A black puppy chases
His mestizo mother up the beach.
A few adults sit sipping Corona Extra,
In lazy hammocks.

Down below, lithe legs
Scramble for solid ground
Along the supple, dark, surface,
Chasing a mini black-and-white ball,
Until it finds a home between
Two pieces of driftwood.

The pull of the sea is strong.
You can almost feel it from
The tables above the shoreline.

The coast seems chancy,
But beauty hides the beast, and
The waves get their chance to throw
The crimson-burned bodies
Around for a time.

Black sand covers all, as we lay,
In a melted pool of jade,
Of perfect temperature.
A one-legged Civil War vet stands peering out
At the ocean, perhaps wondering why

The sky is gray.
Two nuns wander into the horizon.
The vet doesn’t move his focus from the sea,
And the nuns keep to their path.
Did I remember my camera?

Bundled up, and stomping through
arctic white snow, listening
to the Love Below. I look
out on the Maid of the Mist,
the air surrounds my cold cheeks,
numbs them like an icy kiss.

Who could truly be so dumb,
brave those falls in a barrel
run? Ripley’s has me unnerved
believe it or not, the same
nervous rush I feel, before
the ***** from a booster shot.

Then after awhile, we are off
to dine in neon towers, where
we spend hours, soaking
in the bath of a night-time
sky. The glint of flush colors
reflecting against buildings.

The sounds of water raging
amidst mouthfuls of moonlight,
it looks like the world’s been staged.
But back to rest in a spiral
hotel, it’s been a lively day;
Where we pull up the covers,
and that’s where we will remain.

It is time to sit out on the dock.

A flash, just under the surface, and
Reddened faces are frantic again,
Focused on fishing out that rare specimen.
A fillet of words will simmer above the fire, tonight.

Did you mimic famous styles,
Or make lightning a memory?
Have you added new layers of brick
Atop the older ones?
If you’re inspired, will you write it down?
Did you hum atop the mountain’s side,
Or summit the crests in time?
Did you get lost around kaleidoscopic corners?
If you did, don’t worry.
Coroners will make you look nice.

Do you want a gravestone when you die?
Will your last thoughts be for our country?
Is your blood red?
Is your paper white?
Is your ink blue?
Does your pen beg to bleed through sheets?
Will you remember what teachers said?
If you did,
Will it matter?
If you didn’t,
I hope that you brought a tape-recorder.

Two weeks in the sweltering heat of El Salvador
Sweating out the familiarities of home
A windswept airport parking lot
Speckled with miniature palm trees.

Open your eyes,
Dust off your ears,
And let those worries evaporate
Into the atmosphere.

Embarking down a little dirt path,
Where years of civil war
Unleashed their wrath.
Subtly, a foundation shifts
From the Miquon woods
Towards a smaller rural community
In the altitudes.

A laid-back game of soccer
In the oppressive 115-degree weather.
Against the firmness of dried brown dirt
Frantic feet are light like feathers
A history is present here
A common ground
We both hold dear
It’s clear,
The passion is sincere
Above all
A Spalding ball
Replacing Plymouth Meeting Mall
I, them, we, thaw
Once feeling cold
Now living raw.

A flash of colors
Mirrors a Macaw
The blend of people
A game will draw
With warm legs kicking
One draws upon
More natural law
A hand exchanged
For faster paw
Metamorphosis leaves
Humans in awe.
Who’s watching us?
The Eye of Ra

I feel awake
I think I’ve heard the bugle call.

Motown mojo hops down
Through speakers,
While neon lights
Flash smiles.
A cool, green liquid sits,
Untouched in a lean glass.

Mellow lights give
The place a quiet class.
Amid the pulse of an
After-midnight entourage,
The clamor of
Celebratory laughs.

What’s going on?

Two birds fly by
On the way down South,
Where dancing tunes
Can be heard,
If you listen just right.

Down there, it’s a maze.
I’d rather stay up here,
And park myself
In a trouble-free simplicity,
Letting my mind wander…
Off the beat.

A shift.

Gazing out the window,
And past a yawn,
The fuel of the night
Is far from gone,
Because I can dig
Marvin anywhere.

My attention predictably
Short-lived, I become engrossed
By a bead of dark whiskey,
Which lies upon a neighboring seat
(An elegantly tall bar stool,
Probably made from a cherry tree).
And it’s there I am reminded,
It’s always been the night I seek.

To live as a shepherd,
Tending to sheep,
Watching generations of life
Procreate, eat, and sleep.

Thirsting for waters
Which remain deep.

Wishing to be
without constant
Strife of the tongue,
Or ill-begotten promises;

Because a heart and a mind
That aims for maturity,
Is sometimes caught
In the current, midstream.

Have you missed the youthful lesson,
Standing in front of your passage?
Or the evening ensemble in the park,
A summer sonata before dark?

Travel those distant roads
my friends, but keep your circles tight.
Become an itinerant preacher, for a day.
An action for an action -

And give yourself time enough,
On the hands of the big clock -
To think tranquilly and observe,
Without conditional thoughts, or words.

Imperfectly,
I stand before you,
A man. If you can’t see
All the things that I am,
I’m not content to hang around
As the retirement plan.

I’ll never boss you around,
But that’s not because I’m weak.
It’s because I have the security
To let you be you,
And me, be me.

I stand on my own two feet.
And I don’t ever base my self-esteem
Off some meaningless number
Of late night creeps.

I’ve searched my own deeps, for
A healthy conception of masculinity -
And this is a long-term investment scheme;
So I ask, can you appreciate what patience means?

Without games, on an even plane,
No cliché lines or insincere sayings.
You can always find another “strong-type,”
One of those paper-thin cut outs
From the book of male stereotypes.
Still, truth untold,
We both know -
It’s unconventionality
That makes a diamond
In the rough.

I have learned that
Determining a diamond’s cut grade
Goes well beyond
Simple measurements,
Like width and depth.
To determine
A diamond’s worth,
You have to test
Its light performance.

Even if a stone seems
To have color and clarity,
You can tell a real diamond
By how it catches the light,
Disperses evenly across the rock,
While a fake becomes almost transparent
As saturated light moves through it.

In another poet’s words:
Some [folks] recognize the light
But they can’t handle the glare.

I’ve also learned that appraisal of a diamond
Is determined by its own proportions.
You have to test for symmetry.
Does it seem to be high-grade carat
While you’re around?
And karma, karma, chameleon
To cubic zirconium,
If you’re visiting
The other side of town?

The thing is,
I’m not really here
To expose other contradictions.
I just want you to listen.

I want to talk to you
About how chivalry is not dead.
Look you right in the eye,
And tell you why. Talk
About how romance
Is still very much alive.
So, no more wind-whispered cries,
About how good manners have all but died.

Some might call such confidence conceited,
But I’m not recarving any hieroglyphs.
This type of affection is ancient,
So help to embrace it. Engage we -
With extensive emotional foreplay
And intellectual tongue-kissing;
Way before incense and candles get lit.

And tonight?
Let’s try starting over
With a night out on the town.
The recipe is simple: good food and
a place that's quiet enough for conversation,
maybe a jazz spot, if you’re down.

Or maybe, we could catch
A late-night flick
That really makes us think.
And when we’ve talked ourselves dry,
Neither one of us
Would mean a goodbye,
So we’d retire homewards,
And unwind.

Because I do want you,
The right way.
I want you,
And I want you to want me, too.
I want you to want me,
Just like I want you.

Nevertheless,
No stress for you,
Or for me.
If these rivers are meant
To find their way to the sea,
It should happen, naturally.