Our dear,

Poor Poet rich with words

Imagines heaven

Though feeling pain

As he sweetly speaks

Softly

About Love

He's been dreaming

To have, having none of that / of theirs

The same kind / gift /

Freedom without needing

Yet having no money to be so

Free

To fill the pages of this story...

Won't Cha? --Hell,

I wouldn't but they'd **** for it:

Papal / Power / Paper

Control over the masses

But No, not my brother, he's my heavy

Not the earthly wonders

In the brown deep eyes

Of mothers

And see into mine / our hours

The surfaces reflecting

Of Love

The poetry of us,

Dearest

Poor Poet rich with words...

Reticent in his ruminations:

Excalibur sometimes sheathed in stone.

Candelabras in castles of his imagination

Likens not to bloom to vain applause

Uninvited eyes of guillotine judgements

Sensitive as he is to compliment guffaws

E**eks out existence, collecting curiosity & moss...

New
To this plasticity,

Grey matter in a nimbus
Mind as infinitely hollow as

A galaxy or dungeonous dream
Lost to the starlight oblivion

Of distances we place
In the familiar / fealty and touch:

Our human gravity
Spirits and superstitious will

Heavy by testaments and old teachings still.
Yet war has been our

Problem-child
And like the parents that we are

These days, digital,
We are unwilling to accept its prognosis

Nothing more can be
Poured into a vessel,
Nothing more can be fed into the flame,

If ash and black
Lift into the sky…

It will be alien

To even try to
Resurrect another age

When there is no warmth or
Use for light

In a world that has become
alien…

(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.

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

THIRST


Oh hollow Thirst!  

How it drowns life's liquid scenes,

All trenchant memory now

dries the tongue;

When recollection swims with dire aches

In the stomach lingering

Deserts  

once oasis-providence:

              the ease of us

              sifting with the sand

Minutes limpid between caress

Creation our chalice overflows

Quenching in and each other

Love for water

As the hours go touching vastness'

That open us / our heaven's sky :

Illuminating in you

Both assuage and succor...

          But I am drought and man

          Flesh heavy / crawling through

         War's searing hills

         Chafed of what made me fearless . . .

         A Traveler discarding haste,

Still Thirsty for those palm trees’ shading moments

Still just pictures of bodies felt

and yet still feeling.


It is as though an affliction’s game

To wait

Between search and weaning

No swift elixir

I am just a bare tree leaning

praying for love's rain...


This Thirst is deeper than remembering

The drink that once was Us.


.  .  .  .

HUNGER

Halcyon: bathing in your adoration,

Nothing so sinful, or miniscule, as to need

Redemptive rinses and the spirit

When we were

As what we only knew how to be

Ourselves yet together sharing feasts


Which we lay out for each other

Ceremonious only through having its discovery

Knowing to trust in this (which is between us)

Oh How to feed the hunger I have longed for

Softer than the dew on skin

When we have the outdoors with our mischief

Attentive as the grass when we look within…



These eyes that pierce me now

Understanding / how my breath shivers

With the slight tips of tender fingers

Through a body famished and weakened,

Needing

The food from in between kiss and spark

On a smile that shares heaven’s glee

In each other’s sensations, feeling the answer

Rather than being told to eat



Reverie of wines tasted, the lifting of all things

To a memory, yet not having the full course

Of dining with serenity, finding that destiny

Has yet to begin

When love was the race I was questioning

Kind supposedly human

And dreams came true with happy endings?



Hunger can make the world seem cruel

When we give up on searching for meaning

We ourselves make

The feast from meals

with our believing …

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...

Blossoms in Springtime
burst like  Japanese kisses:
how to love haiku.

Poetry IS - Love,
made malleable through the eyes
that behold beauty.
It's Life, and the Love of Life, malleable.
Poetry is to be Touched,
to be moved by
and with love...



09132016

Poetry is
A song of words
A dance of exuberant emotions
A grace
               Full of gracious
(A)         Lover's kiss.