there is no reason
to be so afraid
hold my hand
and we'll be ok

I am just as scared
as you are.

He writes of the spaces in between
where few actually notice
taking note of movements
like blowing a whistle
he nibbles on his quill
observing shadows
below his lantern.

Clumsily, cluelessly, capriciously;
Varying walks of life, and such varied
ways of walking. Crawling and or quickly-
they advance through the concrete corridors.

~Completely unaware of the outside world
or anything other than themselves, for that matter.~

The issue lies in the wanting of more.
I've not much left to give and I'm sickly
'cause everybody's got their friends-big leagues.
From me to you, its not simple. Like harried
marriage; marred and probably charred, but

this is war-
~extra judiciously~

Black bombs fly
religious people lie
sky scrapers cleric capers
THOSE!!!! archaic papers rise
here human dwelling must crumble
and masses must die.
WHERE ARE THEY GOING TO???????
in this barren space of Arabic land
feet aimlessly plod
the elderly pray
widows wail
orphans weep
and babies cry
on the order 1947
sacked from a place called heaven
waves in a sandstorm
40 nights and 40 more....
THOSE!!!! ghouls are rotten to the core
killing innocence
and much, much more....

Under the silver moon’s soft, shimmering grace,
By a crackling bonfire’s warm embrace,
We stand together, hearts a hesitant dance,
In this night of cold, where love takes its chance.

The sea whispers secrets, ancient and wise,
In the language of waves, under starry skies,
As uncertainty lingers, our hearts do confess,
The love we both want, yet dare not caress.

But in the fire’s glow, our souls take flight,
Burning with longing, in the cold of the night,
Your eyes, like stars, in the midnight’s domain,
Draw me in closer, like a moth to the flame.

A genuine love, our hearts softly confess,
In the hush of the night, a tender finesse,
With each stolen glance, and each silent sigh,
Our attraction grows stronger, our spirits comply.

Sensible romance, in the moon’s gentle gleam,
A fragile connection, like a half-formed dream,
In the early days of love, we find our way,
Guided by moonlight, to the break of day.

So let’s embrace this moment, love so sincere,
By the bonfire’s glow, and the sea’s whispered cheer,
In the night, our love story begins to take flight,
Underneath the moon’s gaze, our hearts unite.

Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013