you are the prettiest women
I ve ever seen.
I ll give you my heart
if i m allowed to dream

white lace dress and red sweater,
you are the tender love,
and if you let me hold your hand,
and walk you home,
and to perhaps kiss you.

you are the prettiest woman
I ve ever seen
and i ll give you my heart
if i m allowed to dream.

i'm sitting in a corner,
blue as a flower,
saying a prayer.

that room

I ve written
about that room, above the bar, often.
that there were shadows,
no windows,
but I really don't remember?
window, no window?

but whenever i tried to look up
there was the angry sky
chasing hope around narrow streets          

and those bits and ripples
of rain long asleep

casting shadows across
windows distant,
down my window pane.

do you ever think of me?

(written while sitting in a dark room
starring into a rain splashed window).

I'm just a sparrow
longing for sky
and if I had wings
I could fly.

the cops are at the door,
open the window,
toss me my running shoes.

out the window I went, left heaven,
down to the narrow street
into the welcomed night.

(my fair weather fade away.)

you have the prettiest eyes
the sky ever knew

so please don't be surprised
to find me one day at your window

some cold december night
holding plastic flowers for you

so love the thief who tried steal your heart,
and plastic flowers never fade.

"come in, come in, part the curtains.
I'll tell your future.

i tip toed in...heavy night
beyond the door.
the curtains parted rippling
like water circling a deepening hole

and the face of shadow moans,
"you seem to be looking for answers???"

"well, yeah, does the size of the tombstone
tell how much you are loved,
or how much love you gave?'

"sit down," the shadow tells me,
i'll dust off the prayer wheel,
tell your future."

"when i was a kid
i dreamed in shadows
and whispered to the night.

i know the future.

the dead go to places
they will only know."

the face of shadow offers
roses cupped in wistful hands.

the shadow dissipating,
petals from black roses falling to the ground.

the window shut.
the clock had stopped at 9 a.m.
the door left open.

now, you've come to haunt me.

I hear you, an old song,
and when I turn around to see
who was behind me
your eyes flicker like a distant star.

shining gray, brittle and blue eyes
as blue as the cobalt night,
and your smile sets the night
on fire.

I had held you in my arms for too long,
too long ago.
you, a denim ribbon tied into a bow.
me, the dreamer of what might be.

the elusive love,
I had put a rose on that certain box,
the day you walked out. so

every ending is a beginning
and when I m down by the river,
when on the green grass
the dew gleams,
I ll say I love you,

but for now,

you look great.
I'm glad to see you are happy.

(and so I'll see you in distant stars.
I'll hear in an old song)

and so,
I'll just say goodbye.

you are the moonflower,
and the sweet fragrance
of night blooming jasmine.

the mysterious, magical beauty
of a single night.

It is the passionate night that holds you.

nothing lives forever,
not the stars scattered in the skies
nor the sadness reflected in your eyes.

hold my hand, blue flower.
hold my wistful heart
tangled and intimate
in our distant romance.

the oak trees rustling in the wind.
there is something cold in the air...
the fleeting bloom of the night's flower.

oh, flower of the night,
the night will never release you.

a solitary tear falls. I draw the shades.

MARS:

the shrieking horse
pale as death

in flames,
madness and anguish.

soldiers ride the mare on fire
across dark lakes,
down vast caverns into the fire

flesh and fire tumbling slowly
thundering
thundering
tumbling slowly
spectral light emanating from
wide open eyes, anguish and madness.

then shattered glass, enduring night, and war.

the sea gulls chanting,
the sun rising

shooting fields of fire
dancing across
the rise and fall of the sea.

she is standing by the shore.

the beautiful loser
floating lonely
like a storm cloud
ripped from the night sky.

she smiles the sorrow away
with a beauty so hidden and delicate,
distant eyes as grey as the sea at dawn.

she robs my head
sending my heart

floating
like a feather lifted
by a wayward wind.

she does her sky dance
on the sea shore
jumping
here and there
like sand fleas
across the beach
and wants for nothing more.

beautiful loser,

I see she is crazy.

and I want some of her madness.

her blessed madness.

heart of sadness
follows the eyes
of madness
into the scream of night.

who dares to dream
in a starless night?

war and peace then war and love

and all nightmares are real
staring into

a starless night,

and all we have
are the flames
stolen from a screaming night,
and all we have are each other.

the bird takes flight
into a starless night

into the long, lonely why
of endless sky.

trapped bird must fly
or surely she will die

I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.

I was always turning around to see
who was behind  me
and there in lies the danger
and so the past holds me in its arms...

...the tip of your cigarette glows in the dark.
(the light without a flame)

you are sitting in a chair.
I m sitting in a chair.
we don't speak.

that is my everlasting memory of you.

the fire had taken flight.

you bought books and never read them.
you always used too much perfume.

I had no time for you, lonesome dove.
my heart of sand,
but thunder now follows my heart,
with the perfume of things lost.

in the meadows above treeline
the wildflowers are in bloom
turning time into sunshine:
the indian paintbrush, green orchid,
yellow columbine, heart-leafed arnica

and climbing through the rain into sunshine
our shadows stretched across a cloud

and my love's surprise
echoes across the mountain side
to the bow river
and snow-covered mountain tops.

it is an angel's song, gentle and sweet
where the wildflowers bloom
and our hearts are always free.

Alberta.

beautiful flower

carried away in the storm
laid down in a thicket of thorns.

who will morn
the dancer and sinking sky?
the raven with a broken wing?
who will cry for you? O, flower
folded in the forgotten book of sorrow.
now, a shadow and a name and a tombstone.

my flower, my rose without thorns.

I'm gonna get my shotgun
climb the water tower,
shoot the stars full of lost tomorrows.

Nietzsche knew of the waiting abyss,
those inside and those outside.

...Bobby's wife is *****, murdered.
he gets a gun, tortures
and slaughters the 3 men.

the entire movie theater cheers. some clap.
we've had our fill.
(transitory though it is)

we've realized in the husband,
the animal lurking in all,
not hidden, but not acknowledged,
our dark light rising from the mist
of primordial quicksand,
the mirror facing the mirror.
the monster fighting the monster.

and we are pleased.

sunset settles behind the trees
and the mayflies rise from the creek
to touch the water to deposit eggs.

the mayfly lives a day, a single night

and in twilight's glow
they rise and fall
in a delicate ballet
to caress the water,

this romance with flowing water,
so brief, so beautiful.

why do I always ask myself
is this
the most ..cked up
I ve ever been
when I m too ..ucked up to know?

(hey, maybe I m not fcked up??
maybe this is the way humans feel
all the time
maybe this normal and everyone else
is fcked up!)

(lost the thought, what was I thinking, anyway? aaAAH,)

why do I always ask myself
is this...???

she had a wicked kind of motion,
a cold beauty
with the radiance of a sunset dying.

Jack had seen her,
had seen her walking
the sidewalks and streets
that are too dark for dreaming,

the acne scars on her cheeks
had left faded marks,
with her wolf spirit longing
to be unchained.

the sudden rain drumming on the roof of the car.

and Jack was no stranger to sad streets,
the sidewalks and tenement caves,
strangers in a crowd laughing.

his sad eyes, two black eyes,
another fight,
he looked like a raccoon.

he came around the car
as she knew he would,
took her in his arms,
kissed her and when he withdrew
from the kiss
she felt his warm breath.

Melissa was from Montana,
had left her husband.

just one more nightmare to try
and understand
and so Jack didn't want to know, why,
He didn't ask

and she is the one women
that never took the smile
from his face
and some loves forever to ring true.

2 souls in the fire.
one heart.

I rollover on the bed
face the wall
stare at the lines and cracks.

I give the wall a talking to,
tell me lies. I'll tell you my lies.

and i'm telling the wall,
the future looks bright. i'm planning
my own crazy, this time,

i use a black magic marker,
draw a wide rectangular
picture window across the white wall, then

sand, seashore, and sea stacks in the ocean.
can you smell the salt air?
i'm asking my wall.

don't look at me cracks,
like that.

the wall sighs,
and the bones of this old building
reply with a moan.

i'm inventing my own madness, so

look,
the sand pipers
are darting here and there
across the sand
avoiding the gentle lapping of the waves.

and the long wing shearwaters
flying low, gliding,
just barely above the tips of waves.

i'm planning my own foolishness.

some loves last for so long
like a song without a name
and you never know
when love will walk into a heart

and I'm going to run
far away
from sidewalk ledges
rooms with cracks in the wall,
far away from here.

and, Oh, wall, hang not the albatross around my neck.

a tribute to  Dave Roskos, poet.

at the Poet Wednesday
a long, long time back
in Woodbridge, I heard
the poet, Dave Roskos,
and the one line that rings so true,
a bittersweet, one word, symphonic waltz
the one line i 'll take to my grave.

"2 flies ******* on my coffee cup."


BEAUTIFUL, Dave Roskos, poet.

little leaf, reaches for the sky.

rides the wind, hugs the sun.

dreams with a voice of love,

only knows love.

delights in simple joys.

little leaf, dreams of an ice cream cone.

(a child at play in the park.)

the church bells,
the church bells,

the church bells are ringing.

the angels are singing
the sad refrain of the dreams
of us moths into the flame

that leave us grieving of the ringing
of bells.

the church bells,
the church bells,
heavens and hells,

a spirituous mist
has brought us to our leave

with the summoning ring of the bell
falling silent.

"strange creatures we are,
you and i," she gets up from the couch,
stands in front of me, looks into my eyes.

"shot in the heart
with cupid's crooked arrow,"
and then she sighs, "an ill fated love."

"hey, you left me moaning in pain,"
some sorrow in my voice, "for far too long so
feel for us creatures
seeking love,
afraid to lose the love
once given like sunshine
on a spring day." I take her
into my arms

and her cheek rests against my cheek
and she whispers in my ear, "you could
tap dance and juggle at the same time."

rain tapping against the windowpane.

"our distant stars
riding the cosmic train.

we are joined together
in some beautiful gift
that we will never be able to understand."

"*******." she tells me, and smiles.

(Tap dancing, love. and riding the cosmic train.
a lost art.)

these things.

these things you do
on the 4th of July
at an age
without thought...

things happen in front of
Madam Maria's...
(things happen
on the boardwalk
in Asbury Park...


...the police officer,
with a glee in his eye said

he was going to put
me in the cell with
Big Mortimor,

the happy tone in his voice
(and it worked.)
I was ******* myself,
serial killer
hit man for the mafia,
******... roommate...???

this isn't about me,
what brought me here
to the city yard ...

as it turns out,
it was Reverend Mortimer
from Our Lady of the Perpetual Motion.
the issue it seems was
the sisters.

the Sisters of Perpetual Motion,

for a $20 donation and up
a sister will love you.

more later, about the reverend, but back

to what brought me here
to a cell in the city yard
of Asbury Park.

as I reflect on what brought here
(vaguely)
to the city yard of Asbury Park

ah, fight.?

I had said to her,
your boyfriend,
"he's only over compensating
for his receeding hair line
and feelings of inadequacy,

ah, ah, a fight went down, I believe.
(I didn't know I had hit
the mayor.)

what more can I say
about my stay,

in the City of Asbury Park ?

the sisters???

that things happen
and you end up
in a cell
in the city yard
in Asbury Park
with a room without no view...

...oh, back to Reverend Mortimer. apparently

the. U.S Constitution,
NAACP, ACLU.

it was a religious issue. AND SO, FREE

the Reverend Mortimer threw a big party

with the Sisters of Our Lady

of Perpetual Motion!!!

ferocious beauty,
abandoned heart,
your blue green eyes
seemed like a window
to a fire

and so you thrilled me
like an old rusty bridge,
sweet things, and mountains.

we are what we are.
desperate, Darling,
fated like all living creatures.

if we didn't fear death,
how could we love

the wild flowers in the meadow,
coffee in the morning,
the joy in the smile of our children,
the warmth of our bodies touching.

you are the flower of the meadow

and I am the one to lie beside you
into endless tomorrows.

casts huge leaf shadows on dirt
and the mockingbird's mocking me.

"mockingbird,"
I put my hands in my pocket
and pretend a smile,
"some things you can't out run,
church bells and a wedding dress,
funeral processions and baptisms,
the cop car radio,

she was so beautiful in her wedding dress,"

I'm pointing my finger up at the mockingbird,
"so I'm a few steps ahead of you in heartache,

it was a toss of the dice,"I tell the bird,

"I threw a handful of rice."

"so don't look sad at me, bird.
everyone gets hurt."

and on her branch in the sycamore tree
the mockingbird's crying to me...

"I'm a few years ahead you...
Sweet One, lonely bird.

I've walked through fire,
stared into the wall of shadow and sorrow
into the cold silence of tomorrow.

I hear what you're telling me, Dear One,
loves been a little ******* you, too,

and there in illusion lies the danger
so please be kind, my friend,

the sorrows that never seem to fade away
become the grey, dark sea,
and sunlight through the Sycamore tree.

the mystery of delicate petals unfurling
into forgiveness.

the forest of evergreens and silent flowers,

oh, tender heart, my love,
the gentle spirit when days are more gray.

walk with me through the riddle of
the silent and cold universe,

the sometimes warm and starry sky,
across clouds, the moonlit landscape
of mountains and snow.

run with me
naked under the flower moon.

she smiles, oh, that flower moon,
locks her arm in my arm,
hands me tiny purple flowers,

and says, it's only love.

there was a wishing well
on the boardwalk. a fountain

spewing yellow and blue water.
I reached into the pool

grabbing change.

crossed the street
and spread the wet
green change across the bar

and got a beer.

2 a.m.

just in time for the turtle races.

so I rushed across the street
to get money for beer
and to bet on the race.

she was kneeling
in front of the wishing well.

she told me her name was Destiny.

the green-dyed water
dripping from her clenched fingers.


DESPERATE LOVE was the turtle
we picked. a 40 to one shot.

Destiny and me
spread the wet change
across the bar,
placed our bet...


...right after the fight
the cops arrested Destiny. the green

dye. she never washed it off
her hands, her arms.

Desperate Love came in first.
I took the winnings and bailed
Destiny out of the county jail.

it was love at first sight.

...meanwhile,

we're back at the wishing well...

when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.

a sword through the shoulder blades
into the heart.

we can only hope for such a death.

the bull's lament, fate, no destiny.

no one chooses their end.

(the bull'death understood.)

pocket full of pennies
rolling across the kitchen floor,
down the steps, out the door,

pennies running into the street
(and i'm right behind them.)

"where do you think you are going? and
I'm feeling a bit embarrassed, so i whispered.
"you belong to me,

to keep or to throw away." and

there s a light tap on my shoulder,
and the policeman tells me,

"better find them soon
before they turn to rust,

I couldn't find mine
and I'm sure they turned into dust."

and the echoe from the hole
in my pocket shouts,
" his dreams are
trying to find the waterline."

i did find a few of them, a handful,
(I had swiped my hand as they tried to roll away)

I did grasp a few

but some of the other
pennies i threw into the air
where they may have fallen,
I know not where.

she crosses the line
black hair shining
like the raven's wing
alive like a bird in flight

eyes, soft, so complex

like a church's stain glass window

the sky above,
the sea below,

are not as blue.

and her seductive, smiling face,
lips blowing shadows,
courting lovers

a little risk involved,
a little madness necessary.

she'll steal your heart with passion
to set the night on fire,
spread the smoldering ashes across a page

and dance ballet while strumming
your heartstrings.

some jump into the fire,
and some are never free.

that flash of fire, art,
a savage love
as there ever was
burning through the canvass,

but when

she smiles...

have you ever seen

moonlight on the lake?

the moon whispering

to the water lilies,

the lilies white as the lace of a bride's gown.

have you ever sat on a log

contemplating the mystery
of a cold and distant romance?

2 hearts
forever longing to,
but not able to embrace

separated by endless night...


...wild birds are singing,

and dawn's sweet chorus
chases away the sad, lonely moon.

have you ever heard the moon
loves the flowing water,

loves the mortal music
of earth-borne water lilies?

I was in my rocking chair
and I asked my son,

"open a can of beer for me,"
and my son said...."sure
Pops."

"the bar was open,
then sometimes open, wait

where was I going with this,

any way, my mind wanders,...oh yeah,
nothing is free

and Son, humanity is doomed,
trust no one,
especially neighbors
who fly the flag

and when you're dead,
you're gonna be dead,
for ah long,
long, time.

so have fun when ever
and where ever you can,

get me another beer, will you?

and keep clear of moonlight,
and walks along the boardwalk,
and women with eyes
as blue as the ocean,
women who smell like wildflowers
scattered around a mountain pass

they become the snowflakes falling in summer

ah, well, anyway

trust the woman who knows
your heart,

pure of heart,

a lover to hold you close,
the candle flame touching the wick

of the candle and son

grab me another...".

on a Friday night
no matter where you started out
you always ended up
for last call and

the unexpected was expected

you might find a line
on the women's room sink,
the bartender dancing on the bar
tequila in mouth
a lit match
then spitting flame

maybe
some guy pulls a knife
so the other guy shows a gun

satori's abound

beach day in January
300 pounds of sand
and a sand castle contest

crazy George swings
from the wooden wagon wheel
light fixture
and the lights flicker off and on

and the desperate and the dying
lost in want

appear and disappear
pop in and out of existence

dead
then alive
dead
then alive...

our cards are spread
and the joker card smiles

no search for meaning here,
the ****** return the dealt card's smile

we are the wolves and the lambs
no saints here

and no matter how you acted or what
you did or owned
who you hated or loved
no one was ever was bored

so alive for the fleeting moments
of Last Call

a random freedom of sorts
seen in a wink of an eye, heard in a sigh
the kind of freedom
you only experience
once in a lifetime

folie a' plusieurs.

the pram gliding across the lake

water lilies in bloom

summer

lonely streets of sidewalks

and crossing the cracks
your heart beats for a heart

that beats no longer for you.
  
double crossed
and the cold fire is calling,
the cold fire burning,
a flame frozen in thought

and a wilderness of shadow

and the wild dog howling
into the wind,
the night howling like a dog
from within your heart.

the white flower pedals slowly falling
like snowflakes

and the gulls striking the top of the sky
and the vastness, stars adorned,

the white flower pedals falling
like snowflakes.

those flower pedals,
and the night blows Claire a kiss.

the best fishing trip to the cabin
and we never went fishing,

a torrential down pour.

it rained for 3 days, the electricity

went out and we had charcoal, barbecued
on the porch.

a candle and a lantern.
there were batteries and a radio.

we smoked a joint,
drank beer and we talked
about the the stars
and the care and release of fish.

listened to music...


...an hour before sunrise
I took my fishing pole
and headed down to the river
where the ripples and rapids
mimic modern life

sunrise lit the sky on fire
and slowly off the river the mist rose

mingled into sky

and I spread my brother's ashes in the river
and every river flows to the sea.

(love you, Dean)

Guardian Angel,

let me rest here awhile on the sandy shore
and gaze out at the sea

everyone  dies
and some people never live

and Beloved One
hold me and love me in your heart

allow my weary head to rest
on your shoulder

wrap your wings around my heart

Angel,
let me linger here
in the salty air of time

Angel,
my Guardian Angel,
misguided Angel,

who will plead for me
when I ve gone to bone?

and my Angel s voice whispers,

"you re one big pain in my ***."

and as he was led down those hallow halls
he hummed the melody
of the song he had come to know, too well,
my friend,

and he was forgotten by the hammer of justice
reaching from the obsidian night, soul lost
in the song without words

the angry sky's mournful lament

the wild howl of the wolf
hidden in the hinterland of his heart

the leaves are frozen on the trees

and every wolf must howl
and every wolf must run
through the glass night,
when no heart will beat for him
where no soul can find him.

I love crazy people.

"I m ****** up
but I m,

too ******,
up,

to care, " she tells me.
"but this isn't the most **** up
I've ever been."

and she druelled on the bar.

if,  "come hither eyes",
it s a crazy woman,

crazy women are the best.
some are so sweet
and they always keep you jumping
like a kangaroo,

a little insane is not good enough.

"meet me in Machau,"
she would say, and then,
"what's your name?"

and I was suppose to reply,

"bond, James bond."

(but the *** was good)

but those were distant times. and so

i ve sworn off crazy women.

(and I mean it this time!!!)

dedication:

to all the women who said
I don't have a heart.

the nun had told the boy,

"say a thousand hail Mary's
and God will grant you
anything you want."

the boy in the front row pew at church, alone
always alone. he didn't want

a ten speed bike or a sunny day,
the Mets to win the world series or

to be president of this sorry country, to be rich

or not to have to clean his room

with the heart of a lonely kid
he felt destiny within himself
so he went for the gamble and spread his cards
leave it to faith
take the road

and he walked into soft light
and disappearing shadows.

dark cave spiraling up
into jagged spires of silent distances falling
into splintered sunlight

the winds of the river Styx flows  
on a distant shoal and waits
beneath the waxing moon

for the wounded lovers to bloom
into white and blue wild flowers

and into the loving arms
and silken threads of time lost.

a faded blue and white flannel shirt
long black hair like midnight
and almond shaped eyes

her name was Grace
and she was beautiful

i had long hair
and we sat cross legged
on the grass in the park
smoked a joint

i was 19
the philosopher poet, wise,
and misunderstood

then we walked and talked along the beach
until sunrise

she had to catch the bus at 7 a.m.
back to where it didn't matter

at the bus station we held each other
and kissed

and she was the flower that blooms
once in a lifetime
the tail of the comet passing through the night

grace, what you are will never be again.

the slow slide
down from the stars above. love,

it leaves so fast,
grows so quickly cold.

she had looked into the shark's dead eyes
and found the friend
that waits in silent shadows

that draw the dying
inside themselves and into

the lone, solitary ring
of the cold church bells song.

Sylvia stared with dead eyes
and rode the white horse of death into the fire.

the mirror runs the length of the bar.

we down our drinks
and the bar empties out into the street.

across the street
the unemployment building is burning.

the tender, passionate flames
sets the night on fire.

blue eyes looks up,
she says to me,
"wanta go on a date?

i'll make all your dreams come true,
wouldn't you
love to love me?" she hooks her arm
through my arm and smiles,
"$20 and up depending on what you want."

"what's you're name?"

"Marie."


Gretta and Marie are kissing and turn
to me and give me that
Cheshire cat smiling


and for a moment
the ****** of the impossible
when the 5th floor collapses on the 4th floor
the flames shot up
like the 4th of July

and everyone cheers.


but then the fire engines come.

we file across the street
and into the bar,
unhappy faces,
angry faces stare.
the party was over.

and the mirror runs the length the length of the bar.

we know each other better than we know ourselves...

"I never felt as free

that summer
5 friends drinking beer
at the lake by the railroad tracks...

...the leaves were frozen on the trees.
the snow covered road
and a Robbin above
and the hawk dropped from nowhere
and the robbin fell into the snow, dead...

another puff and i go
deeper into dream.

"she was almost pretty.
the right touch of almost pretty."

sadness walks into the room.
I'm talking to the walls.

"summer and we held hands.
the moon lit the path
down to the river

and the days uncounted
and i had walked the high wire without a net.

all I ask is don't tell anyone
I know her,

eyes as black as coal
and with her heart of stone
she bites to the bone

but her sad eyes had looked so pretty to me and..."

and sadness tells me,
but most times it s just the luck of the draw.

"and when she smiled,
that crooked little smile...

sadness grins,
walks around the room.

"I was never as free...

...she was almost pretty.
the kind of almost pretty
you fall in love with.

please, don't tell her i love her."


standing in the corner
looking into the mirror
sadness says,
"it was just a bad dream."


author's note:

(...I just loved
the way  "gargoyles and  ***** dreams" sounded... gargoyles
does not have anything to do with the poem, but what the heck)


"or does it," smiles sadness, "seems like old times,"  
and sadness winks at me.

Balloon strings

at a children's

birthday party