Past the moon light
over the tall knoll
under the bows of the mighty

exists a pond
steaming from the warmth of the day
like glass the water is still

it is the stage for countless fireflies
that dance with the evening chill

there on the grandstand
lives the olympian
who gently glides
in silent elegance

looping under ribbons of light
she is the matriarch
of this small kingdom

tucked on the edge of timber
it is here a figure appears

she is not alone

peering from behind the steam
his eyes gleamed
slowly following the white

he examines her majesty
transfixed on ever feather

he watched

feeling strange
he saw what lies before him

a shape yet odd

her glowing feathers she spread
bathed in moon light

her body ached
twisted and full
wings to arms
feathers to curves
beak to full rose
eyes to blue

her hair flowed a gray stream
covering her subtle *******

he fell to his knees
eyes wide
hidden in spring fed grass

his eyes following the slight shadows
of her neck
pass the barren of her belly
down through taut slender legs
he confessed, he declared
that she was his

the maiden now notice
the eyes of another
demands he reveals thy self
from toe to tip
the stunned man stepped
a man of no work or duty
nor rich or fame
he stepped into view

a peasant

her ice blue eyes
weave through his features

their eyes met
and as if fated
they fell at first glance

brisk and cold
the painted landscape
engraved deep within

set the stage for what has
been built today

that is when I met the light
it glowed across the room
as a beacon, or light house

gentle and calm
the light tickled every sense
affecting the moment

hands stopped
memorized by the light
intoxicated by the glimmer

we rose over the gathering
in weightless laughter

the light filled my body
with every touch

the light was slightly tuned
to me, for me, to see

yes you are my light
I have found you

you are her
the light, that is for me

Here you you are again
Tripping up each sy  sy syllable
It’s like walking a smooth path
Except, I am skipping

My in-step barely touches the dirt
Before I can form the s s sound
With each skip and st st step
I try to ease my stride

How I long for this
A fluent pace, without a scamper
For I have places to be
And thoughts that need a voice

But, yet I skip and fu fu fumble
Tripping on each stone
And each vowel, noun and sound, mostly “e”
Is skipped and repeated ******

it is times like these my mind wanders
the mind picks a door, a path, a road
gracefully peers down the passage
entering a full spectrum of even more
displayed as little treats
I pluck from the neat order
off I go to wander
dawdle, I shall not
I step through each frame
and experience the blue prints
piece together each puzzle
again I pluck from the order
off I go to wander
this suite is different
large square and black
it plays flickering monochromatic films
that bring translucent drips  
again I pluck
this time it is warm
candle light sets the scene
a bed, a girl and a flipped lid
oh yes, her from the nook
my mind building her perfectly
every curve painted in detail
my hand following each
we step closer

closer...

closer...
closer...

SLAM!
the wind reminds me of reality
I awake
with eyes wide and breath heavy
to a soundless house

Magnificent trees
tall and triumph-et, then fall
give life to new timber

do you remember?
Your young mind

innocent and sweet
no room for brood thoughts

do you remember?
the way the grass felt

how the sun glazed your skin
on a warm summer day

do you remember?
the laughter

and how it danced through the air
like fire flies at night

do you remember?
the simple gesture

of a smile from your kin
which, gave you such warmth

can you remember?
or have you forgotten

has society locked it away
their judgement is crippling

why have you forgotten?
what keeps this at bay?

the everyday social pillars
molds you this way

it is not easy to unlock
and grasps the conception

your young mind
is waiting

it is waiting
to tutor you
in finding your self
and unlock the beauty

so can you remember?
what will it take...?

to live each day
in this way

From straw the color gold
her hair feeding the west wind
she laughs my true love

The grass can sing
like strings of violins
blades gently rubbing
a whispering sound
ambient and true
the waves
brush your ear
as you listen
to the symphony
as they greet the Olympian
covering the land
with golden ribbon
they play
to welcome the new day

On a cool damp night
the patter of the port subsided
drips of the cold rain echo

a captain ripe with whiskey
breaks the silence of the harbor
feeling his way back
to the flat on high street

navigating his feet on each stone
he muttered to himself
“left, right and then right again”

ending at a stoop
he found the *** within three
“click” the humble door opened

entering the dwelling
ready for the weeks pummel
he swung his fists at the inhabitants
especially the women, the wife

this night was routine
the smell of whiskey, puke and **** is familiar
but, tonight the mist in the air was different
his blood boiled with fermented spirits
his eyes gazed an emptiness of black

with a quick hand
reaching for a sparkle of steel
he firmed his grip and pulled from the block

it made a “ting” sound as it cut the air
meeting gently with mothers throat
with rage, his eyes stabbed with intention
holding the cold steel to freckled skin
his remarks filled her eyes with fear

and I in the corner, watching, listening, feeling and rocking
yes that was you, as a sea captain
and I was there

the moon in glory
lights the twinkle in the snow
a fox softly steps

the filth of the alley is kind
it is the dust of the office
that coats the brick cubicles

here stands the curved beauty
presented and elegant
as if carved to physical perfection
she sways the men who pass
hoping to tickle the primitive weakness
that steeps within

like a corporate jungle
they compete for position
to meet the daily quota

among the urchins and minions
they are the forbidden fruit
they’re bouquet fills the air
bringing suitors
who choose the exceptional

these retched sales are precise
they’re instrument is physical
product of flesh and pleasure

the red light markets this reality
teasing curious souls
into the cubicles

giving into the primitive weakness
they leave them stripped and bare
cradled by the alley
covered by the filth

the transaction filled
she stands
the curved beauty
and begins this ritual again

she dances into black
engulfed in a wheel of hues
her limbs as if time lapsed
reveal the colorless to color
follow her, meet her steps with yours
mimic the routine based in ritual
paint each movement with small gestures
feel the momentum of each pass
let her lead through the dark and the unknown
she is but a nimble teacher
one who teaches each daunting step
that you carelessly fumble
your stride pressed in the soil, set but true
finding each print is fate
you can’t stop stepping forward
but, she will lead, on your rhythm
it is up to you which regiment, which plan
just take the first step
she will instruct and correct each fluid motion
from the beginning, middle and end
until your last performance
like many before, in pure innocents
you waltz at the edge of your stage
it will be graceful as a summer eve
ending with only in the sounds
of the night

Dark is what he sees…
What he feels…

Dark is the sea
black

His heart is the dam
Built with decayed wood

Release the pressure
Let the cold black flow

He whispers:
“let it flow”

The only beacon
A withered light house

The glow is the path
Guiding his frail frame

Yet it fades
With every splash

He whispers:
“let it flow”

limbs kick and scream
toward the gleam

they stop
and give in

his body begins to blend with black
the cold stains his skin

the feeling flows like ink
dripping off every digit  

He whispers:
“let it flow”

his eyes wide and strange
the realization of end

gulps his last sip of air
and his body slumbers into black

the dam breaks
the black flows

Out here it is organic
All natural, but fake

This is just a shell
5 parts this, one part you
precise, measured and able

yes that single part
potent and true
which can not be seen
but, only spoken
through honest lips

here is where you are
locked away
wrapped in chain
Behind the flesh and blood

You can feel it, can’t you?

yes this husk
is exquisite
its curves memorizing

it attracts
the buzzing flies
that fester lust

but, yet molded
by towering monopolies

injecting social narcotics
into the minds of society

No, this not...
you...

peel away the physical
fraud that is your cloak

reveal thy self
to me, to the world

lets gaze upon them

from our inner eyes
let them see the glow
and the spectrum of desire
that you only speak of
alone...

let them feel
the truth of thorns
pricking the outer shell

mutter the wants, the needs
that have yet to be poisoned
by societies posted order

let them smell blood
of the free and tangible

yes, reveal thy self
let them gaze, smell, hear and feel

you...

Your life a painting
Each day a new stroke
Until you pass
A masterpiece
Displayed to be remembered.

The mist is heavy now
Thick and moist
As sodden newspaper

It covers the range
Which, I clamber each day

Cloaking the way
It’s gray keeps me from straying

Following that beaten path
In endless ritual

Past the stone and wood structures
And past the nook that smells rustic

The mist is heavy
And I’ve noticed, how thick

For me to ascend to the crest
Where light warms the peak

I must wave through the gray
The unknown

I must calculate the cliffs
While I follow the gold

Ascend I must
Brave through the mist
Choose that path

It will define, you and me
Reach and hold
The palm of virtue
And I’ll hold yours  

Come with me
Let’s climb through
The mist
Let’s claim our crown

Dancing silently
In timber of white veneer
There she pirouettes

the gold ribbons speak
peaking over the ragged crest
release winters hold

Glimpse of the end
on the way back from daily labor

they are in black
from toe to tip

there to say their last gesture
to the withered

laid gently in a coffer
they gather, in soft afternoon sun

cheeks glistening
with glimmering memories

translucent in nature
but, filled with monochromatic films

to the black this just a moment
a stop in the road ahead

to me, this is merely a glimpse
a window and painted inside
is the destiny set and true

we paint our way
with each stroke and dab

we build what will be remembered
layer upon layer

until we finish
a master piece

there to be seen
for all to witness its majesty

and with one final touch
it turns black

colors mold into one
summing up what you embraced


black smearing even the finest stroke
it is black
becoming nothing

I come to despise you
this word, this label

even though, it was muttered
first from my own lips

its sound sings the memories
that hunt my every step

I still remember...
they follow me like shadows

demons mimicking my silhouette
they infect my mind

with each syllable
rehearsed by your lips

you practiced
and twitched in glee by its sound

this word is common
it is used, everyday

its very meaning
is honor and loyalty

every rising sun
a new man will inherit this word

that day, in a brisk, painted landscape
I was brought into this world

and you inherited this word
like a knight swearing by the sword

you inherited me
your kin

I still remember...
they slip into my mind

like a vivid film
glimpse after glimpse

my reel shows me
what this word really meant

it echos a deep nothing
that is left within

the void never filled
it was there for you

this word can not be
sealed with just blood

it is word based on action
without selfishness

it is earned
and felt

yet it was branded to you
for me to say

and forever this word
will be my first

a word that's empty
to me

it is one desire
I have kept away

it is there behind Revenge
a jealous sister

she is there

her hair black as vanilla
eyes cold and numb

she taunts and pulls
to reveal

the flickering
foresight

of what is capable
what is expected

center stage
she quivers

“Revenge is a thought”
“Revenge is a coward”

“let me act”
“perform”

******!
She pulls

******!
She yanks

pulling at the very
thread of desire

her sound is dark
yet sweet

a howl
screaming for embrace

a performance
rhythmically polished

with saber and dagger
tip toe and pivot

she performs
the act

the act of
revenge

a structure
filled with belt buckles and bonnets
and yellow in tint

it welcomes the day
with bubbled windows
opened to the scent of thawing

with the grip of a steady winter released
the inhabitants embrace the air
and embark on the daily labors

clothes line flutters with white sails
the farmer tends the barren soil
and little feet, pitter patter across the green

this is an awaking
a birth cycle of warmth and light
begins a new

Hands cracked as dried soap
******, battered
working out on the dust
its hard and still

a whisper of a geared wagon
tickles the ear of the fickle man
it is he... the man who points
he checks his list and nods
the man receives his daily remuneration

crackle of the sand paves the way
to a tin roof collective
where blurry eyed gentlemen line the plaster
the fickle man trades his social note
for a golden friend

My grandfather often tells me
“follow silently in the wood”
they, the timber and fauna listen
for heavy steps and cracks
and with one careless fumble
they fade into the limbs
he said “tread lightly and listen”
perking his ear to the wind
only then, if your silent
peaceful beauty will emerge