the pen would write
in modern light
a scribble of sentimental frippery
and the painters can
in the anarchists hand
makes prose into bold graffiti.

a pencil scribe
or desk-carved diatribe
a bitter note writ angrily
a lovers note, secret passed
prayers and hope encompassed,
words the weapon of beast and beauty.

a tiled wall
in a crowded hall
where quotes can swingvote cities
a stickered note stuck under seat
words of anothers in coda repeat
revolutions begun in paper graffiti

in Andalucia, past valley and dale
      run the golden, sunflower fields
      and a hut is a house that stands all alone
      ivy and flowers have overtaken stone
      and the rusty, old Santa Fe door
      and warm, pink clay floor
      this is the home I've seen these years
      a dream welded with passions tears.

      Climb the peaks of the Rockies tall
      off the edge, don't tread or fall.
      Hear the sound of the bald eagles cry
      the flash of summer lightning in the sky
      breathe in deep the mountain air
      come to my cabin, find me there.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      dreamers dreaming escapes,
      every single day.
      I've built mine on the sands of my sleep
      water my gardens with the emotion I weep.

      Swim in the blue seas, fair and calm
      the salty air a warm, sweet balm
      feel the sand, clinging to your feet
      walk the golden expanse of a deserted beach.
      Find a hammock, swinging ever more
      who needs a key to a sunshine-built door?

      Roll in the grass of a swollen, green plain
      made lush after days of endless gray rain.
      Wicked sun, both hot and cold
      the breeze runs rampant, the fields unfold.
      Wheat meet Wood, tall and strong
      trees that grow, bows lush and long.
      Build me a palace within these leaves
      a kingdom of green amongst these trees.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      dreamers dreaming escapes,
      every single day.
      I've built mine on the sands of my sleep
      water my gardens with the emotion I weep.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      escapes etched in cavern walls
      in the sunlight of the day.
      Scribe a vision which never was
      plot it in the starry sky—
      Home; the dream, just because...
      it hurts so much to lie.

empty houses, pouring rain
listen to the news today
red coats marching, off to war
knock once left, once right
on a barricaded door.

empty the chamber into a platoon
read their palms in the ****** lagoon
sing sweet nightingale
night and day
“Here the bravest
of the fools will lay.”

Breath of life, a fleeting thing
who the pawn, who, the King?
Paper lanterns in the sky
wishing stars that live to die
promises from a lovers kiss
withdraw your soul, now remiss.

empty houses, pouring rain
have you heard the news today?
The birds are gone, the lights are out
silence follows revolutions shout.
Bellow bravely, cowards all
we will stand as the Empire falls.

What if the worst, what if it's not?
what happens when they find out
I'm caught...
what happens afterwards
and what yet to come
even as I flounder
I cannot run...

the game is been played
and it may well be the last move
hard to predict
hard to get in the groove
and a feeling of loneliness
so full of despair

I reach out for God
I hope that He's there.

I'm supposed to write of flowers
of the song that summer sings
and tell of ladies in towers
covered in luxurious things.
I'm supposed to talk of spring time
and the violets in the yard
the evergreen of the creeper vine
or the mystery of the tarot card.
I'm supposed to sing of perfumes
and the vibrant color in soft twilight
of rose and almond blooms
as they grow more lovely in the night.
But instead I find myself counting stars
in a sheep-less vision of sleepless rest
wishing on spheres of silent fury so far
to send me on some kind of epic quest.

Because, you see, the music in my life
soundtracks and the very like
have made the norm seem so amazing
that, cue the tune, and I'm ready to fight.
Against dragons or demons or wizards or harm
to win a crown of glory and charm.
But I am a nobody, in a nobody age
no Knight, no Princess, no Warrior Mage;
so don't ask me to write tales of which I know not
I am the Hero the world forgot.

love as fleeting as the words
the poets would use to protest it
empty promises made in dark rooms
the only working sense that of the skin
a farce to behold, all of us liars from 9 to 5
lodged firm between life and sin.

it's over
there's no worse feeling
than that point in an argument
when you realize you're wrong
but don't want to let go of your guns.

it's over
there's no worse moment in time
than that moment in your life
when you realize you're "this" old
and have wasted "this much" time
with the wrong people...

it's over
there's no worse admission
than that confession you tell your pillows
that you aren't jaded or wronged or used
but you're a selfish little nobody
that nobody else likes
because you remind them too much of themselves.

it's over
as you hear that final sound
not the whining of a noose or roar of a gun
but that ragged whisper of your last breath
your eyes shutting down like a screen whose backlight is going out
and there is nothing there
and as you realize it, what a mistake it was to die
you fight the hardest you ever have
in the bit of the time you have left
to remember a single second
of the life
you wish
you'd lived.

take my heart
I do not care
it does not beat
it is not there

my souls gone missing
where it once was found
it won't return
buried in the ground.

my eyes have lost that love-struck shine
my gaze is keen for a missing mind
my feet won't walk
and my voice won't sing
that which might talk
will never speak.

The words within have dried and burnt
a thousand pages
I once wrote.
An empty saga of sonnet prose
a withered thing
where there once, a rose.

The hands grow old
the body, weary
all said and told
the eyes grow bleary
despite my efforts
however valiant and true
I can't believe it
when you say "I love you."

Because if love was what you meant
then a future we might have
and one without the other
is just a temporary salve
to a wound that will not heal
a heart-wound left in wake
of a dream that you would steal
from a prayer that you'd take.

Empty lovers and promises forgot
a world of victims soulsearching their lot
poetry leaving graffiti in the schools
convincing lovers that they're simply tools
for this generation there is no maturing
no growth or care or truth
just flourid words that, waning
cause collapsing of the roof.

And you wonder why the tears fall
why the beat in my chest goes weak
these are the words of a lover
that she never got to speak.

we shall not love you
the people cry
we shall not worship
or adore you
and the Gods of Olympus sigh
and though famine punish
and surplus grant
the people do not let up their chant.

Old Zeus grown weary through graying age
as young as the day his father, slayed
yet older in mind and wiser still
has had enough of humanities fill.
And thunderbolts he throws from his clouded sky
and below the people cry
"We shall not go quietly into the night!"
"We deny you and so we'll fight!"

And Aphrodite, her beauty now common place
a million mimicry's in plastic-made face
paints war paint on cheek and brow
and shouts with a dangerous frown
"Raise your blades at me with dread!"
"With Eos rise you'll all be dead!"

But plain Athena stays her hand
and looks down on the rabid band
with helmet and spear, in moonbeams clad
she shakes her head, expression sad
"Leave them be, my sister,"
"Do not let rise your anger."

But fair villain Beauty ran
and clutched at another man
"Ares!" cried the Goddess, "Act for me!"
and bloodthirsty God, he got to his feet
and with chariot of fire and wheels of bones
and Discord and Malice singing their songs
he rushed to do the bidding
to a conflict that needed winning.

But Apollo's chariot drew close
and blocked his path with the sun
"No, Brother, do not go."
"This is not a war to be won."

And below Demeter drew back her hand
and crops and rivers dried to sand
and Persephone never rose from her tomb
to usher new life from springtimes womb
and Hades fickle laugh with Hermes nervous snicker
Artemis let wane the moon and stars flicker.

And darkness shut out a world malcontented
left in darkness as the people lamented
and Eos stayed abed for years at a time
Prometheus fires wouldn't burn, the cities were slime
and those that once were men
were transformed once then again...
and from the darkness there rose
things with sightless eyes, creatures predisposed
to live in blackness and filth by Fates three
and banished were they to the depth of the sea.

And there they live still, in the Challenger Deep
and further below even more of them sleep
the creatures that once molested the God's door
the myth, if that, of monsters called Noctor.

The God of War sat upon his throne
In a wing of the Olympus palace
Under the sun his bloodied-eyes shone
Setting atremble his servants, Discord and Malice.

The wars below, as he viewed
Were hard fought and stalemates, it seemed
He sighed and spat, quite bemused
Why could no winner be deemed?

His bed of flesh from enemies gone
He rested within its dermal folds
The howl of the dying, singing its song
As Apollo’s chariot grew far and cold.

The roaring clamor of vicious scandal
Woke him from a bloodlight dream
And he looked below at victim and vandal
Appalled at the disastrous scene.

And Now, with Eos rise to morn
As the dew mixed with blood and sweat
Discord arrived to comfort her lord
Her company he did not regret.

“You have seen my battles
Look now below and explain
Mankind has become brainless as cattle
Look how they are, vile and maimed,”

“Milord, I see,” she spoke with grace
And her eyes did glint with fire
“Perhaps if you showed another face
The battle would be what you desire.”

And though her words were softly spoken
The answer they did present
And Great God Mars felt, at once, heartbroken
A message had to be sent.

Mercury, the winged messenger
With winged sandals and helmet
Arrived to be the harbinger
And was told to fly beyond the sunset.

“Beyond the sun and stars
There is a palace where a woman sits
Tell her that our Lord, God Mars
Invites her here, if she permits.”

Discord and Malice saw him off
And sweet Hermes, how he did fly
For the sound of war was not far-off
And nightly he heard people die.

The palace beyond the heavenly sky
Was one of silky web and silver
And within its courtyards did lie
A splendid woman that made him quiver.

This woman was Lady Nike
The very Goddess of Victory
Sister to Strength, Force and Rivalry
Who had fought the Titans in day old Glory.

The fair-ankled Nike heard the message
And smiled a fair, rosey smile
“Tell your lord that if he has the courage
to come and woo me here in my exile.”

When Ares heard this, he maddened with rage
and tore through Olympus with sword
and threw rocks down on the world stage
and sent hiding the servants, Malice and Discord.

Soon after saw Mars chariot race
Flying twice the pace of the sun
passing Mycenae and Athens face
to where the wooing would be done.

Aphrodite flew at his side
“God of War you’ll need  Beauty to aid
in wooing the Victory that hides away.”
The God of War grew weary and sore
and by the time he arrived at Nike’s door
his mood had taken a turn for the worse
and he muttered colorful curse.

Lady Nike was patiently waiting
For Victory is always calm
Her soft white dress billowing, baiting
An almond blossom in her palm.

At first Ares was rough and coarse
And Aphrodite grew red in the face
Seizing the reins, she stole his horse
While Nike kept him engaged.

The Goddess of Victory never made answer
Her voice quietly humming to the bloom
And though Ares voice cut like a cleaver
She paid it no heed, fearing no doom.

Ares grew tired and finally rested
Beneath her feet as she sat on the wall
Victory obviously had him bested
This had been a fruitless call.

Finally, Nike climbed down to join him
Her dark hair loosed from its plates
And in the dawns coming, the darkness dimmed
And she motioned beyond her gates.

The battle below was louder still here
And Nike gave him a glance and frowned
“Every night I listen and shed my tears
for no victory can be achieved on this ground.”

At hearing her voice and seeing some hope
Ares let a rough smile play on his lips
Finally she was going to put things in scope
But rather, she moved and gave him a kiss.

“Lie with me and perhaps...”and silence then
Ares agreed and the two made a retreat
And there, in her palace, deep within
Blazed a terrible and passionate heat.

When Ares awoke in the middle of the next day
He found Nike gone from her home
Cold and angry he rose, intent to be on his way
but Goddess Aphrodite had left him stranded, alone.

But then he heard the softest sigh
the sound of a babies voice
and stealing to the sea, there Nike lie
holding the prize of his choice.

Within her arms was the smallest of creations
A child so pale, so weak it might barely survive
But there was Nike, crowning it with starry carnations
Sure, it seemed, that the babe would stay alive.

“This is my daughter and yours”
said Nike of this newborn miracle
And slowly stepped forward the God Mars
And took the child, his rough hands careful.

“Her name is Ireni, Goddess of Peace
she will bring calm to the wars below
and be the most coveted in all of Greece
hair dark eyes brilliant, skin as snow.”

Nike smiled her wise smile and stood
Holding Ireni as gentle and kind as the child
A silence spread under evenings hood
the ****** scene turned serene and mild.

And though Victory was not claimed
The battles ended for the stress and fear
And from nights cloak, Ireni’s tears rained
wiping the blood and sweat and violence clear.

And peace remained upon the land
Until the great War of Troy
When Aphrodite and Zeus would play their hand
With fair Helen their devious ploy....

Scars cut their jagged path
like avenues across the soul
telling stories grown to cities
reduced to gaping holes.
I tell my reflection
that she was once beautiful
because of any of us
she needs to hear it most.
I draw life-lines on my palms
an echoing lie, whispering
"Of course, you'll live forever!"
without having to pay a price for youth.
I scribble words of wisdom
that no one will ever read
they're written in a language
that the schools refuse to teach.
Each syllable, each song
unlike reflections of Narcissus
leave a new ****** trail
a **** in the heart
a frail little *****
beating with valiant strides
shouting with each agonized step
I shall not go quietly
I shall not surrender
I shall not quit or fall to self-pity
for I am the *****
that powers this beast
a creature grotesque and lovely
a monster too gentle to be at peace
an oracle, a love-sick fool,
with a soul-carved map
drawn over the surface of the world.

the tapestries come unraveled
that once made up the sky
the strings of starlight falling
landing on the gravel roadside
the world is not my oyster
the moon is not my pearl
The Sun's been torn
frayed and worn
from that deep-sleep blanket
still warm
like the dawns rise
over an empty sky
as heaven’s last banner
is ripped asunder.
The sleeper awakens
in a cold, dark night
the warm light missing, stolen
magic carpet taken flight
the blanket that kept us
safe from the monsters
that crept at us in the dark
has been shredded
leaving only strands
of falling stars
that we forgot to wish on.

Perched on the lip of wood
staring down at me
is a thing that wanted nothing more
than to become a tree
but it's appetite disliked sunshine
and it's taste refused water
blood and meat was all it wanted
it would enjoy no other
and I've been feeding it
since the 5th of last July
sirloins, roundsteaks, strips and hams
bacon and sweatbreads and leg-o-lamb.
And its gotten quite big now
where it sits by the door
cleaning up after it
is unto itself, a mighty chore.
And today when I came home
it leered at me...I swear it did
a leer with a leafy head...
and now I'm hiding in my closet
trembling in my house
as frightened, more possibly
than a cat-toyed mouse...
because I hear it grumbling
I swear to God it's mumbling
my Venus Fly Traps rumbling
just beyond the door...
I hear it dragging its potted roots
I hear it whisper
"More."

There's a spider singing from it's web
above in the corner of the window
and I hear it's voice as the tide does ebb
and smile at the casual words that flow.

Come find me in the spring, it says
by the land of lemonade and honey
where the sleeping and eating is plenty.

Come find me there by the duck pond,
where the grass dips its hot tendrils
and honeysuckle and cactus flowers meet
to talk of how the wind blows.

Come find me by the willow tree
split in twain one autumn day
where the Owl makes his roomy nest
in the dark, there, I like it best.

And I smile, for I know the song
from years and years ago
and though I'd like to sing along
I've forgotten how it goes.