Life is a series of tiring verbs
as I wade through the
ashes of orchids.
I'm a vagabond with
a ragged soul
coming for you *******
a lonesome road.
I float aimless,
like an acorn in
a mountain stream.
The death of dreams smells
like autumn leaves,
lonely as driftwood.

Home is not going to be
a white door at the
end of a sidewalk.
It's bigger and broader,
and can't fit behind a
fence and walls.
It will always be the
sum of my
memories and longings.

Home is walking the streets,
hand in hand,
with our son on my shoulders.
Home is lying in
the grass with your
fingers in my beard, and hope
oozing from your blue eyes.
It's eating sushi and laughing at
our accidental touch of hands,
reaching together for
the last California roll;
avocado safe at
a sun-dappled table.

I'm drifting lost on
a southern wind.
When I'm with you again,
wherever that is,
I'll be home.

This one goes out to
the rambling, gambling madman
from Aspen- the late great
Hunter S. Thompson.
My drinking has landed me
in prison for a short stint.
To occupy my time,
I read and write,
it keeps my mind sharp
and the nursing homes at bay.
Also, a pen or a book in my
hand has the added benefit
of a signal to the other
inmates that I'm in my own
world, and I don't care to converse.

H.S.T's guerrilla approach to
writing, and his sharp gonzo wit
keep me laughing and thinking
on this carnival ride from hell.
And if I can laugh in prison,
I'm halfway home.
My mind will go where my
body can't.

Like Hunter, I'm a betting man who always
bets on the long shots.
So I'm putting a bundle on
me to pull out of this **** hole
and do something with my life.
** ** **, God Bless you, Doctor.
And as my old man used to say,
"They can **** us, but they
can't eat us."

Every wall calendar has reminders on days that are either a holiday or a special occasion...
Mine has 'valentine day' written on all 365 days of the year...
And I suppose that is right...
For everyday should be a celebration of the people we love and care for...
Life has to be a celebration of people...
Specially the ones that make our life sweeter...
And brighter...
Happy valentines day...
Today and everyday...

Poetry Challenge 1    One sentence, 17 syllables

a. I’ll get back to you later when I think of something really special

b.  I only enter contests when I think I might have a chance to win

c.  Depression is a dark room I can not escape from though I do try


Challenge 2     10 words, time, place, emotion

a.  Calm desert morning.  Why am I crying?

b.  Night time in the desert makes me homesick

c.  Rush hour in New York - worse than Chicken Pox

d.  Wedding in a chapel - afternoon bliss

e.  Prayed for hours at his bedside, yet he died


* - first challenge entries 12/21/19

I’ve been to a place at
The end of the sidewalk.
In between safety and  
wild debauched nights of
concrete and neon.

It’s a tabula rasa.
Pristine and precious.
I love it there
where creativity and
innocence dwells on the
backs of phoenix birds and
purple pigeons,
and on the slopes of verdant
valleys, lush with cerulean
blue ponds.

The trees all
gave and gave.
Dragon fruit and  
mangoes and
plants that taught me  
things.

Every fish and turtle that
I caught talks of Keroack
and Dali,
dreams, and love.
Serenity,
thick as maple syrup.
I met some surreal people
and creatures in this land.

And every **** one
of them oozed  
compassion and  
truth from  
every pore.

I dreamed that I had
a boat on a leash,
which was strange
because moments before,
I had it in the ocean,
and I was fishing off
the starboard side.
My nephew was with me
and he got us lost.

We dragged that boat all
over Ventura.
We were looking for
the marina.
The longer that the boat
was on the leash,
the smaller it got.
Pretty soon it was
just a toy, a poisoned
dog that we
threw in the trash.

Please excuse the boundary
of my sadness;
it's not normal, I'm aware,
maybe, even maddening.

But, the horses need hay.
They are hungry.

Long evenings
full of shadows,
surround my blood
stained lazy bed.

The horses need hay.

Let's gather our
senses, and get to
the fields.
Make-believe we
have purpose and
direction.

Isn't that
the mindset we need
to overcome the largest
lie of them all.

Laying around, serenely relaxing with insight
Long legs, her knees up in contemplative sight
Delicate feet cradle her glass, a wine’s warm glow
Inspiration’s spark, as the seed of artistry grows

Her bed, a canvas, for dreams to unfold
Brushstrokes of thought, as imagination’s told
A woman’s introspection, inward yet free
A creative soul, colorful and carefree.

Yeah, I'm flirty
You know I'm *****
***** minded; that is
Get every question right on the quiz
Is what I couldn't do
'Cause I was too busy thinking about you
Normally when flirting, I'm smooth
But this time, I was slipping up
You made me fall
I fell for you
Is what I thought I couldn't do
You missed my call
Wouldn't answer at all
You made me fall
You broke my heart
I thought I was flirty
Yet, you tore that thought apart
That was back then
Now I got people begging for me
As if I was the honey to their bee
Now I'm back to being flirty
Hopefully I won't be done *****
Once again, like you did to me
Now I'm the key you need
The key you need to unlock your heart
You lost it when you tore me apart
You really just tore yourself apart
Now you're stuck lonely smoking a cart
I now have people all over me
Sticking to me like I'm the honey to their bee