itself a vision or virtual real
the tone of [or time of] the sock does reveal
yet the swift heel is thud-like and bounds
as the darned pull-off of wool will rebound
walking home?
retiring from the race?
wiping sweat off the forehead with
...a rag from the wrong space!
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
moving treatment of a lip
the kiss
hovering believing the skin will dip
the mist
shuggsley and the towel -- thrown in
But, how hip is the temptation of water
compared to the moisture of a slid grip [washing, or watching of, of, of course...the step]!
{to be spoken}- ed.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
sweet teathers
so swift to stake
the hair, staying twixt
my throb and zoned fake
a deed unmeasured
so gifted a debate
to love a light to vulture-
breath, the bread of lines,
of the beating of a ruptured quake
1/18/09
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:20 AM UTC
the scribble
[it was her phone number]
on the cardboard coaster
meant alot
{cuz}
i could reach out
and AlmOst touch her hand
as i withered in the winter weather
and now here... the spring
and the earspace will not dwindle as
i walk towrd the sounds, all steady
i walkward sounds already
and my slow steady slope of pacing is sure to win
[i always win - even if it's last place]
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC
the flower
has more moisture
than the Soil
and the earthTones
have less vivid tinctures
with solid Toil
a power. the truth. the sky.
a flower. new bloom
with its rancid clutter
around the vase, the pulled
and fallen, petals -
the drab droplettes of glad tidings
or sad-like bells
clanged with clamour
all gowned in glamour
touched by a hover or glide
in the stature of things
and the square rings
that yield a snoot, the way
a drop is sad with smell
the power. a flash. and smiles.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Date: Feb 17, 2009 5:22 PM
Subject: poetry may sproing out of me sometimes
the mist of a deeper mystery can clue me in
on the relevant standings of a step toward the real
glancing carefully and sending the flood of words
that are meant to ****** the curiosity as to the frontier
the found fist and fingers fondling a flirtible flag
the flag of needs and desires is as hot as the starting gun
but love does no competing to attain or obtain its chore
the goal is to evolve into a happy pattern of poems that inspire action unheard-of, previously.... shall i try a few?
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 7:01 AM UTC