My father gave me the
Last of his wine.
Thus leaving the rest of that
Habit behind.
His eyes, once blue like skies
Over sea,
Were grey with regret when
He gave it to me.
The older you grow, the
Better it sits,
The bitterness clouding both
Wisdom and wits.
I'm glad he won't know
How well I understand
How much the bottle can
Steal from a man.
If anything's off in your
Body or soul,
If angry or lonely or
Not feeling whole,
The first things to toss so your
Boat doesn't sink,
Are the barrels and bottles marked:
Too Much to Drink.

She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.

It starts
in the quiet
itching in the fingers
like new skin knitting under blistered burns.

I have always written.
Before I had my letters
(before the lessons
with stubby pencils
curving sense out of the air)
I would scrawl nonsense waves
folding and boiling
in a crash of senseless surf
onto pages meant for pictures

I scribbled a whole Atlantic
before sense and sound
delivered the waves to reason.

I still find it hard,
when writing,
not to let the rolling sea
scatter into fragment waves
that whisper into the breeze of my fingers.

I have tried many addictions,
I have spent people like money.
I have tied my hands
to stop from fussing at the leaves.
If I ever loved I left it still spinning,
but I have never lost the itch

a pen to scratch its bleed of ink
into a sweet clean ****** page.
To scrawl my feint history
in every broken harbour
of her yielding skin.

Unreachable
Her motions bare the essence
That envelops you
Like a river

Untameable
Her whispers reveal the smoke
That blinds you
Like a mirror

Unmistakable
Her aroma awakens the heart
That warms you
Like a fever

Undeniable
Her touch reaches the soul
That cures you
Like a healer

I am the illuminated one
The light at the end of this road
I am the inspired one
Holding tightly to truths that are whole
I am the strong river flow
Unleashing my power, and when the wind blows
I am the unstoppable one
The chaotic whirlwind bringing changes unknown
I am the loving one
Reminding those who fear to let it all go
I am the understanding one
Whispering secrets to those that are closed
That they are the only ones
Who can stop these old growths
From swallowing their hearts whole
I am the one
The messenger holding your wishes close
Defending our right to grow
I am a soul
A complete part of the whole
I am the ancient warrior of old
Reminding our foes
You are the awakening one
As their illusion comes to a close

she gave me 5 stars
cause the BIG dipper
left scars on her psyche,
searing her soul,
touching her in forbidden places,
tapping new springs
of dieve and decadence

MOTHER OF GOD!

she screams,
tongue untied by throes of passion,
toes curl,
fingers engage
stroking wax off bikini strings

as she rolls over
to insert
a page marker
into my new anthology
of ****** poetry:

the BIG dipper!

coming soon to a booksmith's near you....

~ P
(#theBIGdipper)

On the day
her body burned
she asked the
winds to be
her friends
and they
picked her
up and poured
her through
the fingers of
their hands
like a river
without ending
that won't
be tied or
bound, until
every trace of
dust embraced
the freedom it
had found.