Poetry is Art

A body of Forms

Tender touches tip of kisses

Deeper thirsts

Quenched by tongues

Poetry is Art.

Love

Nouveau.

Poetry thou Art.

Heart & Soul...

BUTTERFLY
          A dangerous thing.
          Inspirations' fragile wings.
          Metamorphoses.

BARRIER REEF
           Great walls dividing.
           Vast cold deeps from Summer seas.
           "Hail Metropolis!"

LOTUS FLOWER
          Morning--Star-burst--bloom.
          Floral crown on tranquil lake.
          She walks on water.

SEAHORSE
          Pregnant father sways
          Rocking chair to Oceans' gait.
          Champions patience's race.

BOMBYX MORI
          White Mulberry leaves,
          Veins of Univoltine wine.
          Silk, worm's waste of time.

ORCHID
          Soft petals open.
          Easy like wild poetry.
          Medicinal muse.

LAVENDER
          How like a feather
          Dancing meadows' Royal hue.
          Perfumes the twilight.

OWL (Query)
          "Who?" Rather than tweet
          In the dark keenly can see
          All her nameless prey.

DEATH VALLEY
          Akimbo cacti
          Off the scenic highway road
          Flail in Hell's hot suns.

TSUNAMI
          Deaths' devastation.
          Chaos drowns all the petty
          Wars and last concerns.

COMMUNING
          These very mornings
          I awe as the blue ocean drinks
          The sky bleeding gold.

DINOSAUR
          All you have are bones.
          Our flesh once Giants : lies, dust.
          My feelings extinct.

SUNFLOWER
          A golden pinwheel.
          Tall and proud, the face of day,
          Burns bright love's bounty.

POPPY
         Her rouge a deep dark
         pharmaceutical Red to
         kiss your pain away.

THE SWALLOW*  
         Rain's graceful feathers.
         The Spring's swift wisps' arriving
         Two Tailed Brothers' Breeze.

ROSE
          No other fragrance
          But from her kiss--sublime songs
          True Love's red flower.

AGUA
          *Siempre Vivir
          Go quench your thirst and your soul,
          'Cuz Life drinks for free.

IN SPRING
           Orange breasted plume.
           A Robin bird trills and swirls.
           Seasoning her nest.

ASPHODEL SNOW
            Gossamer winter.
            The fractal window panes sigh
            white breath of flowers.

LIGHT-YEARS
             Space is Time is Light
             it's speed can measure eons'
             infinite distance.

"The beautiful ones, the beautiful ones, will hurt you every time" --Prince.


Prayers and Foreplay
Like melodic potions wafting kiss
strums your Louisana Minne.
fingers
tickles keys black and white
electric soulful
Halleluiahs
Ooh baby
Princely Baby Genius
multi-instrumentalist
Funky new and founded purpose
purple rhythms jazzy blues

Your songs are you
and always yours
victor of lawyers inc. corporate war

Your music sweats
condensation on cherries' skins
psychedelic magic wings
juicy dancing sonic romance
sugar wizard
of sweetest Thangs
twang the guitar and sang
The songs like answered prayers
for foreplay
and getting down
and *****
Sensual the ditty
clouds with purple tears
dreams made wet
ecstasy caress our ears...

We grew up to the soundtrack
of Kings & Prince
And we woke up inside
hearing him all out
wide within our being
history is lace and Rock N Roll
Moonwalk & Funk & Dance
there is no Hip Hop
or techno trance
without Rhythm & Blues
no Rock with no Roll

There is no foreplay without Lil' Big ****
or Cadillac riding low,
There is no purple without his highness
the royalty of deeper souls...

Aalyiah and Thriller King
and Elvis and all the Cherubs sing
welcome a prince
up there where the sun is always rising
where no doves cry
but robe the One
enlightening,
the music of rainbow and colors
we feel and make
not in death but heaven's love
he'll wake...
Naked genius his music plays
radio flyin'
Purple rain...
Like prayers and fond memories
Immortal prince is
the music is

never dying.

(Even now that he did for you,
all fans like doves are crying)

There’s magic in that love

Mothers’ homecooked Meals

She’s my rehab

Recoup dujour

Chicken soup for body

And soul

And heart

It’s a work of art.

There’s magic in her Love.

The bowl of a glass ashtray
on the night-stand
is brimming with cigarette
butts and burnt tobacco.

This is what wasted
time looks like.

Grey songs
of a caged bird:
*ashes and cigarette butts

The city's a blur
ceasless
as the rotation of night
into speeding flight...
a parallax.

This town's deranged
greasy
like the hands of perverts
afterhours.


I don't understand
that you're still here,
Mystere'
while nothing happens
in this billboard valley
with its mannequin loves
and ****** students;

nothing comes of this
dustbowl
with Christmas blinking in the center
and promises on the cusp
of learning / curves
say Huh?

I know, you say
there's a fabulous place
beneathe
the buzzing web of profits
its busy electric streets
business of passing feet

a wonderful niche
besides
the lions and tigers and Cher
(Oh My!)
secrets only you would know
of its afterglow
because you call it

home.

The fastest on land...
But her hide on wooden floors
Runs with foot traffic.

After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds...

           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self-helps.

"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good

Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,

Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...

(Without be getting a shred
Of guilt)

I deal
with the Jerusalem jeers
brambles and boot heels upon the chest
because I choose to be
inside the sardine can nest
practice altars and fears

I choose toy guns
rather than the illusions
of ice-sculptures and invalid-love
or winded wishes' ruse
wasted weddings' bruise

I choose (by God's whistling whim
and peanut gallery)
The art
the crooked
the crime
because it crickets inside
where the sigh and cry begins
where the biohazard happiness ends

Because I choose
this cypress curse
my quiet drums
my moving museums
for steady love's
rapture roulette
you can bet

I choose whom
and why, how, and when
just because I can.
I deal
because self pity
serves an empty meal.

Hate’s RedTide upon the beach
From the sea her casualties
The dead are algae red  
War’s Red Tides upon the beach.

Like "Connect the dots"
Rorschach Ink Blots / fluffy clouds,
Minds map, third eye gleans.

Among the burlap landscapes of anguish
Muted expressions of starving babes
Need being the worst malady, yearning for wish...
Experiences so young, unhappy, should not be
Suffering war torn, fatherless, deathly empty.
Tourists whilst on safari from far away lands
Yelp and twitter, unyielding to the giant, travesty.

Ignorance is a selfie taken in the bush
Not a care to feel akin to human or witness, see
The child so thin with disease, is you, is me...

It's not easy speak
or a Speak Easy
when conversing with him,
dark'ling gremlin toothless grin
but he's your friend so I carry on
with Yoda in the corner of my mind
"judgmental you must be not"
and Comicon's collective excitement fading
as the light will do in the west...

We speak easy with the circling
of the communal pipe
crystal peace in mists of glass orbs
oil burner fog horns
piercingly in & between my ears
but its not so easy to ignore
the scent of death in his halitosis

We spoke of Superheroes
their idiosyncratic identities
His secret celebrity crushes  
envying Green Lantern’s ring finger
he speculates on Cyclop's orientation,

"Y don’t you make me an X man, professor?"

Informatively encyclopedic volubility,
Mike speaks queerly and toofless
yet well versed on oral
said he rims pacific beach boys
(And I can smell the white lies
wafting from his mouth)
as I color at his studly fairy tales
and his idolatry of prepubescent innocence
the hyper kind of *******
as he verbally recalls the taste of how sweet
the sweet untouched were...

"The most gorgeous boys I’ve ever seen
in **** or anyplace on the face of the planet
comes from and are probably ******* now
in Europe... Mmm, European boys...
I want to use my life’s savings to go there
enter the war zone and come back wounded..."

I can't even imagine
Shrapnel jacked backside, points and protrusions
grandiloquent mouths and holes full of
enunciations...

"Fourteen is the age of consent there..." he is smiling
a caricature of a wolf *** fang less
Such a pseudo wanna-be
possibly already
******* friend from the broken rainbow factory,
how I chuckle uncomfortably
shake my head disbelievingly

oh the humorous horror of it...

(I'm grinding my teeth, until I notice myself
doing so and get an image of him
with a gummy grin,
I preoccupy my thinking
nodding as I half-heartedly half listen)

I barely know much about him,
Just another homeless man
I give my aluminum cans (minus the pop)
"Where's Wallace?"
Got Glad bags full of tin
Look for his shopping carts
If you connect the dots
Within its circumference
You may find him
in the shade
Or sleeping on the lawn
Outside the closed apartment gates
Or between the carnaceria's walls
Alley cat black
A good guy at that...

He's one of many
The growing crew of indigents
Nothing new to city streets
I met the semi permanent fixtures
The regulars that camp out
Here on the boulevard, near the Strip
Know them by name
But barely know who they are
I try not to get that close

Because you know what they say
You feed one pigeon
They all flock at once,
And Hitchcock's horrors are
My own,
Nowadays when it's a luxury
To have a home,
Mine is precarious
We all protect our own,
That's what they say...

Wallace mostly dives alone
In the darkness of night
Or the end of days
When they throw away the food
Rules of expiration dates

With what I give, it's always fresh,
Perishable even for microwaves
Those convenient stores that let him in
But he's burnt most bridges
With his angry mouth
"****** it up" dropping F bombs
Even half asleep
I barely understand him
But I begin to when his wife
Visits the prison of his concrete streets
Brings him the warmth from home
Her petite loyalty bigger than any shame
I notice that she doesn't notice
The looks of blame
From the eyes of disapproving
Bigots and creeps

Wallace becomes someone else
As they sit together
It's more than just being fed
It's an intimate meal.
(there's tenderness I see)

I couldn't come near to understand
How and why he lives
This way, under this desert city's iron sky,
What a fool he is for romancing the night
Collecting minutiae treasure
All with broken worth
A vagabond crusade with the finger to the world,

I can only hope for the best
I have no opinion

But should he decide  
To wake up or realize
Such folly of a life
I say, it's better to grow and get old
Together with his wife

But then again
I barely know much about Wally
Or how the streets are calling

Away untoward
Those nights that're howling
These streets he's prowling
Much ado about

Wally.

Schrodinger's Cat neither waits
nor happenstance bothers to care
for whom so ever chances by
the box - betwix' the here and there now
nowhere / no one to bow
down, or dare say...
(it's a trap to make you mad)

the mind's eye now patiently indifferent,
only wonders
at the ripples of much ado's
(inside our snow globe of true blue,
of real world blunders
dans le'mer)...
The storms are our own burdens
because man can't pick up after themselves,
can't seem to even share...

And every turn of a passerby,
another student guide & gurl & guy
each unique in totality--each a world
unto themselves--curious will also die,
whether the answer is gleaned
in the blink of an eye
or enlightened gates may appear
the question still in flux,
flummox of empty airs
yet was always supposedly
within, divinely
pondering
"who am I now here?"

Not when or why or how
should we question or make belief
reality...
for the dreamer is a genie asking
for all the wishes
or one for himself
to make,

when the storm on the ocean waves
will ask in turn,
do you always prepare yourself
with lies and mistakes?
to seek the unknown with mind
un-awake??

If its a paradox to look beyond
and question time or God,
then it will be lightning for our own enlightening
which will strike unworthy mud,
back to whence it should
if you open a box which is known
to ****, our will, and could
even fearless men
have died and have never since
felt fulfillment
or some peace
of heaven ... (it's all good)

Because everyone mortal or matter
of flesh - of fact - of time - being less
bleeding thinking to outwit
the vastness of oceans
to claim the ultimate prize...
know now where you stand
since everyone dies

but who has truly lived
worthy of a sky, a moment
skipping a beat,
opens the eyes with awe
a heart feeling exuding heat...

Where is the wonder?
Wasting all time,
thought experiment--riddles and mimes
making of nothing
walls in our minds...

Ask no more stupid questions
you know the answers to
or answers no problems
to better the world
ill from all men do,

because I am
as you are
as we all are miraculously
here

I am both
We are One
Paradox and Perfection
in oceans of tears,
and so goes the question

"What's going on?
There's so much crap,
just stop the bull ...
or get out of the way"

Schrodinger and his cat
(can go **** themselves
in hell / in limbo
the exact moment the choice
is hypothetically made)

Why ask if ... or dare should say...

I'd rather look for Tomorrow
and no answers
but the brilliant Life,
for a better day.
Because I know (Love)
and believe in truth.

Peace. &. Namaste.

*(I bow to the divine in you)

Thine eyes were first, earth angel mine
To arrest the breath from within my lungs
Lovely and deep blue pools, I drown in kind
But naught a drop from heaven flung

Afterwards in reprieve to calm my wits
That your flawless face should dawn
And as tho' a corpse that escaped its crypt
Your beauty dearest, resurrects dead songs

Where in my bones had lingered none.
Oh how I should sing of heavens proved
Having myself been saved yet undone
For thou art gravity of the stars and moon...

My savior, delicate and fine, divinely saves
Since my life has been touch by your grace today.

MY HERO

Days have ventured by
haphazard-quick
but nevertheless captious
opinionated as a castrated casuist
numb but brain-ready over-drive
constant thickened thoughts
for the next fix...

Whatever city you befriend
whatever your home,
boulevard far or closer Strip
or Suburbia ever-green
she is easy to find
anyone looking
a dirge in their eyes...

As much as one
would like to disappear
with sniffing silence that comes
when the nose itches white wishes
or lungs
burn to breathe
cacophony...

Days will drag on
insect insidiously
all the while, she waits
to enliven Saturday night conversations
becomes geode-gibberish
gladness
from a tunnel of a dollar bill
a straw
she knows / she stands in
whatever city you befriend
whatever your home
she speaks your dry tongue
a language that weeps
escapism
embolism...

She is very forgiving:
the space between numb
& living.

The mechanics of body language

*** in it's sweet sweat shops

the subtlety:

         skins swiss-navy slick,

****-erotica's evolution - our rubbing

two fleshy sticks

"pill-poppin' easy" this is

                          *** is   a ******

                          a fish    to catch

                                      to release

in bed, in baths - unleashed

defeatist

without and with / in / doors

which revolve

the staccato silence then evolves

      to a symphonic sing-song of meat

a detached unfettered

feast

      from all hearts involved

many emotions unresolved

hatched

      from wratchet tight sheets

      satin security unmatched

yet melts away

with every faltering step

and constancy of fights for validity

      the normalcy of gay circuit weddings

            ******* like mutes

                      under the disco ball

with an open mouth - seal sounds

a chorus of barking for the sea...



Trust and casual conversations - is almost

to keep us stable or sane

no modivational lust

     tho' it speaks without shame

     out of turn

*** is easy, unmaned

         easy to blame

         easy like Kodak / to share, to play

like a multi-player game

hollywood square's celebrity fame

     a flame is our spirit's

     flagrante bane

tabloid worthy paparazzi mud



but Love, oh Love...



To know now love

consider me a deep pond

     an unmoving lilly

unhindered beautiful

love is wrought with fragility

and tinder...



Too much fire without water

can burn us to cinders.

It's important to be individual
To have clarity
And sure-footed identity

Be you / who you love to be
You the One and Only.

To know without doubt
Lingering in messy things,
Messed around
The experience of Proof
Proven
Chosen
No where else
No one cared
Here just to exist
So resist
Nothing of the kind
careless
Whisperings

Sweet Jesus
Said...

Live as free men / love all and the other
The women sister mothers mine
I am as you are
The offspring
The meaning
Is the purpose of the times
Born to life then must die
But a piece of you lives on
In that baby-child
You can see it in the eyes...

Breaking through
Into flesh
From some other surface
A different sea
Generations now smile at you
Stars in stellar space
We are not separate
You and I

Apartheid did segregate
By old world war rules
Of occupy and *****
Sow them
Who the hell's bad seed?

Do you know you
Who you love to be?
Always not Almost

Cuz see,
You see you can fly, right?
The wide blue sky
Says so
Boy who could
And will...

Who are you again?

I am the wing & the breath
The flock of birds
You hold in your chest
Know love
Is a gift of sky
Together let us fly

Together still all individuals
Each a windswept sigh
Love
My future's memory
Will never go to die, for you are
The apple of my
(Adam)
                                 Eye.

There’s a sort of hectic language
Life’s inner city airs
The indigent grime, swearing
They do declare
As heated as Vegas summers
All ‘round the block
On the Chinatown Strip
Spring mountain valley view
The homeless congregations
Rolling their luggage
Like albatross droppings
Migratory fixtures
**** white on black walls
Black in white veins
Rolling luggage
Keeping precious metals
Coin collecting, jewelry
The bling and fake gold rings
Anything a ***** can trade
For foil wrappings
Thick with high grade
Napping in the inferno
Silver state of epidemic
Many rolling “carryon luggage”
Goes without saying
That sort of summertime language
Inner city airs
That begs
Help. To differ.
They do
Declare

It should mean war…
But, come again
welcome to our fabulous city!
Sin ain’t fair.
Love is lost here.
And still in herds, in droves
Conventions packed disinventing us
Folk.

1.
Cartoon characters
Fantasies of Superstrength
Bullied mutations.

2.
Dog-leash for bear cubs
***-less chaps for Furries' dads
Parade in Folsom

3.
Cosplay to Conmen
Dungeon to Dragon masters
Robbers at the bank...

... he points his toes
like a swan stretching its neck :
smooth calves in fish-nets
to slip into stiletto heels,
        performance art of a deceptive nymph

... grace on fine-point tips : his gift - in stiletto heels,
impersonation or personification of feminine beauty
leporine lithely limned
delicate dancer
       it is almost as if floating across water
       he mimicked once more before
some inner mother's nature took over
façade of savoir face - voila! a star in it's place ...

... It is her face when the night creates a cape
borne with Van Gogh plumes sufficed with self
she paints upon his face : starry nights
sun-flowers, irises covering the welts...
comparably museum worthy, imitation flames
yet like any other canvas
          beneathe it could lie disappointment and mistake
          drafts of inspiration, cover-ups of cynicism
          another creature - some creation unlike him
what was before / the curtain / is unseen, but what if ...

... the truth and process to what presently one sees
or believe
could be / only an amateur attempt:
moments unfelt under layers & layers
of trial and errors / contempt?
      would you wipe away Mona Lisa's
      smile and devilish wicked secret ?
just to uncover blemished a masterpiece:
an ugly Danish duckling underneath

to prove that swan-lake
a gent

... to evolve from broken eggshells
become a song timely hummed & remembered well
priceless history murals' on passing face
all spoken thoughts performing down the lace
      define yourself, how the flight of life from embers
      happiness pursuant to tender
Fully free with grace,
it is the power of creativity / the spirit's ability
to overcome adversity
the art of divinity - that is
what he is practicing  
                                 This trumpeter
                                 swan in stiletto heels...

Jibber jabber gobbledee-goo
tittle tattle engenues
verbosely nosey Velcro verbs
sibilant smacks or lips a purse
wealthy whacks stickball whips
no tweet or talk but mailbox spit
gnawing down our chews of cud
converse with street rubber tongues
pinky-swore on Bazooka gum
summer wonder learning none
we Schwin & Huffy bike the day
child hood friends what else to say?
especially at that age...
Teeny tiny laughter dust
we race like Del Mar champion studs
no babble trouble wordy sting
our Super 8 remembering
"look no handle bars!"
our arms for wings
young ole boys California Kings...

FRENCH KISS
Such buttery lips
Sweet cream-silks, wrapping our tongues,
Je patisserie.

Le VALENTINE
Red rose and sweet prose
Cyrano DeBergerac's
Moonlit balconies.

DESIRE
Burning in goose flesh
Yearnings with caldera-thirst
Your kiss is like rain.

DEBONAIR
Dean in gabled suits
Eloquent body, jazz-smooth
Sweeps her off her feet.

METEOR SHOWER
Friday night space lights
As we caress the hours
Streaks across the sky

ORIGAMI
The creases of us:
Tales of dragons and white ships
Neatly folded sheets.

VEGAS WEDDING
Romance thru sun roofs
"Hallelujah" honeymoons
Marriage number two.

BON VOYAGE
Like wide sails that cup
The high winds of this marriage
I'm at Love's mercy.

NAPE
*Warm whispers my lips
Down smooth meadows of your neck,
Sweet familiar bed.

OCEAN

Her bright irises
blue Mariana Trenches
weeps deep Pacific.


SEA-HORSE

Pregnant father sways
rocking chair to oceans' gait
champions patience's race.


LOTUS FLOWER

Morning-star-burst-bloom
floral crown on tranquil lake
she walks on water.

BUTTERFLY

A dangerous thing:
inspiration's fragile wings.
Metamorphosis.


METEOR SHOWER

Friday night space lights
as we caress the hours,
streaks across the sky.


TAI CHI

Dawn's ceremony.
Wet grass tickling bare feet,
wave away the night.


WINTER GIFT

Downey skin so white
like a cold glass of fresh milk,
unwrapping Christmas.


STAINED GLASS

Broken pieces shape
the cathedral of your soul,
stained light still shines true.

Wallace, my man Wallace, fell
In love with his wife,
For real for real
Fell in love.

If someone should happen upon
To see the two of them
If by chance passed by
Them two together

How odd a couple
They may say
She's such a little thing
Something so prestine to
Wallace, homeless guy howler.
Who is more himself with her than
Without her.

Mr. dumpster-diver-king!

The two individually are
Themselves genuinely
Together lovey-dovey,
Not an act.

Wallace falls in love,
Says that's a fact
Knowing that it also means
You've found someone
to lose.

Still, Wallace knew
love.
It's the god-honest Truth.

Then I ask Wallace
Mindful of the streets,
I ask him poignantly

Do you believe

in-- ?
Dotdotdot
Hastily he barks:
"Of course I did, do--believe in God above."

Didn't let me finish:
"Do you believe in --Love?"
Didn't ask for more
Than that,
Oh my ...

(Word) (goodness) (God)

To Wallace,
A Lonely Man's church is
the memory of wife who’s love
was long and always bright,
he’s just a lonely king
dumpster diving
a shadow of a thing...
To Wallace, she was everything...

Cranky gramps next door’s not well

Unwilling to listen, to mow his grass

Rumination’s ruination’s curb appeal from hell

Miserly, unfriendly, cussing and crass

Unwavering, a prejudiced old goat, jack ***,

Doltish Scrooge with no family left

Graying graveside his home unkempt

Eaves and chimneys and curtains closed, yet

Openly racist with his dragon’s breath.

Needs a bit of love to soften such deaths.

This is Eighteen the size of thirteen,
with the ego of twenty something stupid
"we are young heartache..."
to heart ache we stand - love and life
and the streets
we breathe and eat
everything seems like "a battle field"
still I look for myself
asking who dat? --inside
the mirror and the heart
who am I ?
Love is rain, life's battlefield
my thirst
droplets on the window pane
thunder outside
rolls hollow from inside mine...

On the other side of my bedroom door
opposite George Michael's poster
faithfully ****
a married couple argue
about money, about fidelity, about anything
that leaves the blame
on the one who feels more empty
but somehow
momma's too smart of a mouth
wakes the Kraken
and a drunken man is not a man
when he loses sight
as his manly fists lands an eye
a cheek, a lower lip

This is eighteen the size of thirteen
defense against a wall of baller height of 6'6''
I crash against wood and tile
in a haze of screams and electric sting of pain
the smell of beer
and falling purple rain
from the iron blow of fathers
drowning his demons
inflicting pain
rather than feeling himself
his jealousy has morphed into a vicious wolf,
blind with red hate...

From the floor I grip her hand
our eyes speak with one another
as we wept and I vowed this - the last
time he hurt my mother
or any other...

Prince on the FM, a deeper rain
with a perfect anthem
for those darker days

When our tears were so deep
they stung
our hearts in its flood
purple rain and blood

this was Eighteen
the size of two hearts growing up
Gettin'
strong...

Enjoys

peaches, pudding

Pies, tapioca,

But

often sups

on beef.

The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
     volley of commiserating
                     commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
             nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...


The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
     above any other

attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
     the tid-bit compliments
     the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips

the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths

     a deadly kind of perdition
     for you, character fool
                    careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...

It is a ****

the amorous Self is
     harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
              fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
       in ruminations  
       N' stuff...

but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
        the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity

a thief of your ideas
     makes your dreams its own

It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
      like you it becomes
                   you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
      like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
                    yet alluring

The ******* that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
     far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn  
it is a war
      
with Self
the attention *****


Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host

what she now only has to give
in return:

assuage
her malingered spell

she breeds in you
     a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell

Abhorred.

Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions  
Possession
Suffocation
                     not much else...


No succor for the Self.

Oy!
sa an mo?
Where are you now?
These last days toward the brilliance
There's no immitation
Of Love

The next step up
Towards and pass the clouds
Beyond our sky
Where the void is star filled

The nights
So beautiful

We all dream to live
So ...

Maganda

Gabi

"Ito sa Tula'ng ko"

The lovely stars are brightest

In the dark,

Where we are

Magandang

Gabi

And your love is
One among
The stars

In the space
Where
Night is

maganda

Akin tula

Mahal na mahal

Ito.

"I Have A Dream, one day..." - MLK


What preferences did the shackled legs,
the whip gashed backs,
sister-child maid wife
what favorite tastes or memorable tune
did have
those seen as a lesser you?

Far African kingdoms without the murals
or architecture of mathematicians,
or the pomposities of golden circumstance,
no gilded marble halls or pillars
or streets of cold stones
no fashions for the sharp nosed
pallid under parasols
caricatures of indifferent beauty,

rather the abducted men from the other shore
have a realm as fine to witness
if not much more
cathedral ceilings of heavens
ever shifting in days and darkness,
diamonds not found in ****** muddy ground
as priceless and as pure
the wealth not considered but conditioned filth
the wilderness and otherness
abhorred,
the living landscape the abundant beasts
giants of profound creation
gentle and danger - not found but there
the expanse of hot suns' earthen bones
and further back beyond history
these mirages shimmering walls
of palaces that have wind and width of awe
for its halls...
What infant legs that ran with cheetahs
offend, the native cries along the chains
die with the weight of loss
not yet found - the kingdom of suns

the people removed of their crowns

made to hate and sold and laid to waste
ever the more thirsty then
in the wooden boon of ships
on oceans cannot drink.

What choice or gift of eloquent conquerors
allows another a life not lived?
And still ... this kingdom that is the life
we all see
creates from shackles the blues
everything new, no matter how often
the iron grip of times they ****
or assassinate the truth

We can always choose to see
the palace walls of heavens' surrounding kingdom
make soul and food and love
and hip hop

When freedom is absolute
the preferences or favorites once missed
will be no more a hollow well
when life is as equal to the  minds we share
and the times without fear

the lines will blur
because there is nothing more between us
to cross ...


(we all are rich when we have choices
to be free is to raise our voices)

Is Nothing a place ?

The person

No where's to hide

Inside

A Light

Because now nothing is

Impossible,

A Never's Been.

There is no fear

What the nightmares seen

Because Everything is

It just is

A profundity of brighter dreams

Light shines absolutely

Love is more

Some things are better than

Never's Been

Nothing

Before...

HONOR

Keep your word fearless
And build a life strong with Truth
a man lives to prove


CHIVALRY

The selfless kind, road
Warrior of deeper hearts,
Pursues (his) golden worth.

Spectrums to sound waves.
One infinite pulsing heart.
Synth to love you so...

Deep ocean star ship
Enterprise to stay alive,
go gently soaring.

LIL KALEIDOSCOPE

Peering through her smile
little sister's pinwheel flight
twirling motley skirts.



TOMB

Monuments of yore
stone temple sarcophagi
old gods' buried thrones.


DUSK

Poignant and dark faced:
sinking eye reflect cold depths...
I see how it feels.

This place by the water’s pull
Edge of a city receding
Mumble of industry hollowed by
Twilight sleeping
Civilization pretends deep its normalcy,
Niceties for pillows,
Worry for a dream…

Scattered pixie dust on mesa’s humpbacks, wide
Reflecting sallow on Mission stillness of surfaces
By the sea-music of the bay
The illumination as though
A Sadness : dim yellows once
An explosive gold
So bright before, it gave freely with pride.

Now stars less willing to wink,
Upon melancholy night : a canvas fogged
By deeper covering, similar to
These worries of making it right
All half-hearted before--
True dawn of someday

Half-living, my eyes,
furrowed for the fight
By evidence
Displayed : world in refuse
My own worry, silent
Scripting black this muse
The Dark Inkling
A painting heavy with reality’s
Disemboweling bruise
A painting of futures
On barren earth : embarking :
Our worry : a ruse
Unfeeling if only
A striking of flint-stones together
Just to evolve once more ...

                             The human spark :

                                Love our warmest fire
                                Tiny kisses alight the dark.
                                No worry for our stars:
                                A night sky full of choirs.

                                No fault but in our wars

                                I worry about such fire.

A poet has to feel something.

If nothing else

With All things / passionately penned /

Since Many

          have claimed "it's All good"

The things that a poet

Tells / in tapestry / the heart's voice

Like the undulating

Ocean's majesty

The emotions / drips /

scribbled /

Down

On Ethernet / digitized participles /

Note pad paper

Down to inadequate words

It is Written!

On a whim of joyous / pain

Whip it out ...

Something has to be emoted

Everything is  a la carte

So write

Something

In the poetry of / someone /

Not no one's or none-yer / business

A somebody

Who has to feel / this / that

You are

Something.


*(better than nothing)

To be without you

Means nothing to want

Attention.

Seems I'm jaded...

My eyes are Abyssinian

Searching for red laser

Point

On the walls,

On pedestrian faces,

And none will ever

Ever do.

But to be without you

Means I am

Nothing.   Wanting  

Attention

Nothing     Wanting

You.

Are you in them rivers

In these herds?

These lakes of

                     Lips

Kissing the silence of melancholy?

Means nothing

To want

Your poetry

Feeling much much more

Than

Pedestrian.

Friday night space-lights,
As we caress the hours,
Streaks across the sky.

Love for all its glowing praise

Be not so simple to reflect

Too many subtexts to explain

Layer'd lessons so complex.

Often times when reading the messages
poets metaphor in rhyme,
in reason and allusions and imagery

they say the same thing--as if they all of 'em took
a class together on love

they say "love is relative..."

relative to what?
to whom or how or when?
like a family member twice removed,
an aunt, a grandmother's warm smiling
invitingly familial

be it an impromtu emotion, described grandios
and Hollywood acclaimed,
love seems
     obscure
     demure
     fickle at times
     wishful
     blissful
     fervent even
     magically
     restless
     with its deliciousness
on and on so it goes / without saying too  much
how it will breathe
new life into those
     lackluster
those without
yet are
     consumed
     hollow

those without hope, suddenly are given it
     anew
vivid energy miraculously appears,
HD the world is seen / absolute brightness
faultless and star-filled
     clear

Yet it well can cause
our worst of fears
of wars / casualties / gruesome endings
   tragedies
   :a movie
with Shakespearean poetic pain,
the pentameter of the mortal heart
   sonnets of our human condition
   :a documentary
   of life

   conflicted
it is a cause many have and will bleed
for, some even die for,
searching and reaching out
whether in vain
or suffering in the pain find
awakenings

that's what it's all about ...


it is relative, to what or why
in life,
     pragmatic,
     fractal
human feelings reign -  yet a populace
of loneliness, millions of neighbors
never extend an open hand or invitation
so love can be difficult to find

in the sea of man, of many of a world separated
it strikes like lighning, they cliche
     quick
     unannounced
     unstable
it happens without warning, cupid's arrow
hits, discriptively it must be a wound..?

yes / yet no / unknown

it has begun: an end
to a means - a chemical thing
(hypothesized
in scientific circles,
I guess
just one of those undefined unexplainables)

like crop circles
in the wheat fields of the heart it is
sometimes
unpredictably appears
     obscene
     wild
     flavorful
     rigid
     rarely
     mean
     spirited
     ferocity
at times...
all the while

in nature's law of strength versus luck,
small prey to a predator : eat or be consumed,
love is not recognized (or is it? by the animal)

mate and procreate in their simplest terms.
Does a shark check out it's female before it decides
to release his *****--take it on a date, a swim in the riptides?
a bite of sushi first?

Empress bees and others with their queen-ruled colonies
birth a world from one,
does she feel the same for her thousands of husbands
fathers of her millions of children spawned?

love is relative... love is blind
another descriptive falacy
invented by folk without husband or wife or vision
nor same-*** partners : it is universally
known in these modern communities
of man-made homes
and tomes ... blind ... as if like a person, the word
unable to see,
inept of decisions, making a finale,

who will stay by the miens of our simplicity
flesh and feelings
     silent servants
     beguiling
     hidden
     treasure

Now imagine lightning striking
     suddenly
     real
     unabashed
     fulfilling
     electrifying
     sensual  
     salivating

far beyond restrictions of the flesh/ ***
past times and her finite
musings, they say it will go on and on

"forev'a ev'a? forev'a ev'ah"

so does the song repeatedly plays
so i say, as long as we are

still the masters of this life's age, kings of consciousness,
of intelligence and rage
Love tho'

     fleeting
     whispy
     liked
     quenching
     lessons-learned
aloft in flight
Love
will stay  
and as witnesses to war
or after : in peaceful days,

O the one true thing
I have seen of love's relativity:
love is relative to humans
and our
being
whether blind or whether seeing

(it's yours and ours  
heavenly
          seeking) ...







Free of will & full of meaning
Love is the truth
All Life is feeling...

Umbridging the gap

and the platitudes of word-******

     as well as the Encyclopedic pimps of posh

spiced with lingual ice...



          Because I am a simpleton

with a thirst for the Beloved

             and its discriptive meanings, I am

                       scholarly lacking

    Juxtaposing my script to refer

to references Grecian or urn,

                     enflagrante artisan

                            spurts with superlatives and

personified iambics of rhetorical lines

       limned with deep shagrin

              because my verbs are linear

even when my chicken scratch

                          struck midnight a match stick

flame to illuminate

         my poetic fluffer's formulae

              schisms from my own mind's magician hat...

Not to be-little or slight those hands walking

        that yellow the pages

                     with slothly seeking rote

              for meandering bibliographies

a librarian's histology fingers for Captain

Cook / exploration's verbose

           exploitation if at most

                   connecting dots treasured maps

of purposeful / placement for imagery

                         in the textiles

              of poetry's destined and enlightening

       cloak & dagger or a Throw

                        or a goose-down warmth

of Love / to blanket the night away

                           just as would a mother's / tucking in

                from the day's overwhelming

lack of reverances, referenced

             oh how to closely listen   / or live

                        beyond the history

to be in the moment

              comparing and sharing

     our joys and the power of now . . . keep it simple

because I am a simpleton with a thirst

                         with a thirst for the Beloved,

        the Truth of a promise / endowed Tao of Us. . .

Go ride the mountain,
Stand atop its highest tiers.
No words as witness.

Kamikaze bees
Death by jacuzzi drowning
In boiling chlorine.

This life is but a dream

Of sleeping beasts and hungry wolves...

I await the life that is

The dream of sleeping children

And kinder men

Some place elsewhere from here

Oh to begin again

Life

Our very own

Dream

Come true...

Three not blind, with cardboard sign
In Bold black sharpie ink,
Reminding neighbors of common mind
Kindly give a drink.

They put together what coins collected
A combined sum of wine or beer
Teamwork in winter cold deflected
Lessens the pangs and concrete tears

The guys are yours and also mine
Uncle grandpas and bro's alike
Vegas Christmas for good guy joe
The traffic lights as mistletoe

Blue concrete here as harsh as snow
With mobile bedroom / shopping cart
Grey as grime of blankets, throws
And layers of sweaters with reindeer art

With what I know and what I lack
Cannot and does not change the facts
They have melted into the city scene
If only I could gift wrap peace...

They could be you, your neighbors' drunk
Who's wives have left them in their dust
I wonder if they are thankful to wake
Or has the morn gone sour in shame

When day is gone, traffic at night glows
Green, yellow, red artificial burning coals
As the ground shines blue and gutter grey
Drains the fight inside as they walk away

We all become prisoners
Unable to make a change
For now at least make it merry
Till the sun returns in May

The cardboard sign reminds the bus
In this moment we are the same...