You don't see a tsunami coming.
I mean, most people expect to see a huge wave forming
over the horizion, something tall and towering,
gathering speed and even more height as it gets
closer to shore; a wave so tall it crashes three
blocks inland and takes the grocery store and Mr.
Potter's car out to sea. They stand at the end of
the dock, barely hearing the sirens, thinking it's
just a false alarm. Before they know it though, water
is trickling in at their toes, the beach is engulfed,
you can't see Main St., there's eight feet of water
on the ground, half the grocery store is torn
apart and Mr. Potter's car drags them inland as
they cling to it for dear life.
If they would have just listened to the sirens they
would have understood that something catastrophic
was coming their way. You don't see a tsunami coming.
You are not so tall that everything bad must tower
over you. There exists dark, there exists deep. And
deep will come for your feet and crawl up your body
before your head even realizes it's here. But the
people...the people who have been in one before
and survived know the signs. It's like an upward
blowing wind and ice water down your spine. That's
why they sound the alarms, that's why the blare the
sirens, but nobody listens, they don't listen because
they expect to see a big, blue wall in front of them,
they expect to see a tangable object, they expect to
see a face on every one of their problems...
You don't see a tsunami coming. Even if you cracked
the earth.

Flames Slowly Start To Engulf My Hatred
And Quickly Rekindles My Love
Two Pairs Of Amber Orbs
Stare Into Eachother
Reading A Cryptic Script
Ingredients To Concoct A Brew Of Passion
To Beautifully Stain Life's Pages
                                                My Hand Lies In Yours
                            And You Tentatively Kiss My Lips
                                               Your Greyish Blue Eyes
                    Stare Into My Pine Needle Green Irises
                                        And You Don't Look Away
                              When You Tell Me You Love Me
The Sun Hides Underneath The Horizion
The Only Light Is From Our Flame
Which Burns On The Forest Floor
But Is Too Gentle To Destroy The Thickets
The Stars Above
Guard Our Wishes
And We Both Know
Every Wish Is About Eachother
                                    A Star Dangles From My Neck
                     Your Promise To Me I'm Forever Yours                My Wish That Your Promise Will Never Be Broken
                              As You Softly Whisper In My Ear
                                  I Feel Your Breath On My Skin
                             You Hold Me Tight In Your Arms
        Which Is The Nicest Home I Could Ever Own
The Crickets Are Now Dead In Falls Grasp
But The Music Of Our Love
A Silent Beat In The Night
Is Music To Our Fire
Which Warms The Night
Tree Branches Are Our Ceiling
And The Ground Is Our Chairs
The Sky Is Our Blanket
And Our Heartbeat Is Our Furnace
                                                 A Dream Of True Love
                                                               Is Finally Real
                        You Were The One For All This Time
                                       That Really Helped Me Heal        And As You Come Show Me Who You Really Are
                       I Have To Say I Love You Even More
As Our Flame Grows As Bright As The Sun
We Burn Down To The Mantle Of The Earth
Sniging Away All Of Our Past Sins
It's Just You And I
And Our Heats Beat As One

                *And As We Resume Our Lives Apart
                    We Are Closer Than Ever Before
             And As You Gently Kiss Me Goodnight
                    I Realize I Met You For A Reason

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

Southern style

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word

First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to

Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing

Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beconing that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that

Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out

From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is

awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for

Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by  

it  not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can

go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel

sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many

ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created

over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place  cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again

on the great southern soil

Southern Style


A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

April 2, 2012.

The only thing I am capable of drawing
is a city skyline.

Anonymous configurations
buildings I've never actually seen before.

Everytime I was handed a writing utensil
and a smooth wriing surface
my hand would flow into the careful rhythm
of drawing parallel lines

some buildings were topped off with triangular party hats
others remained flat
a place for the horizion to rest upon

This started at a young age.
Somewhere between eight and twelve.

My body began to itch for a city
that was overcrowded with the heat
of dream driven bodies

A constant ticking of an alarm clock
that would never understand
the word snooze

Tonight, I am reminded of this feeling.
The worn out, drugged feeling
unsatiated with drawing the familiar pattern

A feeling I've constantly felt
but a skyline I've never seen

Identify at once
The words jumble in my throat
Retribution shock
Governing by my ticking clocks
Spewing wind to fill the sails

Empty boats
Floating down
Glinding along gilded banks
Wheat can seldom feed a soul
Only bloat the burdend mind

How does the horizion break?
When did all my buds bloom
Long into the night
And slowly wither away
But never die

Change is mine
And when it comes to me
My will I cannot abide
There will be no sacrifice
I live my life by the dimmest light

The words I could speak
To blow it out
Flowing over the tip of my tounge
But Seldom ever spoken
Silence is golden

And the danger may be closer than it appears
And you'll never know if the end is near
And the ones i loved, cherished and relied most heavily upon
Can slip god through my viens...

And yet the new ones
The immitators I've neglected
Seldom speak to me, irony a bitter curse

And up untill this day, and onwards down the current
the words still escape me

white
GREEN
y
  e  llow

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

I watch your house from fade into the horizion
From the back of a pick up truck
Back to texas in the summer
I smell you on my t-shirt
I'm just a ghost
Your just a dream
The stars are bright out on the Highway
Once you climb down from the light
You start to see the dark is someonelse
Someone other than the son
My breath is steam outside a bar now
Breath you once felt on your neck
Cherry stems Jack Daniel twilight
All of these girls have eyes so bright
But not as bright as your sleeping form
A window full of pale moonlight
I hear you whisper in my drunken hour
How your never gonna leave
A kiss I think has no distance
The phone gives me your kiss on the cheek
So I go home back to a lonley motel
With dying lights and floating moths
Empty packs of ciggarettes
I watch the ashes fall and blown in the wind
I can't hear your voice
I sleep alone here every night

But you sleep soundly on his bed now
you took off
that little ring
that I worked day and night for
While you sleep away from me

I hear your yell o'r the reciever
Hollering a name I know
How he loves you and he treats you
Better than you've ever known
Does he work his fingers to the bone
Barbed Wire DUST

Sleeping doesn't come so easy
Sleeping won't do any good
Beer and STAR-FILLED Nights in texas
A lone star state of mind
Old country on the radio
That my grandad listened to

there once was a girl
who had walked for ages.
it was winter, and there was not much hope for her.
she was all alone.
it was dark.
it was cold.
the path she took was rocky and she ached.
and so after walking by a deserted farm,
she found a spot to lay down.
an angel appeared before her.
"my darling girl," the angel said. "why do you rest on your journey of life? has no one told you there is no breaks in life as such?"
the girl, who was simply tired, replied
"im sick of walking, my feet hurt. i haven't seen the sun for days. its cold and lonely and dark. i forgot what birds sound like, or what a summer breeze feels like. i have decided to take a break now. just rest and take a break. so i have chosen here. and if this happens to be my grave, then so be it. i have nothing to live for."
and the girl closed her eyes and laid on her back.
"dear child!" the angel exclaimed. "look! with your eyes. for the sun is right on the horizion. can you not see spring right there? you must walk a little further. do not give up hope. remember that, when all is lost, do not give up hope."
and so the angel disappeared into the heavens, and the girl turned to see.
on the horizon, was the shinning sun. there was spring,
where everything was alive.
and although she was sore, the girl kept walking, and with every step
the new day seemed farther,
until one moment,
the snow was gone and it was warm.
there were birds chirping and the sounds of children laughing.
the trees rustled with a breeze,
and everything was bursting with life.
it was bright and warm.
and all was well.

The pictures made out of clouds.
During the afternoons in which we lied in the grass,
Pointing towards the sky,
Interpreting an artist who's passed work.
Just like their paintings in the museums.
Forever painted in my memory,
As we pointed towards the darkening sky.

nigh the eve is drawing clumsy blue fingers on the tired hills
                          
                 and           the

sun frails as the large serious night propels suddenly
slowly over the horizion her hair
drowning the ember of light in

ardent inky                                                       blood

Ocean winds drape your isle,
I can see you dreaming,
but when you wake
and find the world has gone
will you remember me
as I was upon the horizion?

Turquoise waves sweep the shore,
I can see you singing
and when you play
your magic instruments
will you remember those
who sculpted the mountains?

It all seems so familiar.
You have a place to return to
but you've never been there before.

Summer tryst to bygone days,
I can see you laughing.
So when you gaze
upon the vast water-scape
will you find a stretch of land
and make of it a home?

friday's child
out of place
on a tuesday

swimming 'gainst
the tide
wish it was sunday

just  losing grace
all discomfited
wearing hand me down
depression 'n blues

and a tentative face

friday's child
running from emptiness
and
just finding open space
and
a drought of happiness

sunshine, a mirage
on a far away horizion

but she keeps,
keeping on
knowing, hoping,
one day...someday....

I want a guarantee that you'll mean something to me
more than a misplaced memory in a garden I can't see
take me away and bury my dreams
i'm plagued by an immediate uncertainty that you're less than a reflection
Words echo in velvet valleys, broken promises, unhinged truths.
Whatever happened to an honest sense of virtue?
misbegotten, vicarious, vivacious
a snow fall of black ash buries whatever light you shine
i am more than my shadow, less than my soul
a cruel parallel of dreams unfulfilled
potential discovered and never unearthed
struck in a museum to be admired but not touched.
Feed me my horizion
swallow my direction
the forest floor yields at my touch
but hides my footsteps
hides me away in dead foliage and new sprouts
Forgive me my abused love, my fears derive admission of guilt
in all your gifts of love.
I've wrought stricken truth in statues of vanity
paid more heed to pride than sense
beauty lies in the mouth of the poet
while breath dies in the lungs of the politician
evermore lost in the eyes of eternal youth mixed gruesome spirituality
universal lies and singular realities teach me
I would never admit actual defeat
if I can pretend success exists in affection
Forevermore, notwithstanding you
I'll see you on the other side
just don't forget to bring the wine.

looking fo a pinprick of blue
among the silver linings today
but can only see cotton candy white
and  flannel grey

set my plane to fly high and straight
but all it seems to do is fly in an
eternal, infernal figure eight.

cannot see the horizion
or sight the sun
flying without sight
Is like trying to run
with your legs hobbled

you don't ever  get far
and you inevitably
end up with a cut,
a bruise or a scar.

Awakened lonley and blue
by a deceptively beautiful hue emanating deep from within the skies devide.
The horizion I eye, and think....
..Soon.
      And
                   Then.
Soon,  
I find myself, Eyes wide to the sky
Where the perimeter it bends.
Flying high, wild inside. We tried,
But could never ever find the end.

           The
                         End.

Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.

I'm Dreaming Of Love

set a course to a horizion & I'm not lying
some how deep down inside I need love bad
taking my ride down to the beach
Relish in the noise folks out of reach
inside I have my thoughts being scattered can you gather
She's out there somewhere & some how I'll find her
melting with the mincing of souls that bind us
for when I look deep into her beautiful eyes
it is then i see a romantic future
just like Renee me Ashton Couter
take long walks in the park together
draw up the bubble bath no matter what the weather
put on some sweet music like a tune of Berry White
or let Keith Sweat take you through the night
see inside we hide behind four walls that bind
don't ever be left behind
I'm dreaming of love thinking of you
Remembering times when you were there
a candle in the middle with a scent of perfume
permeates the influx of my desire for you baby
soft pillows with chocolates to suit your fancy
gone were the days when Sid met Nancy
still a stud is still a stud & a liar is a liar
blown up with the fullest magical desire
love is the essence of my inner existence
join with me and omit the resistance
it's the hour of power & your face is all I see
let's get together make make sweet history
all of life is a mystery
I'm dreaming of love
when I'm alone in my room & then I stare at the wall
it's telling me I need a girl whose as sweet as a dove
for the first time in my life I see I need love
sweet kisses & stay out all night
don't worry I'm not Dracula in need to bite
my love for you is so unreal
a love embrace will seal the deal

Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.