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 Apr 2018
L B
Turn the lights down
and remember me....
Aren't we still the same--?
in shadows
of incoherent innocence and beauty?
In the soft and limpid
florals of the spring?
Am I not the same--?
still warm, somehow?

My love--

Can we not, still make it here?
In ancient fires?
Turn me toward you, in your mind--
Wanting--
Erase the blight
with lips still seeking mine
Hair has drifted off--
the years
to catch the moonlight on a shoulder
as nothing else    will

ever

With something mined
from hearts and minds  

Touch me!
Make me forget!

time
 Apr 2018
Bee
Every step you take,
you are
                moving
                                 toward
your future, whether you realize it
or not.
Emerge like the rail road
that was once underground.
Each choice leads to a new narrative.
 Apr 2018
zebra
back in the day
rocks could talk
often
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic

so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time

we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old

and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day

the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
what the ****
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
method
an abstruse form of ritual magic

so from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out
 Apr 2018
r
I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.
This poem speaks of love between the poet and the poem not yet written, but wanted in the way we find ourselves wanting that anonymous, perfect lover somewhere out there in the uni-
verse.  Or something like that.  You may not understand what I'm saying, but I hope you know what I mean, Constant Strangers, poets and poems all, friends in our uni-verse, write me that perfect pome.
 Apr 2018
IrieSide
Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love
The tragic happenings of todays time.
 Apr 2018
L B
Cold today
but at least
the sun's
in play

Out in it

Wind talking
through mouthfuls of white pine
sweeping, swishing whispers
just enough to let the chimes
sing as bells
without bashing-- themselves
to dissonant trinkets

Music-muttering, free

Leafless shadows of the early spring
cold creeping 'cross
the yards toward noon
where they disappear
into a wood-chipper

What the hell is with my neighbors?

Why do people hate their trees?
Maybe 'cause they are not theirs?
Grown beyond them and their confines?

My tiny yard so feral
They probably hate mine too
But I belong to them  
and mine belong to me
They curve around, protective
my home of wind and bird and sky
swirling
cream 'n coffee
one into another
like  
Music sometimes
falling through itself into...
Sure--
know ******* a morning

I let them live

trees and neighbors

...as my mind smears into afternoon
4-7-18
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