They come off my vines,
All ripe and fine,
Sun kissed to a rich,
Deep red glow.
All varied sizes,
Into my upturned
Shirt front they go,
ultimately they overflow.

I can not resist,
Popping a few Cherry
Ones into my greedy,
Salivating mouth.

Tomatoes, Natures own,
Summer sweet candy,
Directly off the vine.

Not many days left,
To enjoy the show.
Hopefully there will be,
another bounty next year.

soak it up
more than you know,
spill it out, poetry

Yes, I may get sour, even  
Angry, at things where my
Reaction has effects.

Caring little about spending
Myself on distant affairs,
I am an ambassador of common

Decency. Not some moral police,
But a surrenderer of seat
To an elder standing in the

Aisle. I'll find the owner of that
Dog left out in the rain. You may
Be a brother to me; still

I'll ask you to keep your
Voice down if I see
That it bothers

Others. I've been that guy myself.
A thirty-something-year-old acting
Fifteen, making others change tables,

Or even leave the premises.
I've taken up more space than I
Require. I don't wish that

Retrospective shame and regret
On any of my friends.
I'll not throw a stone at a sinner,

That I haven't already
Flung at a
Mirror.

Between volumes and syllables.
From a piece of paper
Folded with smitten hands and
Hidden between

Books of lesser interest to a
Young heart in first love,
To the isles and isles of scrolled
Knowledge lost in the blasphemous

Fires of Alexandria, my story
Remains only for as long as I
Do. Punctuations and dreams
That will forever matter less to

Another than their own. My
Story is my doing. My being.
My loves and dislikes.
My failures and successes weigh

Exactly as little as names of
Kings and gods long forgotten,
When printed with other drops
Of the same ink as theirs.

I love my girlfriend's answer
To questions of an afterlife:
*"I hope it all ends when it ends.
I have been given enough.

Give my space to other souls.
All I am; all I have,  
I am comforted to think I only
Borrow."

Pink marmalade
smeared all over my face,
traces of pistachio ice cream
on my lips,
chocolate icing on my fingers
& Tupelo honey on my toes.
Are there any dreamers
still around,
thinking of leftovers,
sweet tasty leftovers.

How is it that love
can come calling
from the street down below
as you stand on a balcony
feeling the heat,
listening to the sounds of the city

Leaning on an ornate rail
of spiraled steel
allowing the sweet music
to flow past potted evergreens
and glass top tables

How is it love
knows the lingering need
after a sunset sweeps
past the last dream
defined with eyes closed

It finds you in the moments
your mind searches for a sign
pointing in some unknown direction
challenging traffic to obey
crossing lanes into your heart

How is it love
reaches that place you did not know
was open, knocking on the door
waiting for you to answer
with an unknowing smile on your face

Seeking entrance to the deepest parts
where weakness lives
and shields are lowered
Breathing in the scent of the magnolia
you nurtured to bloom

How is it love
can find me at last
and I can not touch it

the make believe of childhood reads
always seemed the most real-
to me

My brother was three
I five
My father had
The money to spare

Bought us toys
Unannounced

Nothing big
Treasures yet
Beyond adult
Imagination

Guns
Tiny pistols
One themed Batman
One Pink
Panther

The tired young father
Never forgot my brother's
Little hand around
His piece of innocent
Hardware
Fast asleep

Not letting
Go

So

Tell me if I love you
Too fast
Too
Tight

My hand is on you
Always

Now