Today, poetry is in my bones--
words reverberating against flesh,
holding up my body
through ribcage and skull.
I am a skeleton of sonnets.
If you were to cut me open,
verse would flow out:
I stain pages with ink-splot blood.

Tall men think of robust ladies
Shorter ladies dream of length,
Toothless people fantasize
Of mandibles of white, bright strength.
Porcine women lust for thinness
Breast less girlies long for *****,
Dissatisfaction fills the air
It's greener grass or down the tubes.

Black man hopes for pale complexion
White girls bake to raise a tan,
Brown eyed lassie's envy blue-ness,
***** lesbian's, a man.
The wealthy want the easy life
Beggars yearn for cash,
Dissatisfaction's in the air
And mirrors are so trash.

Across the human spectrum far
Mankind wants for more,
The grass is always greener
Looking through another door.
It's bigger, better, brighter, best
The quest is always there
Relentlessly pursued with glee,
Bright eyes and bushy hair.

Results are mixed and varied here
Some reach the holy grail
To watch it slip beyond their grasp
Then founder, fall and fail.
Some teeter on a platform,
Some grasp the prize and run,
Some hit their stride at bounding pace
To see the contest won.

But by and large there's misery
Few climb the road to joy,
Frustration be my brother
Dissatisfaction be my ploy.
Limitation is our lot in life.
Our secret to success
Is to love the mirror warts and all
All other **** ...suppress !!


M.

My body

       Intertwines with yours,

               There's nothing

I love more*.

at our old retreat
tall glasses of sweet iced tea
air of moss perfume
prayer and books and quietude
amongst gently soughing pines

**~Hilda~

thoughts, they are
        smoke escaping from chimneys and clouding darkened skies,
skies home to birds flapping their wings trying to fly,
thoughts are flying bricks falling all at once on shoulders already holding weights,
weighing the night's silence on open palms
and fingers blackened with soot
hold feathers plucked from tree branches,
seeking to clean bloodied slates
in gardens where dreams flow down the river into caves
-caves with lights at the end of tunnels,
and lamps which flicker during storms and
lightning which penetrates even closed eyes.
                       thoughts, they are
companions with opens arms which sometimes have
knives hidden up their sleeves,
and they are wells
which hold coins-
silver, gold, bronze and brass.
dreams and wishes fondled by the gentle, sometimes
     corrosive current of waves
and shadows which carry the tube light just so they stay alive.
     but these thoughts, they are also
my reason for you,
chains and leaves hanging with ease around a neck and rings which sing like canaries on insomniac fingers
   and crimson letters carrying pictures, so
with that is my justice,
because with your name they give me solace, and
with your image they give me peace
and with the sound of your voice in the meadows of my mind,
i find tranquility.
and with the shadows that follow on my heels, i laugh and i smile,
    because with these thoughts
i am with you and you,
          you are
with me
---------