1.        Dying of a day /     reflections


on surfaces of oceans


burnt umber, blue, and blood

the sinking sun

                       wounded

death is red


before the dark         / ruins...



2.

It is the sensation of ripples
when supple pink linguist
leaves poetic yearning

fires touching
on nape and taste,

lifting countries and new
conquered kingdoms
of skin

gooseflesh and earthquakes
blood as lava

rushes in
     kabuki cheeks
          secret joy begins

red and parched

sudden seas of thirst
parts / our senses / must
breathe ...
(like art)

Magic whispers kiss
because touch enpassioned
is red
    and wish.



3.

Love lorn letters

poetic bliss
     spontaneous wings born


each ache and void
trumpeting words

when distance fails
the hearts which speak

red

the oceans felt
the tides that ebb
hurried pleas

desperations
red

when letters
lose the dying magnitude

the importance
and impetus

that love must free

clarion song
of hearts are red

as are all
kisses (scarlet)
even to air
and dead

begins on such lips

red....

Excitedly I say once,
"if love was a substance,
if only more than
some sort of word, more concrete
if only"

rather than heard
in song made wispy or absurd
instead bold in your face apparent

a freakshow, cirque du taste
such theatrics (once) those lips
the film noir of your thrilling face.

Undeniable you
unabashed like a growth
to the left
a mole on your kind skin
red lipstick puckering miss Monroe
eyes that ooze dreamy

How I always noticed you (once)
saying "Ooh look here, this is love"
pointing to that dot
but i know love is more than
a tiny tiny blemish (Marilyn's coy mole)

once a beauty marked me
with what was quick draw and newly raw
touch with much whirling
such were we
openly exposed to

Love : Effulgent

All things of wealth imbue
matters less now
than the absolute truth

golden glow not many know
what all we felt
suns, dawns, and throne

So wretchedly loudly
made so obvious / where we partook
if briefly donning heaven in our looks

hold on
my arms - keep hold
i say to what was once

love now as heavy as you're letting go

caustic as your doubts
as I remember saying
"look here -- once, this was love"
now just a gesture
where stands my shadow

as I regret
not informing you : "should of kept your eyes open
during the fall
should of kept honest is all..."

If only love to you
was of some real substance

beyond misty hours or
something like
the prose of rain to heartache
empty like open doorways of us before

because

once is now
no more.

The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision, his statue'd youth

Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as a bouquet
Nostalgic now to go / see his love.

Alas when sight was fragrant...

He carries lilies out the door
Old and blind
A man holding memories
Of bright befores...

Alas when sight was fragrant.

I am an eagle with wingspans
Of impossible delights
Who argues with it it's flight

In a sky without the light
Incapable to be free

I am now a ghost
Here reading poetry
It's living years:
A breeze through eyes
Filled with tears

A gargoyle pacifying all fears
Past the night

This is a wish, a kiss, deep
A hopeful sigh
Hands bound, fingers clenched
For Love to deliver me
From here/now
To a place called perfection
Infinitely

I am fish/sparrow
Swimming in the in-between
Looking to always see...

No end to the ends

Sunrise and free.

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.

I hear your stress from down the hall
Not yet having let go
Of the static / hard day's work
Your voice sizzles
Like rain on sidewalks
I hear you
"Did you set the alarm
for the morning?!"

"Of course I will!"
Unfolding with purposeful hands
Your side of the California
King
Fluffing your pillows
Soft intentions trying to still you
From here

Tomorrow breaks with a panic
As dust on all the old clocks
Settles like snow
from the cold of such silence.

Forgot to set the alarm
And to wake with you
(In you)

That morning

When did I begin
To forget?

how to love the world
you left
behind
me...

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

Where each Choice begins,
some are quick to find its end,
the wise journey on.