Show me
true beauty
how waves
break the shore
into individual grains
yet each contains
the whole
crystalline universe
reflecting light
renouncing midnight

Leave me not
upon the sand
barefoot and stripped
recounting sins
to the weary wind
return my heart
to loving grace
salt-scrubbed chambers
cleansed of hate
tenderly reborn

let love
rise from this
arid ground
clear water drawn
from a deeper well
with cupped hands
tend the seeds
so we may eat
of the bounty
that rightfully belongs

to no one

Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.

Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.

There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On  with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"

Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.

So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.

I can separate fact from fiction,
one is heaven
the other
a prison

Which is what, is in intuition,
and I'm missing it, mostly
but that's your religion

Suddenly, life comes crashing in
calling you to participate or leave.
Run or stay, either way life wins, you die in the end.
Spin that roulette wheel, red or black
place your bets, live or die.
What if living is a form of dying?
And dying a form of living?
Who are we to conform in this beautiful carousel of life?
Why do we have to live by rules?
Who made these rules?
Rules are made to be broken.
Hearts are made to be broken.
Why try? after all no one gets out of death alive.
And no one alive gets out of dying.

She accepted
the crayon
and drew
a transparency
to step across
the mirror.

Living on
horizons
long forgotten,
she sprang from fire,
her love affair,
a tale of fairy.

The baobabs grew,
feeding on her,
shredded the glass.
A darker night
devoured the moon,
diluted her crayon.

Then came the day after.
She rose
and drew a crayon.
She accepted lucidity
feeding on transparency.
She took a step.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." - John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989)

*As a child I loved you Mork, as an adult you taught me the fine line between laughter and despair.

After reading your plea good lady,
I really can't deny
this fire burning in my *****
as your words pass by my eyes.

After reading your plea good lady,
I'm happy to oblige,
soon all sound will be muffled
by your enveloping thighs.

After reading your plea good lady
there were no words to be said,
so I'll kiss your pretty flower
while you moan and give me head.

After reading your plea good lady,
to your front door I will roam
and sort you out, quite properly
before your man comes home.

After reading your plea good lady,
sit back and watch me burn
then tease a little longer
us men, we never learn.

I was born with curly hair,
a bubbly laugh
and a blue eyed stare.

I was born with freckles on my nose,
always a need to know
and a reason to share.

I was born as part of a vanishing twin,
always preferring to be by myself
and always knowing I wasn't alone.

I reabsorbed my other twin, the
chromosomal abnormality, a blighted ****
if you will.

I put my duality down to this abnormality,
yet, always wanting to know,
my curiosity always on show.

I wonder why I came to be?
With the other me fading away.
I look for others with my freckles, blue eyes and grin.

I've never found her or him.

I was born a half of a whole,
maybe it's why sometimes I'm light, other times dark.
My twin left its mark, but, I think I'm the dark half.