SIMPLY YEATS

My verse under Yeats’ carved door
he merrily chuckled at white
envelope, sketched butterfly
said he preferred to receive
verses this way rather
than reading them across
post-modern websites


He invited me to tea
we simply savoured small
cheese squares, crumbly
scones watching a squirrel
chomp a cheerful chestnut
lost and found
What word can describe
fleeting images of poets
graduated, yet living on ?


Vacant ….a vacancy
that awaits a word
wandering ethereal
manifesting __
a lover expecting his
Beloved with cherries
a shadow across
poetic dreams

It is here at the point where no life exists
where shadows lurk and life is made
while Creation does nothing but watch itself
in a hole that never ends

Ether dances and joke at beginnings of dust
as we bring to life that which longs to smell
misty dew, try luck and fate on stages of illusion

Here we eat pomegranates in custard
apple skin, breathing in salty spice from
pink peas in tunnels of horns
here throats are channels of finality
columns of joy in hope

Here silence is the loveliest sound
sights contest to bloom on trees of golden chandeliers and flimsy nightgowns after
dinner mints

At this point of open fluid blueness
sightless serpents mingle with  lights down
their spines
bracken love is made then broken like
crockery on a shelf overburdened with fear

At the beyond orange magic exists in
hair without roots, round and round
in bones without marrow, mouth to tail
as God puts together noses and arses
makes granite curves with candy floss fingers

Here man is woman, woman man
goddesses in curls and red sequined
slippers witness Tarzan at work eating
pineapple with prickles, tongue to tongue

Here a point becomes the only space
space falls into time, time into circles
numbers into letters, letters into nothingness
while black Persian cats cavort on blankets
of faith

At the beyond things jump and don’t move
spring by standing still, guitar notes run
along in blessed focus, locked in flights
of danger

Here you fall and fall, scream a soundless scream ~ blond lashes in a teacup filled
with **** and *****, where a flame is
not a straw to hang on

At the beyond it is so !

I swore I meant to get baptized
you ended up with my head under water,
just alittle too long that time
and it should be cold instead of hotter.
I fight against the rough waves
my arms reach out for you instead of splashing.
I prefer that method where I’m being saved
instead of receiving a verbal thrashing.

Rooted in ground, meant to settle down,
hiding under the rubble,
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
While I’m bound to always maybe poke around
believe me I don’t want to cause trouble.
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I’ve always wanted a bigger bath tub
she craves to have a yard once more.
Everyday I trade both for a back rub
you ask “is your body even sore?”
I tell her who doesn’t feel some strain
and that her hands have always felt healing,
infact they cure almost every single pain
that I’ve had the misfortune of feeling

Hearing no sound, except the counting down
too far and deep in a puddle
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
A trick I found is to always use a spin pound
straight from the knuckle,
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I only want the best chocolate
but I won’t pay for it out of pocket,
I expect a free taste to know if it’s worth my time.
Like picking doors and lockets
and sticking your fingers into sockets
it’s the type of thrill you don’t want to define.

To be Among                                               My Owned Script-U-R-
the First, No Greater Thrill!
                 <>                                                              ­  <>
a small coterie,  a cohort,                        this mess of thoughts and
not too big around, that                           prayers, poem notions,
reads me regular~like, who've                come scattered & disordered,
been for the long haul, know my            blunderblus shotgun spewed,
foibles, my excesses, my habituals,        all leaving a pockmark upon
but of late along comes a suprise!          soul, a mental scarring of an IOMe

new poets here, with 0/very few             These indented scars, some fresh
followers, touch me with a forefinger,    some old enough to be ancient
perhaps unawares of my traditions,         that I carry the Imperative, to
makes them my most favored nation,      complete, turn feat from defeat,
for I am well supplied, with ample          satisfying a necessary condition  
supplies of courage + encouragement     to exist, therefore I am, a being!

for the honor, for the thrill, to be           each poem transformed from scar
among the number of their first             to shoulder stripe, turning what
followers, to leave my intials on              was mere rank, into a high rank,
their someday colossus, to bask               with each completed poem, I  
in their fresh glow of new extra               stand taller, *****, lighter, bright,
bright light simply enlivening                  bright light, simply enlivening

Spilled pill pieces
like crushed up Reese’s
I found my thesis;
in an empty stomach.
I formed some habits,
they reproduced like rabbits
and if I couldn’t stab it
I’d try to make it plumbic.
Decide to destroy at any cost,
I can’t hide or play coy; I’m my final boss.

I’m so messed up that I used to enjoy the battle;
while I lost, I lost to myself so I’d win.
Lamb to slaughter but too much guilt for the cattle,
maybe a sort of pacification that we can begin.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
All we sow is the seeds for another day.

Blurry scenes
and forgotten dreams,
no ends to a means,
but it started quite simple.
It began with quiet sighs
and tired bagged eyes
my grin would rise
but it seems I lost my dimples.
I was stumbling and swaying yet so lost,
fumbling while playing; I’m my final boss.

I was so messed up that I used to enjoy the game;
while I lost, I lost to myself all the same.
There’s no contra code and no extra lives,
no easy mode, no new game plus to replay twice.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
I keep wishing I could pause, wishing I could just stay.

There’s no save spot in sight,
no shrine and no campfire.
My hands gripping on so tight
my mind and my eyes tire.
I wished to be the hero of time,
always scared that I’d become a Ganon.
It took some work but my Zelda’s mine
I hope that ending stays canon.
But life is something that can’t be cheated,
destiny can’t ever be defeated.

You know it's true when I say
that we are messed up
in our own little way.

We cry and complain
This is a mess
but when it's gone
our life's just too plain
We miss the madness.

But that's human nature
by which we abide
Because the grass is always greener
on the other side.