The Sword Of Un
(a Quixote song)**

My sword, ******,
now sheathed
hangs by my side
still sticky wet
covered with the gore
of apocalyptic horsemen;
their heads hanging from my belt.
Was it all for naught,
as you thought my savagery
was mockery,
false pretense and hypocritical lies,
aiming only for self fulfillment.
~~~~~
Many, it’s true,
seek only what’s in it for them
superficalities in the vain glory
of seeming warm approval
of acceptance;
seeking their own tree water
while the whole forest
is dying of thirst.
~~~~~
I seek not conquest,
but look you
eye to eye,
heart to heart,
and speak openly my words,
dripping and ******,
of devotion for you.
~~~~~
These words,
love and devotion,
are given freely,
yours to keep;
given, not for gain
or ego’s display
and paltriness.
But because within you
I see and feel all
the wonders of life.
Yes, I see your thunder storms
and distorted illusions
of delusional complexities;
and absurdities of unfair life.
And say, bring it, all of it
cause in all these contradictions,
I see you,
for you!
~~~~~
It’s ironic
isn’t it,
I fell in love with you
dancing within your poetry.
And I would ****** my sword,
slay many more apocalyptic dripping horsemen;
let my Sword of Un sing,
sever their heads
and hang them from my belt,
if I knew for one second
it would allow me
to walk with you,
fingers warmly entwined,
sharing the secrets found
on a coconut scented beach,
lie naked on sun warmed sands
and listen to the music
of your woman’s beat.
As I offer you
all the pieces of my heart.
~~~~~
I am not going anywhere.
So if you're in need of revenge,
or to avenge a wrong,
here’s my Sword of Un.
My head is lying on the block.

10.3.14

https://youtu.be/F3RYvO2X0Oo

1967

It was 1967
when you wandered into my life.
The Beatles were on
a “Magical Mystery Tour”,
but you were my mystery.
Your red hair taunted my sensitivities
and for the longest time
I couldn’t understand
why “P.S. I Love You” played
when you walked in the room.
It was awhile before I realized
my eyes followed the
wishful sway of your hips,
and the slight upward turn of your lips
would ignite a fanciful beat
in my heart,
with a dream of their soft taste.
One of your girlfriends told me once,
you did it just to see my smile.

It was 1967,
the Red Guard rebels had seized back Shanghai
in a January Storm,
the whole world was in joyous celebration
turning everything right side up
and everyone wanted
to kiss the skies.
And you kissed me.

It was Fall,
Autumn's orange and browns ruled
but that kiss felt like
wild, red roses,
blue bells, daffodils
and green smelling air.
That kiss pulled us into world events
and tasted like more.

In 1967
I began to write poetry
and picked up my paint brushes again.
Mostly because of you,
your red hair hue,
how everyone smiled with you,
and the way you made me feel
like I was human.
In 1967 the whole world was changing.
We both felt it
as it affected the way we saw each other.
Lovers yes, but more, standing
in the thick of all the social rebellion.
We wanted a better world.
Hand in hand
we traveled together
for a little while.
I wish I would have loved you better,
more equally,
with more respect.
But I was a typical male,
not yet ready to give up my privilege.

It was 1967
we loved with the passion
of a changing world.
Five years later you left.
Yet I still see your taunting red hair,
can taste your Spring-like kiss,
feel your warm skin next to mine,
and be inspired by the slight upward turn of your lips.
While I put down my paint brush long ago,
my pen still spills ink for you,
still calls you ‘Amber’.

10.16.12

POEM 60
(String Theory Possibilities)

“I’ll wait for you there
like a stone...  Alone
-Audioslave, “Like A Stone
*
There’s a place in my heart
that knows only you
and becomes gooey
emotions with torrential rain
filling the deep oceans of empty space.
Strings and their theory
wrap seductively
around my needing you gravitons
and all I know is
I’m like a stone
waiting to be thrown
skipping across your heart,
leaving ripples of disruption
where new worlds are born.

Aztec Warrior 9.30.15

POEM 59

October sighs
a slight breeze
that whispers goose bumps on my skin
as you walk beside me
and hold my hand.
^^^
But, I must say,
I’m not an Autumn wind,
I am the sky.
Nor am I a harvest moon,
I am the night
that comforts you with star light.
I am not a dragon slayer
but I breathe the fires of hope,
and whisper Quixotesque dreams
of sweet surrender nights.
^^^
And I ask,
will you join me
in succulent October sighs.

Aztec Warrior 9.26.15