucity of spirit.

Damned are the callous,
for their hearts lack empathy.

Damned are the pompous,
for all they can see are themselves.

Damned are the self-righteous,
for their faith is shallow.

Damned are the merciless,
for they shall be denied mercy.

Damned are the bigoted,
for they do not know love.

Damned are the warmongers,
for they shall be called the children of hell.

Damned are they who persecute those who are different,
for they shall never know peace.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your eyes...
pools of brown drawing me in.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your lips...
moist, hungry, demanding.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your breasts...
soft pillows comforting me.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of our sex...
how nice it feels inside you.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of home...
where I need to be.

The same I looks out your eye
as mine...
the perspective is different,
that is all.
We are one...
so close
no words can say.

Sweet New England;
its where my heart is, and where I belong.
I know,
the day I left I buried it deep
on the western prom of Portland Maine
to call me back someday
though I may be old and frail
when that times comes.
And though I am southern born
it’s scents, moods, colors and cold
have etched themselves like scrimshaw onto my soul.
I now want my bones shattered by frost,
not left to mildew in the humid southern heat.

For me New England’s like warm light
shining through frost covered windows,
or a cozy, cluttered old room
filled with the bric brac of a life long well lived,
an attic garret maybe,
confined yet comfortable.
The rest of the country’s expansive and open
except parts of the south
where the heat & humidity will smother you in your sleep;
then hide the evidence
in swamps of ancient illusion like southern hospitality,
smiling to your face while sharpening the knife.
Offering another helping
while grandpa finishes the grave.
Ya’ll come back now ya hear.
Give me the hidden heart of New England any day;
chilly and cool outside
but warm as a glowing wood stove.

While memory tends to shade everything
in afternoon’s golden light or midnight blue and gray,
I’d rather hard scrabble times up north
than easy living in a place that says nothing to me
even if this place is home.

I miss Maine so very much,
I taste her like a lover in October air
rich with the season’s smells
of apples, leaves, sea, smoke and pine.

Sweet New England;
where I belong is where my heart is.
And though I wasn’t born there
I’ve walked that land as a pilgrim
singing its songs as my song
until they became my own.
My heart reaches out now
longing to return,
to the place I called home,
until the end of days.
And my bones not left to mildew
in the humid southern heat,
shatter with the frost.

Scenes from a marriage
lay scattered on the cutting room floor
of memory.
Our passion,
your lies, my lies,
separate truths never one
mingle and moan
when just the right sore is touched.
Do you have any idea what we were looking for?
I don’t.
Why won’t you answer me?
Do you care?
You wiggled and squirmed
holding me tight
whispering “I love you” in my ear.
Now you claim nothing happened.
If this is true
then why the emptiness?
If you’re not going to respond then go,
close the door
and let in the cold.