A baby takes steps
such deliverance and liberty,
and each one taken, a sculptor's dreams,
raw clay to break life's mold.
A painter and a skeptic,
each stroke of the brush
questioned.
Why? Why? Why?
A festoon adorns his hall,
forever and ever
seemingly falling,
gently riding the curve
ever-expanding.
Pin down the treacherous worm,
defiled in soul
and callous has it become,
shun shun shun
holier than thou I have become,
a revolutionary I have become,
an angel in your eyes I have become,
and an apple beheld by Eve's eyes I have become,
true neutral,
true blue,
on and on I live.
Flew through the window,
was a crow,
it weaved and spun
a marigold story,
till it near melted
down through the drain.
Protuberant mound of earth,
bulging eyes pierce the sky,
enlightenment from the ground,
insects yearn a nihilistic life,
existed they never did,
and their ashes carried to the wind.
Farewell,
au revoir,
march in the perilous parade
hastily prepared for the world,
but please do bring your sandals.
The Sculptor and the Child
have crafted in their dreams,
the ideal world.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 6:57 PM UTC
Object of my love,
My heart aflutter high,
Your auburn eyes paint a never-ending sky.
Your sweet lilac perfume,
gently breathes down my neck,
and your arms pressed delicately around my side,
one more kiss
is all I ask.
You give to me,
an oasis in a desert,
sunlight breaking night,
and emotions now become,
all the more enjoyable.
Life's motions
set my endurance high.
Now,
my heart slows,
my breath sighs,
my eyes soften,
and all around me
is the brilliant fanfare of love.
Mend the wounds unto me from my life,
and sew together my broken pieces,
with kindness
and love.
Steal my nights away,
sleep's another moment
not spent with you.
I've been given grapes,
give it some time,
now I want wine.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
The clickety clackety
of my mother's bureau always
started school mornings.
My rumpled clothes lay in a heap
by my feet.
Sweet lemon-water perfume stings
my nostrils, and piercing sunlight
winks through the shades.
Good morning, morning,
sing me a song
about dew-kissed lilies,
brewing coffee,
a jogger's
labored breathing,
and a sparrow's jittery chirp.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:23 PM UTC
The royal magistrate gives the laws,
the wind sails true,
the grass grows greener,
the sun shines brighter,
you dance in the meadows of youth
each day,
starting now.
The avant-garde ******** ends now
we are guided by the restrictions
we live in.
each day,
self-regulated,
un-mitigated,
joy.
Waves of acid-washed notes flash by,
each one dwindling longer than the one
before,
mingling in a pale composition
with each beat goading the next.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
Love her crooked teeth.
Love the way her hair smells.
Love her strange taste in fashion.
Love her quirky talents.
Love her the way her nose is formed,
like a cute little button
adorning a teddy bear's
face.
Watch sunlight break upon her face
and admire every crease and wrinkle you see.
Love her when her hair isn't done,
her make-up isn't on,
and she hasn't a care in the world.
Walk with her.
Talk with her.
Get lost in her eyes.
Melt in her glowing radiance.
Listen to her
*****
whine,
and complain.
Give her a chance,
give yourself a chance.
Give her everything,
expect nothing.
question nothing,
accept everything.
And
most importantly,
love yourself.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:20 PM UTC
I want to watch the grass grow,
I want to watch beauty fade,
I want to watch paint dry,
and enjoy life in bloom.
I want to
let
all things
fantastic
and
mundane,
All things
tired
and
lively,
Catch my eyes,
For I wish to feel,
that which is all around.
I want to hear the birds chirp.
I want to hear the wind whip across my roof,
and I want to hear your voice linger longer.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:19 PM UTC
I saw the universe in a grain of sand,
a fearsome adumbration
I so beheld.
The phlegmatic bird
bores through the sky
each molecule torn
in its wake.
Suckle at Mother Nature's ****
a Freudian psyche
unto the Earth itself.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC
The barren earth tells no lies,
Feels no love,
Has no hate,
It only bears witness
To the atrocities
and the miracles
Committed upon it.
It sings a cool tune
of wheels passed
and of feet trodden
upon
it;
and of wind
whipped across its face
and of leaves
rhythmically rolling
along.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC