Poet dances song in quietude

our dreams throng
down huckleberry roads


Unscripted spoken motion
Mosaic heart emotes

Hope

As he composed
Faces glow so
connect the dots
those consumed disposed


Knowing we're not broken
But in the art we form
as one whole - our garden grows...


Poet paints love with understated eloquence
visions of war neverwas

with every tear an ocean
with every dream a peace

a seedling springs.


Poet grants wish
Dances in the street
laughter as he weeps
beauty is what we seek

to lovingly keep
evergreen

and free.

Dark mundane corners'
hollow shadows are summoned
to Life's dancing flame.

Down the lonely depths
in her bowels of pressured pitch
brave, his tiger stripes.


Her inner most womb
where amorphous life ignites
closer to one dream


Submarine shelter
In Ocean's love, gravitates:
carnivore protist.

One of few
words that has no other definition
but itself both
written and referenced

with many synonyms similar
a muse universal and familiar
adds shade for heated
hearts all quite red

like a rose
it is it's own unique beauty,
long stemmed
Love
it is nothing but...

everything.

not Lust or Covet, for they are too brazen
and carnal with their hunger
unlike Love, which fills the need
steadily--in time, relieving the craving,
leaving contentment
then feeding others without requirement
of payment...


not Adoration or Crush
because they are still children
without the understanding
or compacity for self-sacrifice
which Love is familiar to
like years unconditional
this trust is a marriage between
naïve and wise...


not Passion or zealous Desire,
due to their one-sided tunnel vision
without compromise or sway,
almost indifferent to all else
but the prize at the end;
for Love has it's eyes in everyday
at all times in your corner


not Like or Fondness, for they are weak
in emotional life,
half devoted and half way gone
waiting for the other
to finish a simple thought
indifference is not a line to cross;
because Love cares for both
itself and yours and all the other,
"love thy neighbor as thy brother"

love is willing to carry the weight
always keen to always wait
no matter how long
or how late...


It is so wonderfully loyal
Love is
that it is at often times motivated
by a blindness for only it's devotion;

but true Love
does not worship
and sometimes must let go
to preserve it's integrity,

for if it is real
it will return with more fuel for the fire
to light the warmth of our hearth
higher...


Love commits fully
even unto death, whether star-crossed
or over time's deepening breath,
it is defined by each
and all
it's own victory and story...


Still,
one of the most difficult things is
to fall in Love
and never understand it

but you know it
like a lullaby from infancy

she whispers to you

do not fear

Love is always
here.

1.
Remember the puppet that you were

who thought himself
a real boy
still only just a boy

remember
like perusal of hate mail
        their postal telepathy
as though flipping through cellophane
photo albums of many nameless
faces

distant / detached / unmarred

Remember how you had
not known them then
                 floating on airs
ignorant  / clueless / willful
still constantly fair

like May flowers
in pebbled gardens

Self sacrificed fool
still only just a boy
and like all in their youth
selfishly optimistic
        a wide bellow
for the wide world
and untoward
night

Yet this life / its tangled strings
(tug & pulling)
with Geppetto's fermented footing

precariously
curious and nimble

such as
and / that boy was
quite...
           agreeable to a fault

happy to oblige a fly

But something else
also had its gravity
(pride for tiger stripes)
taunt
there within : an invisible string

to keep true
be mindful
be cool
(nimble thimbles cool)
searching  but not so...

"you will know when you find it
you, a perpetual student"

open
as pouring rain
always in awe of it
                                  all
dismissive of the drowning
barely afloat in city-scape

And now a real boy
living / colors / the lessons
of life  
            a dance  
     (Kick ball change)

carrying its rhythmic weight with
a style & a smile
always in all ways / in awe

Boy refusing to grow up
who's dreams are tall
Inside a lotus waits to open

Brown Eyes
         like quiet ripples

A dragonfly
on the pond

in our pebbled garden.


2.
Smooth stones
pave a path for bare feet
there's no use or need for dirt
on our way toward
peace.

no ripples on the pond
dragonfly wings - like glass...
clear of mind
tend to the life and health of our garden
that is the duty of Earth's wardens
a light to shed the night...

although the lotus may bloom
out of season, arriving late,
it is the wisest of all flora
knows to wait for the rain,

so here we are late bloomer
Lion of the southern gate of Maan,
looking for you ...

The circumference of every pond
is only valued by how deep
it quenches
the thirst those who drink...

my hands are empty
and what falls from heaven I will cup
that's my gift, overflowing, honest, open
Falling
up.

Dungeness landscapes
fear, an abyss blindly swims
(but) in my thoughts you glow

A conflagration
in liquid skies where we bathe
minds, a light to see

As deeply precious
a breath that remembers you
soaring dark chasms

Dread at failing Love,
I give a drop in the pond
my life for Gaia...

A magic nation
love for water will not thirst.
Imagination.


In your thoughts I (will) glow.

Can't remember

the last time I made love,

not the quick unarmored ***

gasping in a Friday night urgency,

tearing off clothes

with tiger-teeth and monkey-hands

no, making love:

like a gentle wash cycle

of lips on shoulder and nape,

simple looks of consenting thirst,

gorgeous shape of muscles

sifting into one another

glued in a slow, deliberate,

delicious dance

no conspiracy

no ulterior motive

but to know each and every niche

the highways of sweat and skin...



Can't recall exactly the date

of that last time

but I remember who

and I know how,

still remember those heavy eyes...


these searching hands between my legs


hot breath on my neck,

****--how that had made me melt:

considerate fingers playing deep blues

on my side, of my ribs,

rapacious thirst of oceans

dissolving into my august body

discovering sensitive spots to linger wet,

his mouth, I remember

pink caucasian  smoothness whispering

more & more my name - such authority on the kiss


As we become Las Vegas

bright lights & heat waves

hunger no longer an ache or crutch

I can't remember precisely

that last time I've been touched,

when my heart & soul felt

so much,


but I still can remember

the last time

with whom I made

This, like that

Oh! and How!

He had me

melt...

(Life is living art)

AGAINST THE BRICKS

****** leans
Against the bricks
Gotham gothic walls
Left thumb hooked on a pocket of his
Faded denim jeans
Right hand caressing a carnation
Steady

Ready to go
Mr. ****** in a James Dean glow

Mean
Black leather jacket
Shiny slick like
Ghetto pothole puddles
Wet lacking rain

Only street lamp
Spot light
Backstreet dangerous
****** leans with
A flower for Ms. Green

Come hither squeeze

He waits
There in the sallow
Glow
Another shadow
Against the bricks

Graffiti Canons spray paint art

Masterpieces
Within living scenes
Cool as concrete rain
Patient as an evening breeze
Passing moments
A Smiley face
Honest pain sculptures
Poetry is exploding
Street Glean

Art full in appreciating
brick walls

In his ****** lean
Worth is in / our noticing

This

Life's living work of Art.

Oh, The Bronx in the rain:
Slick city stones'         somber gloom

Oh late afternoon
so overcast with blues,
     Navy : leaves in tinsil sheen,
     Midnight : music and
Sapphires 

Where jazz becomes a dancing shadow
beneath light post misty
gold.

...

Outside the bricks are just bricks
but down there
lo lovers' tight embrace
in the fallow light showers
catching all eyes keen
to their PDA
(Public displays of affection)
as well as mine wide
Attention
Peliculas and tall stories
From a brown stone perch
while traffic whirls
           sleep now hurries
the city is slow as thunder rolls

loud
as blacktop oil slick roads
heavy as gutter water to
asphalt bones
This towns historic

Time stands still

In lovers hallmark corners shack
All wet in the gills,
fish kisses taught kids
how honey smacks
now that the audience is frozen
With anticipation,
binocular eyes
                          snapshot a Banksy / Monet
meadows of
raindrop brush strokes
chaos maelstrom
Wet dreams rivulet

All the while I am
Dry inside
Dying here!
At a pause / intently / intensely
watching
               neighbors in hooded moods.

This reminds me
how it must of felt / now
in this commotion
by mere emotions
so reminiscent

of the weeping and pain

wordless script
scene not heard
inside I'm still dry and
                            dwelling...
In need or is it wish
beginning to purr?

Still, in this stone dwelling
I am dry inside
         Trying to hide not
                         looking down
on those love birds,
A misty glow
               and oh suddenly
how I drown
when the two finally kiss...

drowning
        
                      without.




EMPATHY.

"And all I have are the embers of your fires..."*


A Tambourine, and the evening is beckoning
through the distance
of time : a serpentine road / echoes
the colorful blouses and silks
the memory of love's fire
casting lithe shadows outside the starry nights
fat with celebration
merely a breath from the walls
of this weathered tent...

You were a storyteller on my skin
your lips like fireflies igniting the dark
where only the cold unseen
had gone untouched
until the blaze of the starlight horizon
engulfs without consuming or burning us

you are wildfire magic
the emperor stag or wolf or stallion
and the world is one kingdom
with many heirs
and bright castles

There is a fire for keeping warm
and a fire so hot to shape iron into swords
you are both
mines in minds of wilderness

Every camp we make
a home to hold the embers glow

perchance we stay and mold stronger roots
claim the dirt and dig for gold
place a hat and dub a crown
nothing lifts like wind on embers

when love is not around
life is without fire
no warmth can be rendered....

when your love is not around.

BLEEDING
When broken feels raw
as a throbbing from a cut,
truth must weep as deep.

CLARITY**
Tears are no longer
loose and quick to disarray
how sight understands.

Listening to the ***** din of Sin

City streets

inside the concrete weight of dark rooms

the window ajar

to let the outside air in

while chain smoking to the Metro sirens'

soundtrack

of harpies' in heels

clucking and squealing

(laughter as sharp as their stilettos)

this & midnight overshadowing

black rubber tires burning on black boulevards

vehicular collisions'

sounds stalagmite, metallic

crunch

against the hum of sleeping traffic

signals

hollow city like a wide amphitheater

with the occasional Harley motorcycle's

thunder

waking car alarms

               a choir of infants' high pitch wailing...


The desert night's sirocco hiss

outside my 2nd floor apt. window

in a dark room

where my silence is a deep listener

and my mind a curious wanderer,

where the walls

not only keep out

but carry every conversation.

in such a cryptic void

a spark is gleaned,

a firefly wisp of an epiphany :

we are not separate

you and I

        city and fly

        burrow and groundhog

        dam and ******


we are unread books in dark rooms

waiting for the absolute truth

we find

in one another

to be known

to be seen


as we recite the past horrors

of loud pains

from a city that strips us numb

our pages open like Window panes

ajar...


no matter how ugly the chapters

we will have known

joy being

held within your hands

the story with you

is also mine /

we are

north & southern

swamp & willow

breath

sultry kiss  

Arriving,

humidity on skin

Sweat the nights awake

Until we're dusk

And it drains the sinew

of screaming city

Steaming shadows

shattering length wise

On bright carpets made of morning

Green grass and still

our day yet written

new

Our flight is departing now...



once a firefly in a dark room

a simple story

                a night sky full of stories.


each light

our eyes touch



fireflies

in dark rooms...

.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.