no, instantly NOT, where your brain has gone,
call me back, this poem has none of that
but slow and swell to speak to my body,
indeed, in deed, with a pretty one, please,
two organs directly connected, brain to heart,
heart to brain
the triggering can be anything,
breeze upon her face, no,
But the word she silent spake,
when she gave me the
Argentine tango stare reverberate
beautiful woman, dancing tango
in every space that a sightline provides,
first invader, then an occupier, lastly
a poem that refuses to be erased
the stare, it is an invitation, to the
limitations of the first instantaneous,
What will come after will be displayed.
Am I charming, witty, amusing,
but most
of all,
how well do I dance the tango
How well do my fingers on her back,
five finger telegraph telling her
be ready for what
comes next!
our swell with constant messaging,
Our fingertips
speak dance, acknowledge tension,
the next move, sincopated,
Before even completing the last…
With respect to the unwritten tango laws,
I wait till the dance is over,
And ask her,
plead/command/desire
the next one too two,
alas, a lass, her stare
already
has tangoed elsewhere…
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 1:33 PM UTC
real or false, no diff, a clue
to what matters to you,
your profile, a synapse synopsis
Tell us just enough and never enough
I\sinner, all you need,
treat my expertise\\
sneezed, revealed,
the spaces tween yours and mine
defy that word, de fine,
yeah, de~fine what is de-fine,
in the spaces silent
tween the poems sighs,
the quiet gasps, even the empty
spaced tween letters, are fulfilling
your hints and mints of clue,
review nothing,
comma reveal little,
but my mind traverses
the eye drops of dew drops
you word~shed, it’s kinda
just bleeds bled into my
conscious unconsciousness
where I live, my abode,
when reading & righting
the world; what is so real,
but so unbelievable, it can’t,
cannot, be anything but
our own un+realized connection
I’ve sinned, I’ve will sin more,
when I dream our names, their
mysteries, in a singular scopeless
scrip, tiny writ, parsing what you’ve
provided, but left insided, my robust
willingness to explore, a territory worthy
of endless, exploration, uncovering the
coverlet cloak you have wrapped yourself in,
protecting your own, from my inquisitive mindful,
imagination, that fortunate, is boundless until I
get too close, and you say;
no mas, wala na, pas plus, अब और नहीं,
too much, no more,
but a sinner is never deterred
Dec 13, 2025
Dec 13, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
the easy answer,
those who love the intricate brocade,
the rough and tumble
of verbal expository elegance,
delicacies that enter the body
via all five sensorials,
then digested by the
invisible soul,
the language's very own mysteries
invade some, not all, the very few
lucky ones who embrace cherished
phrases, that become tattooed on
the brain, and are crutches of living
a life of realized possibilities well
appreciated
yes, that might be the answer satisfying,
but the whole truth, not,
***these urgent converts received
slices & pieces of what is, airborne, taken
in by merely breathing, see their widen
eyeing open when the first taste of words that
purges the dregs, allows in the comforting
of other humans, living and passed,
regardless of human dividing lines,
accepting, what some call the divinity
of being human, the primaries of the
human primate primed to communicate
even without being asked! the most grossly
finites that turn life from boring to bolder,
taken from the young & the wiser, older,
who received this message without ever
asking
for a tasting sampler menu,
of whr defines
the finery
of being more than ordinary…
Oct 16, 2025
Oct 16, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
do not write much
life is hard, daytime
is usually 10 hours,
a lot mouths to feed
but that ain’t what
I got a bed to write
about
somehow my woman
did some thinking,
a hefty any of scraping
and secret saving, a buck
here, spare change squeezed
from a secret budget, in a jar
very,very well hid from being
accidentally discovered and lost
to too many little exploring fingers
we’ll never wanted and needed
a cell phone, just wasn’t need
enough, when you buying so
many little shoes l, but there
she went and bit me a watch,
used, not too fancy, and made
me feel like one million dollars
this watch, ya gotta wear to
bed, no biggie, cause it’ll tell
you how ya feeling, and how
ya sleeping and if I can, find
the time, speak my poems
into it, so they get kept for
what they call posterity
this watch informed that I was
a woken man from the hours
between 1am to bout 4am,
which already knew but
come daylight, man birthed
three new poems, and this
even ain’t one of them
this is more of a story, bout
the who, what and a little why,
bout me, so maybe you might
just hang round and read some
\
that’s all for now, that **** watch
wakes me at 6 am, though my body
does it for free, I’ll be gone in thirty
with a kiss if the good women is
still asleep, and some of the kids
will be in the upper window
to wave poppa good morning and
goodbye, which is worth double,
that’s what I tell them and it gives
me the knowledge why I exist,
what my purpose be, and a chance
to pray to Gid to keep them all safe
till I get home and squeeze the living
daylights out of them with arms that
we’re made to the heavy lifting to keep
then we’ll and happy, fed and clothed,
and give me reasons to write some more
Sep 13, 2024
Sep 13, 2024 at 6:55 AM UTC
the speedometer that measures the
acceleration and deceleration of
time in our lives journey is
remarkably similar to the one
we employ in our vehicles
intra moment we can move from
slowness to rapidity in minuscule
amounts of seconds, all the while,
those few bursts of being high, are
parcel of a longer cross country trip
that could be calculated in years,
decades, even life-spans
though we lack the visual imprimatur
upon our eyes of our exact speed most
times, we always have in our possess
a notional beginning and ending
we take a trip to grocery store, up/down
to NYC, fly to Paris just because, and return
home to bury and burn loved ones,
witnesses and fellow travelers to the
longer segments of our irregularly
configured continuum
here, you sigh, why, do you trouble us
with this obvious observation when
we have so much to do, so many roles
to don, and the kids need milk for cereal,
which is a thirty minute round trip that
should have not been necessary had
we “organized our moments of movement
far better organized!*
perspicacity.
this word has been mindful for me for a
days, while bits and bobs, of a poem’s
composition blurted up and out, in
some disarray, while the mind, tries
to collect them all, all for one, for
later collation and an unknown
destination
the wisdom to see down the road.
to plan accordingly, when we can oft
not see around the next corner,
or even the next single steps we “plan”
to take, made without any thought
thereof
is there a poem in here, somewhere, Oh Sinner-man?
perhaps…or, just an indifferent end?
Aug 10, 2024
Aug 10, 2024 at 5:02 PM UTC
She,
caugh ***** but at rest, posing fully attentive,
in her favored chair, a Mies van der Rohe of a
leathery chocolate color, which admittedly is most
accepting of the human frame most welcomingly
but She, gazes relaxedly & rigid, unflinching fixed,
upon on of our Friday flower self-giftations,
an array of eye filling pink and white peonies,
that have mesmerized, entranced and made
her rigidly relaxed, peaceful whimsy on her face
the seasons of life are short, the season of peonies,
is an abbreviation in human terms, perhaps a dot,
a single month a year, in truth overshadowed by
their competition, overly popularized cherry blossoms,
but these 5 P’s, are in her brief of, most pleasuring
pink peony prized possession, remarked upon
with always trace sadness throughout a diminished,
perma~lacking, imbalanced, rest-of-the year, with
sighs emanating from where her essence resides
minutes pass, I too, pass by, dithering to/fro other rooms,
but She, transfixed, breathing quietly, she neither notices,
or acknowledges my temporal interruptions in her moment
of possession by the robust busting opening of the flowers,
an eclectic, electric charging of amentia, for she is
enwrapped and entranced
in an emotional place only that She,
this woman,
shares with no one else, a Universe tiny but all encompassing,
her eyes winnowed and windowed upon the extravagance of
the beauty that comes so briefly…
May 6, 2024
May 6, 2024 at 12:06 PM UTC
no fame, no claim, no name
who shall we say is calling?
*I am a man of
no fame, no claim, no name,
an average sinner, absent glory*
a few seconds of rustling bustle.
did you ever write poetry?
*once. but everything of earthly substance,
destined to fade into the ignominy of forgotten
vaults, where time takes it time and erodes all
into dust.*
here, every word preserved. there is no time
in the dominion of creators, and you friend
are numbered in their midst, enshrined in many
hearts and eyes, ***and with every reading, each
reimagination, you are a reincarnated being***.
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
*I have reckon’d Manhattan Isle,
circumnavigated its riverbed boundaries,
a younger me, by kayak rounded it,
from the Spuyten Duyvil Creek to the Battery,
14,500 acres give or take, a lifetime
to complete a dead reckoning,
an unfinished full configuring*
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 4:22 PM UTC
in retrospective rear view perspective,
come to understand that we spend
every moment of our lives, reckoning,
determine the odds of which fork we
will take, laugh out loud, for each moment,
a poem is titled, the resultant, a poem -
who needs a muse, you’ve got choices!
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 4:19 PM UTC
haven’t reckon’d that Earth
and I will be entwined/entombed
in each other’s arms, until such time,
one of us or both, will be reduced
to cosmic dust, our pride, our poems,
will be equally unimportant and irrelevant,
I reckon.
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC