Prosthetic monster men playing heavy rock
A laderhosened Austrian gives his squeeze box all he's got

Desperation dance routines, too hard they always try
Wailing divas, rigid smiles,
Do we laugh or cry

A Fin from the back woods plays a fiddle fast
Our song is pretty good but still we might come last

Hello Bratislava, hello Tallin, hello everyone
Votes are cast for their friends as the evening never ends

At last we have a worthy winner, well done indeed to you
But with too many 'nul points'
Once more we meet our Waterloo

I have finally found
my passion for the piano
that was once
lost
amidst the business of life

What was once a chore
is now something
I indulge in

To be able to make the keys
dance for me
and the music
envelop me
and take me into another world

Im still learning
and its not easy

I still long to be able to play
as well as you do
but alas
I lack the talent

So I play
for my ears only
and not for others

space is vast
and the wood is wild
the waters are dark and deep
this is as true as my love
as keen as my discerning eye
and discriminating sense
when it comes to you.
i saw you.
without haste, i watched.
i listened
like an owl in the night, my eyes gleaming under the light of the moon.
i learned the rhythm of the man,
and in love i joined the dance.

in the light of the sun you shone like music
your face a radiance that warmed those near
your voice soothing, a weapon on my heart
fingertips on strings….whispers in ears…hand in hand.

dreams awakened
ideas shared and seeds beginning to grow
lazy afternoons under blankets
quiet afternoons
walks around the neighborhood
subtly scented smoke dancing in the warm breeze
I knew you. I saw into you from the start.

what you do not know of yourself, i know for you. and i love.
of this you can be assured.

shining metallic futures
brilliant, advanced, and p o s s i b l e
   so close….r e a c h i n g
together reaching
for truth   and sense   and purpose
for the future

two peas in a pod
masked the harshness of the truth
we saw together in the world


without beckoning me to follow
you turned from the shining of the light to the deepness of the wood
with hard eyes a dark magic was summoned
a desire in the man i could not fulfill
I reside in the vastness of space.
of love   of possibility   of life

you reside in the deepness and the wild of the wood
you require a final song of love to a dead man walking.
in your sleep i have wished you well.
in your sleep i had whispered for fate to grant your health your wellness and your happiness

the ocean deep beckons
wet eyelashes and big brown, searching eyes
my love i am here
    what you are seeking
you refuse to see
i   am   right   here.

i can only watch in confusion and anguish at the edge of the deep
i am light and free of the tangles that snare you in the wild
you stubbornly refuse my gentle hand
reaching to pull you into the light

my love for you is without beginning or end
my anguish electrifies a growing empty space
thoughts collide, repel, attract

what i mistakenly took for a growing bloom
was a withering branch
what i took for honesty
was cowardice
what i took for love
was a black hole.

Fashion this as liquor to give spirit to
a song in write.  Seen seldom to weigh
words at play in search, sewn
expensive for time spent in trust and
recite.  Penciling not for profit so
rhythmic this may show.  Find in the
presence to open and reflect our
woes.  Only prescription for
uncommon those in write.  A same
those who compose.  This on display is
the compromise of sheltered dreams
and the soul, of rhythm in gentle prose.


This is the allure of the jewel of
life.  Sent as promise a same a
wish.  Stem those genes and make
heavy this vision and prayers in
might.  These are our rays made ink, to
weigh the pressures of waves constant
in cycle, to detract from nature’s
Heavenly sight.  Lost we shall dream
and ever so patiently grow old ~ but in
heart live bold.


Rugs were in Persia mathematically
correct and with an Indian craft
colorful, Heaven sent.  Only captured
in a metaphor this day, so men do
master, so simple this way.  Simple this
as to measure the years past, shudder
away tears, for the river purifies our
passions commandeered.  So culture
our gardens to prosper and replenish,
in the green untamed, and natural in
wonder, behold.


Today we thimble a sew for tomorrow,
for our craft is spared only to simple ~
ness of editing, not journeyed journals
to an ever-changing composition.  
Perhaps unfamiliar this vest, this
life.  Sample the living, in books that
inspire.  Dismal I think the desire to
purify a pen in this heavy practice, a
dance an art.  Time lends a flavor,
marinating appealing to a fashion so
write.


Always calm to prolonged righteous
reason, modern making, yet captured
still as storytelling.  Uncommon
to cues, but refreshing at leisure, is now a
computer who makes simple what once
was wasted time.  Measures made in
this art are laborious, the passion is
for the pen, reel it in as your tool,
rations will in turn ~ give as a well and
nature and sow, the seed of the write.  


Refinement ~ un-forsaken, notes of
detail, must reinvent and inscribe in
ink.  The bank of intuition lay tender as
our diction.  Replenish in the soil of
our Native grounds to seed another
tool, the luxury of our lingo.  For
inspirations may befriend or become
uncharted if left in the cold.  Sold but
without a surrender to all integrity, we
will call for many souls to ship and
receive what Forefathers intended.  In
over our heads, over watering our
behaviors, half unknowingly over
diluting our mental treasures, is this
the liquor of life, all too fancy in
measure but it was the tea of rebellion ~
and so I toast ~ to a drink tonight.


Inherent as memories of a generation
now surely within time, we will fill the
promise within crafted lines, and
file away ~ many promises ~ many
revisions ~ many times.  In spoil we shall
not surrender our bounty of honesty
and wisdom, so gray in years we
mend.  Dent our self-serving self ~
respect, make and justify the wheel in
role common.  Like a beard in keep,
intention is relevant.  Surely women
refine makeup as to show beauty in
character.  Thus what we intend to
refine is an endeavor to unwrinkled
and celebrate the qualities of growing
old.  Time is of new defining, for the
times are naturally at all times in
ritual of change.


Memories to grace the gift of sight ~ are
the shades to carry our reflections
away.  One, who trusts and so cares,
lay in the daydream of light.  In a wish
sent salient, reference to eyes unveiled,
patiently as a seed shall ripen, the
flavors of life will flower in springs
day.  We hanger ~ thus shelter, the rags
made clothes, best when leather to
weather firm and tight.


Regift the promise, to harness the
wind and make words potent as those
before did without regret.  Today in
general we lean and conform on the
fundamentals, too disciplined, mirror
of stale literature.   Similar to wood
varnished but without the stains of
life.  First revision is not for giving,
only what is taken, luxury of
time.  Color your copies of the wood
you talk in and pencil in your
pressures to relieve the pain, simple ~
ness and cold feet lay sold, as buttered
bread to fill.  But imperfect, so
forthcoming, wills the literature of
today ~ finding promise in ceremony
by charting drafts and revisions to
send in message to those young in
read.  This voyage is regretfully gentle
as our host made monumental any
verse, so breathe within the soul and
hearts of men, to find new styles to
milk the mind of reason.  Leafs from
the tree of intuition ~ censure the
picture, sell in the filter of Freedoms
fight, not first drafts ready when
write.  


Battered but purely by pace and
meager beginnings, the wave of
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will saddle and shelter the idea
profound.  Don’t toss away the raisin
of a pen in hand,  for we lean to easily
in bits and bytes.  Promise of Heaven's
pennies falling in rhythm will sing
tonight.  


Majestic in find, common in ground,
gift a find, in leisure, in time.  Gather
they guard and uphold the greater
good, not to entertain but inspire.  Just
as ones soul is when right.  Humbled
in behaviors so chips in clever may
fall.  But poker face we have become,
once centered in earnest of essays in
rent, now owners of ideas
embellished ~ in verse ~ our native
treasures.  Second we charter the raft
of ideas in mend, to conceive works so
aspiring as the poets and linguists of
historic claim.  So riddled ~ so
mastered.  Surely a new discontent
shall offer, in a pebble of examples
met, but with practice and structure
our youth will pen.  


Demand must be patient, for
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will nurture and mother our future
Leaders to a discipline in their own
right.  Never forget the days of past
generations for they marveled in the
arts ~ and in rain it falls in our hands
~ to luster and defend.  Poetics are too
political if not in share.  Protection of
this is how Freedom was rung.  The
hungry will maintain its resolve and
rightfully so.   Riddled as sow ~ these
lentils, this meal, these feathers, this
ink ~ shall fuel the fire.  A dance in the
pillows of night ~ shall brush the painting
in the Autumn of ones days.  Flaccid in so
many ways.  


Glorified by the shadows of
protection, but only one day is stored
for this intention.   Freedom is in the
work engraved beside it, within it,
sharing we celebrate it, and our Brave
provide it.  Celebration comes by way
of duty and hard work, and is rises
high and early in the dawn.  Yes, on
the Forth Day of July.  Food and
pleasures are gifts for price paid by
our Soldiers and Agencies who protect
and defend our freedom and intelligence, and
calmly watch over it as we carry
along.  All under the calm watch of
Gods umbrella.  Future dreams are
blessed a same, for all under this Flag
by notion alone, seam and dress and
hence sail ~ with solemn truth.  Trusting
the winds of reason to keep us Forever
Free and on course to replenish the
soil, for those young in years.  Students
in the day dream of life are in the send
to allow their pen to charter this
peaceful but daunting Nation to one of  
peace and prosperity.  Willingly and
calm the lion stares afar from
American shores, Democratic in nature and
always reinventing in this idea we
call ~ the American Dream.

my fingertips caress your spinal bridge
beneath flimsy hotel sheets
every breath a whisper
as you breathe into me

flecks of amber dance in somber eyes
the ghost of a smile kisses your lips
break the tension, pick your poison
pull me closer to the rhythm of your hips

you start slowly
exploring investigating searching
delving into foreign places
dont you know my soul is lurching?

close my eyes
feel the waves of you wash over me
your laughter kisses my nervous island
every touch an obsidian sea

as the sun peeks through the curtains
you recede, every sense heightened
"what are they going to say?" i ask
and you reply, "nothing even happened"