They say that Love is but one step from Heaven,
And about Love there is not much else to tell;
But in its absence, our steps are misguided.
How true ...... I've already got one foot in Hell

From a pallet of black and white
Sketching with my mind making
A poem which you must color in
Out of the of a dimly lit consciousness
The yet unborn is given form an idea a
Meaning that needs expression to be made
Clear Important as it once was such as
Charity when first she sprang from the
Human heart as Divine love  The Child
That was forgotten returned to the womb
The seed was planted before time began is
A new creation that I but sketch in prayer
That you may know her in all her glory


For  Debbie Ann

An honourable account
Of sympathy 1, 2, 3, 4, deferred
Finally something contained but
Lastly nothing.

I fortify puddles night and day...
That ***** grass grows by
And willow trees that twist and knead
Into crisp faces that
Pose for me.

Oh! Wood Coven!
Questions 345
What unknowing awareness they show, what membership
My cobbed old feet can't follow.

A successful heart with fearful veins
Taken lore-y blood for bishop doubts
From chambers of marbling fat
On a ****** run.

I found online that
People were scared of me
But in person they didn't care
I wonder if they dream so hesitantly
Or if they sleep just to wake up
On a pillow that smells like their wife's arm
Neutered, like feathers clipped short

Perhaps with that I'll choke
On a wishbone of some bird
Or my bones, brown like civilised wheat
Will nourish some fat lip
I'm not sure of that

O, an honourable account.

The snowflakes
they taught me
that something so
blindingly soft
can set delicate skin alight
Causing scorched red fingertips
I set my hands on fire as I bury them
A white inferno
Because memories
these memories
are screaming at me
A cauldron of tender moments and anguished faces and plans that have yet to be fulfilled, and never will be, and brusing and dying dreams and brilliant words laced with tired tones
And I wish I could burn them, the memories, like photographs
In a blaze, they'd all disappear
nothing but smoke, a warm whisper, of something forgotten
But the snowflakes
they taught me
the pain is only present
when I stick my hands in too deep

I love to dance
I like the way
The colored light just hits your skin

I love the way
It tends to stay
So surfaced, and just not sink in

I like how I can smile and laugh
I like how you can run a chat
I love how both of us can tell
We'll never make it close to that

I love to dance
I like it how
My every thought is in the now

I love it when
My guard is down
And all that I tend to allow

I like how that drink tends to sit
I love the way it makes me think
I know the paths that I might take
I love how it just makes me sink

trickling soliloquy's
of a thousand suns
melting forth from the
great abyss
of distant
oblivion

She took me too close
to mother nature's
flowery face
a place
of constant
birth
and
death

.

.

reflections of self,
nature is I
and I nature
at my humblest
roots

Where now is the ancient volcano that
Towered above the land belching fire?
Ir is an atoll with a lagoon wreathed in
Coral Its depths the inverted mountain

The past is still with us changed  Time
A wonder that cannot be remembered
Freed by its dying to be reborn again
Everything has its season and when it
Comes anew its character is gilded in
The aura of before that is its splendor