Shimmering, miasmic waves
of suffocating heat,
bounce off the scorching pavement
and distort the tortured street.

A toxic stew of asphalt sticks
to every tire and shoe,
as tar begins to bubble
'Tis "The Texas summer goo".

Oppressive heat beats downward
from relentless glaring sun.
Be wary of Apollo's malice!
Summer's just begun.

My
Third eye
Clouded
Busy blurry skies
What have I done
To the you and I
To the me and you
That could never be
Drawn to these pleasures
Between these sheets
Smothering moonlight
Deep summer heat
Damping lust
Still no retreat
The flame burns
Even hotter
When You and I cheat
.....

Take my hand
and come with me
to dreams of love and lust
Where....drifting down
the blurry skies
the eye need not adjust,
Where....
moonlight dances merrily
reflecting us unseen.
The smoldering heat
of our united union,  
except to you and me
No need to worry
the things that we do
between the sheets
of carnal pleasure
that draws me to you.  
Together we will reach our peak
as we share this glorious night.
Lie with me beneath the moon
and feel its timeless flight.

Evening has subsided with a whisper in the west.
It chased the sunset's final rays as she prepared for rest.

Night has dropped her curtain but the moon has come to play.
The overture begins, as lonely crickets have their way.

The breeze begins to soften and the grass is standing still.
The leaves no longer beckon in the trees upon the hill.

I huddle in the darkness and await the rising wind.
A prayer is formed upon my lips, in homage to a friend.

And there ... I feel the sweet caress, a hand upon my cheek
A breeze that comes from someone ... from the passing soul, I seek.

And as I watch the lingering stars and hear the rustling leaves
I know that she has left this world and heavenward, she weaves.

I bid farewell to one, who loved this life, and all it gave
I dedicate this poem to her and toward the moon, I wave.

What is the sky
but a canvas for clouds?
What is a city
but a canvas for crowds?
What is the meadow
so verdant and green
but a canvas for sheep
a pastoral scene?
What is the ocean
with reflections so blue,
than a canvas for sails
as they drift into view?

Raindrops part with lover's walk
beneath the dreary skies.
A secret shared of our desires
the bond between the eyes.

Fingers clasped with racing hearts
their footsteps briefly pause.
He turns and gentle lifts her face,
a breath, he deeply draws.

He speaks to her of love so deep
which time cannot affect.
The only union of its kind
no mortal can deject.

And since the test of time has passed
conceding, she reveals.
Her soul is ever bound to his
and through a kiss conceals.

Clouds don't lie.  They tell the truth
wherever they may go.
Their shadows give relief
to creatures down below.

They change their forms and colors
the chameleons of the air.
Majestically, they soar above
to play with angels there.

They weep to nourish growing crops
and bring the snow and hail.
A crown of lightning lights their heads
before the coming gale.

Clouds can ride the jet stream
like a wrangler on his steed,
Then float serenely on the breeze
and other cloudlings breed.

They soak up sunset, changing hue,
vermilion, saffron, gold...
Then soar to higher atmospheres
to frolic in the cold.

Free to roam the open sky,
they mock the earth-bound horde
And blithely glide upon the wind,
no passengers aboard.

Oh, how I'd like to take a ride
upon a breaking dawn.
But clouds don't lie, and so deny,
a chance of getting on.

Unpretentious are the clouds.  
They care not for our awe.
They graze upon their crystals
and are quite above the law.

The mysteries the clouds have kept
since Mother Earth began...
Are kept behind the truth they tell,
as part of heaven's plan.

My life is full of poetry
in lyrical design
Expressions in a rhythm
that ascend and then decline.

One moment I am full of joy,
then sorrow breaks my heart.
My soul is touched by music
and the thrill that it imparts.

I love the rain, embrace the sun
and smile at winter snow.
I crave the full moon's silver light
and dance beneath the glow.

I savor sweet aromas
taking pleasure in the breeze
And love the gentle rustle,
as it passes through the trees.

Yes, poetic is the gift of life,
inspiring me to rhyme.
I'd write a million odes to it,
but I just don't have the time!