Ancient drawings on the wall
come sentient in flickering firelight,
the bow draws and arrows fly in carvings,
taking down long extinct prey.

Imagination runs rampant,
inside of granite caves,
hearing ancient drums
bah ***, *** ***, bah ***.

Pebbles roll, jerking eyes
searching out the origin,
nothing moves in the night,
feet of the long dead perchance.

A howl, or a scream?
from the mouth of the cave
sends hair standing,
and triggers fight or flight feelings.

Temperatures drop undeterred
adding more wood to the fire,
the energy absorbed by phantoms
that move on the edges of vision.

Liquid shadows flow toward me
touching me, eyes turn obsidian
encased in burning fires
fading down.

Headdressed dark wrinkled men
wearing furs of different creatures
surround me in a circle
eyes glowing.

I hear nothing, but see afflictions,
dying peoples, falling trees,
rabid animals, and raging conflagrations,
followed by icy glaciers, creeping across the land.

A spear pierces my side drawing crimson,
several feather fletched arrows impact me,
phosphorescent blade, cuts into my carotid
discharging a torrent.

Soaked in sweat as daylight breaks,
a scream is coming from my throat,
as my hands reach, staunching wounds that are not there,
I search out understanding in the madness, as breathing slows.

Upon my dais, I must stand,
each construction brick a choice,
growing higher year by year,
with each decision and thoughts to voice.

There is no destiny, except the one we make,
there are no reasons we are here,
just a random bit of chance,
just take a look it's all quite clear.

So when you lay the mortar,
between decisions made,
will your building be secure,
with considered choices paid.

Or will it rock and twist,
with the blowing winds of change,
will it be square, cookie-cutter ticky-tack,
or will it be your own, secure but shaped quite strange.

You're the general contractor,
the platform of life you must build,
stand upon it proudly,
the power is yours to wield.

shining sun at noon
reddening skin, soon to bronze
cool soothing aloe vera

multicolored kites
fly through white clouds and blue skies
a shining smile is born

red and green beachballs
blow about in tidal winds
all children giggle

Flabbergasted FFA Fair,
dusty boots, but done up hair,
buckles gleaming in the sun,
showing is, so much fun.

Summer sweat dripping down,
pageant queen, wearing crown,
apple bottoms and popper tops,
so much to see, cannot stop.

Every age, and every size,
all of them vie for a prize,
grand champions and runners up,
like goddesses to worship.

Silver white foam floats on the sea,
piling up near a driftwood tree,
gray and old and barnacle encrusted,
my secrets to it have been entrusted.

Sitting there in the noonday sun, watching families having fun
throwing frisbees and *******,
I sit, feet dangling and bare my soul.

Waves run in and wash my secrets out,
that old gray tree never nags or shouts,
Everyday, fall to the spring
new mornings and secrets I bring.

It passes no judgement no matter the tide,
straddling it the storm of life I ride,
then another soul I met,
take her to the beach, to get all wet.

Played all day into the night,
as the temperature falls, I think I might,
histories and secrets up in smoke,
barnacle limbs burned as I broke.

A driftwood no longer remains,
with her I will share my love and pain,
watching the last embers burn and fly,
a final tear comes to my eye.

Told pain of the past kindles love,
we lay on the sand, watch the stars above.
with the burning of the tree,
finally my soul is free.
.

Gaping holes from ripped heart,
love no longer contained,
seeping into pools of pain,
taped body outline as I drain.

Emotion fueled accelerants
ignite and melts neurons,
no longer firing in the fire,
melted like an electric wire.

The numbness sets in
as the painkiller takes hold,
and memories fade to the now
lost in the past but moving on, how?

crystalizing thoughts in the minds cloud
the muse casts the seeds and forms drops
the words fall like rain onto the page

A cloud wrapped mountain
Looms large in the distance
The forest, emerald green
From the recent rains

A powder blue sky
Shows amongst the clouds
A flock of white wing dove
Pace the truck for a mile

The last bit of summer
Hangs in the air
But the nights tell
A story of changing seasons

The nighttime's chill
Will begin to seep
Into the day
And chap lips and faces

Soon the mountain
Will be blanketed in snow
Sparkling white
Against the evergreens

Heated memories
entranced in summer sun
resonate forever in mind

Kismet brought us together
in a short time
still in love
summer souls fastened

This dress barely conceals
her curves and shapes
instinctively my hands explore
never before touched places
knowing smiles on her lips
secrets conveyed with looks

Lemony sweetness on her lips
using every ounce of appeal
started a spark
that continues today

I'm not from Compton,
the trailer park, or the hood,
just livin' my life,
doing what I should.

I like to hunt,
I love to fish,
at night watch the stars,
sometimes I wish.

I have a boat,
it has no name,
happily married,
running no game.

The radio plays,
the windows are down,
I sing out loud,
I don't care who's around.

I'm from Texas
love the woods and the coast,
hell even out west,
the desert with the wires and posts.

Tumbleweeds rolling
near and far,
let's take a ride,
get in the car.

From the city to the country,
from the sand to the trees,
living my life,
happy and free.

Dried tracks on cheeks,
speak volumes of pain,
like thunder and lightning,
announce the rain.

Do not fear the voices,
you make the choices,
they are simply along for the ride,
you must always take them in stride.

Words vibrate heart strings,
sometimes pain they bring,
other times they touch us,
deep down in our soul,
replacing our pieces,
and work to make us whole.

Layers protect
and disguise,
the true soul,
but reflect the interior.

Climb the mountain,
of self-doubt,
until it only exists,
behind you.

The monsters dwell inside my thoughts,
on some occasions, we have fought,
the say up, while I say down,
I try to smile but they just frown.

I know not from where they came,
but they are masters of the game,
insane they are driving me,
but I will never let them see.

The clarion sounds in my head,
as I observe all eyes on her.
Heel toe walk across the floor,
a rhythmic sway hits the room.

A bit of jealousy turns me green,
as they steal bits of her from me,
one blink at a time,
with covetous stares.

Shoulder length, red hair, curled,
an emerald green tank dress,
revealing tan arms and legs,
twinkling blue eyes catch the light.

She reaches our table and sits,
places her hand in mine,
my security system relaxes a bit,
an unfulfilled sigh is released by the room.

A glass of wine she lifts,
its color matches her lips,
ruby redness swallowed,
her sweetness taming the ****.

I lean in for a kiss,
I can feel the heat from eyes,
and I can hear the lyrics to Jessie's Girl,
playing in their heads.

The smell of saltwater
the stench of fish and seaweed,
all blown away by the everpresent breeze,
forming dunes yards from the shore.

Colorful clams burrow after every wave,
garnishing the brown sands
with hues of blue, yellow, red and green,
bleached white scallop shells tumble in the surf.

The sun Burns in on the east beach,
bronzing exposed skin
burning as midday hits
the glare cut with Costa's.

The evening cools and fires start,
bikinis wrap with blankets,
and drinks and stories are shared,
as the spume glows in moonlight.

Vivid images jump from the page
the smell of sea, salty air
flapping of canvas
sound of shouting orders

In my minds eye
I am transported
to the cutter
each word an image

Around the horn of Africa
under evening skies
the last of the suns rays
casting cloud shadows upon the deck

The trees sway in the breeze
rustling of leaves
just audible
over the slap of waves on the hull

As I turn the page
the voyage continues
to where?
I'll have to finish reading to find out

Her dress, the color of a tropical bird,
a blue and gold macaw,
hugging hips and curves,
like a sculpture on display.

Lost in the cerulean of her eyes,
falling into pupil black pits,
freckles on her nose and cheeks,
refocus my gaze.

Pink lips of a surreptitious smile,
now surrounding a green straw,
protruding from her creamy white pina colada,
while the lime on my Cuba libre drips juice.

A steel drum band compliments the scene.
its rhythm sending otoscopic harmonics,
capturing us with its tinny flow,
we now ride its waves.

Greenery of giant leaves,
wiggle as if to the music in tonight's breeze,
her ginger hair follows suit,
the motion capturing my eyes.

A family of golden lion tamarins,
stare out of goldenrod manes,
studying us sit, drink, and soak in,
the jungle vacation.

People deep in the south,
brown, white and black
if there's trouble, we got your back,
when we’re cut we all bleed red,
I believe that’s enough said.

Hate festers and boils to the surface
erupting in pustules of angry words
shouted out of gritted teeth
overreacting to the slightest annoyance

Lashing out at people who cannot help
driving a wedge in relationships
a psychological mind full of issues
metaphysical pain, manifesting

My tongue a cat of nine tails
leaving scars on the psyche
of friends, family, children
and even more so on my own soul

Out of control
uncomfortable in my own skin
my thoughts wearing thin
deep dead set eyes

Dark circles underneath
a cold black spot where
my heart used to reside
rotted away over years

Alone, through my own making
a hermit, tucked away
out of sight, ignored
to wallow in my own pain

an odyssey,
deep in the space of,
the grey matter corners,
of my mind.

filled with electronic pulses,
picture flashes,
of the past,
and the future.

loves lost and found,
static and music,
a maelstrom,
and a singularity.

swirling vortices
of serotonin,
and other transmitters,
forever in flux.

I hear a noise,
a question,
from a distance,
infinitesimally quiet.

God, are you there?
a voice whispered,
which is my own,
no, it is only me

Skeletal fingers
claw at the hour glass
the scythe swings impatiently
time is on no ones side

cold depths
6 feet down
or flaming heat
and a silver urn

the ravens beaks
tapping, tapping
dark wings flap
in the black night

an escaping howl
from the wolf pack
running, running
feel the breath on heels

the sand continues to fall
the minutes pass
hopes and prayers
do nothing

Just live
in the moment

Lingual exploration,
enjoying her taste,
going back for another.

A bare breast
Peeks from the covers
That have fallen
Pert in the cold
As the fan blows
And I watch
Fascinated
At her breathing
And her body
As she sleeps

Longing and envy,
I covet in vain,
dreams and fantasies,
drive me insane.

The things we may have,
are never as sweet,
we long for forbidden,
to have as our treat.

The fog rolls in,
as mallards swim,
drip, drip drip,
condensing fog off the house.

Quack, quack, quack,
in the distance,
echoing again,
across the lake.

Jet skis and boats,
hang lifeless,
in the winter,
December 23rd.

American flag,
sag limp and lifeless,
on the boat house,
as the squirrel climbs the oak.

An occasional leaf,
pirouettes from on high,
spinning and spinning,
to the brown grass below.

The taste of forty creek,
and seven up
on ice, with lime
in my yellow plastic cup.

Bbq smoke smell,
as brisket cooks,
waiting for family
to arrive.

Lost in memories murk
those words must sometimes lurk
out of the darkness and into the light
I must use my mental might

Extract them from the folds
no telling what they hold
a bit of humor or romance
you have to give them a fighting chance

Light the fire under your muse
**** her till she blows a fuse
then the pen and juices go
fill the pages with the flow

Write until the need ebbs
weave through text exciting webs
of suspense or sultry lust
your pen no longer full of rust.

Upon their brooms, the witches come
flying in a V I know not where from,
spreading disease and fear and shame,
it is how they play their game.

Virus, bacteria, and even prions,
are the things they thrive upon,
found in the places people should not go,
but from there they reap then sow.

We try to battle through science gains,
but there's so many like drops of rain,
our antibiotic umbrella is full of holes,
as our current situation shows.

The witches are here, but are not real,
simply a characterization of how I feel,
the trapped feeling of stay at home,
even though I am not alone.

Smiling moon in disguise
I see fur if I blur my eyes,
I hear riddles and hear a purr,
most of it completely absurd.

Talk of jabberwoks and of queens,
some of it borderline crazy obscene,
philosophy spouted and spewed to annoy,
sheer nonsense has been employed.

Guiding me where I shouldn't go,
I accuse, but says it isn't so,
changing colors all the while,
the cat's smile, does beguile.

Let's have tea with crazy folks,
chew your crumpet so you don't choke,
ignore the mouse and the hare,
don't breathe the chemicals in the air.

Paranoid thoughts, from mad hatter,
look the whole place is  tattered,
appearing cat  evaporating,
still spewing nonsense, exasperating.

Aggravating those in charge,
he does know how to live it l large,
crazy people are the best,
because reality rules the rest.

Fiddle faddle flee and fum,
Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum,
hookah pipes and caterpillars,
****** cat leads us on a thriller.

Helping those he put in danger,
this is why you don't talk to strangers,
losing his head in the end,
or will his whole body mend?

A Coriolis storm of loathing,
smothering my thoughts,
the aches and pain of life,
painting annoyance on my face.

Jaded beyond repair,
the human experience,
wasted on imbeciles and idiots,
pushing the sane over the edge.

Pink and purple prose,
written and posted,
but never read,
unless on the phone screen.

Gender, transgender, confusion,
binary systems multiplied,
pronoun confusion and deletion,
along with the rewriting of history.

Snowballs rolling downhill,
growing so large, no longer containable,
begin to fly apart, as the sun goes nova,
celestial rage impending doom.

Inside her robe she holds a secret,
one I'd really love to peek at,
the knowledge of the universe,
codified into her curves.

There are times you get some hints,
and not always on accident,
like on sunny days down at the beach,
bits of info are in reach.

Or in the winter, sweater weather,
you can see the cover but no letters,
you search and study and hope and pray,
that education will be yours someday.

So enjoy the lessons on yoga day,
and the classes while she's at play,
take in all the glimpses that you can,
to one day graduate is the plan.

Lost in a forest of purple trees,
buzzing around, green man sized bees,
stingers so long they wield them swords,
one just stabbed me, oh my Lord.

Swirling thoughts as poison takes hold,
darkness looming, pain untold,
blacking out for an unknown time,
waking, naked covered in slime.

No arms, no legs and hooked to tubes,
small gray creatures skin is smooth,
they have no mouths nor no eyes,
in my mind, I hear their lies.

Hums and clicks and pops surround
mechanical devices all around,
needles drive into my eyes,
screams of pain but all inside.

Mouth stitched shut no sound comes out,
although in agony I cannot shout
at my limit, I pass out cold,
as I wake up I feel old.

Safe at home in my bed,
all must have been in my head,
I lift the sheets and go to stand
I have robot legs and hands.

Screaming now I try to run,
out the window that's not the sun,
insanity looms inside my brain,
suddenly I'm filled with shooting pain.

Days later, but the clock says hours,
I get up and hit the shower,
feeling great and spirits free,
but what's this scar on my knee?

From the darkness, Samedi rises,
it is our souls that he prizes,
to feed upon and to focus,
its how death does his hocus pocus.

Cancer, diabetes and the rot,
not diseases but things time forgot,
freed again as humans spread,
increasing the numbers of our dead.

Buried things lay hibernating,
thousands of years, they have been waiting,
legends and myths and dragons too,
we simply do not have a clue.

Once awoken, no turning back,
we are running down the track,
pandora's box thrown open wide,
nothing at all can stem the tide.

Aurora borealis lights,
cast ocean waves upon the night,
upon the cresting waves, I sail,
undulating without fail.

Perseids shoot like comet trails,
so beautiful I must inhale,
grasp the destruction in the atmosphere,
suddenly my thoughts are clear.

Eve
the embodiment of beauty
yet bad judgment
changes our view

Painted passion
***** lips
ignites desire
all eyes
on her
as she purses
all wish
for a kiss

Share and share alike
like the village bike
jaded to extremes
loss of all your dreams
searching and searching
for love that's lurking
but never finding
one that's binding.

More is not necessarily better
and less is sometimes not enough
but just right
and a kiss goodnight

Parked north of town,
in the back of a truck,
hear the dairy heifers low
odor of manure on the wind
we watch the skies for UFO.

Population fluctuations
and oil is on the move,
Navajo refinery seasoning the air
is it boom or is it bust
main street strolling, we do not care.

Out west of town, way on out,
we go to our parking spot
on the breeze methane and sulfur scent
watching oil field flares dance
is how our night is spent.

FLETC trainees from all over,
flood Walmart and the bars,
floating as the evening falls
the smell of steaks at Adobe Rose
mixed with live music and the night bird calls.

South of town another spot
headed toward Brantley Lake
with thoughts of caves to explore
and roasting green chile smoke nearby
it starts with a kiss and always leads to more.

Friday nights at the bowl
the smell of blood and sweat,
halogen lights and screaming crowds
quaint downtown statues
vibrate it's so loud.

The smell of pinon and desert dust,
and the air is just a bit cooler,
we roam eastward toward Hope,
the mountains just a bit further now,
this is how we cope.

Out passed the boonies,
and out passed the docks,
off of the paved road,
and on to the rocks.

No sidewalks, no street lights,
no stores to be found,
only open skies and pines,
song of birds only sound.

Crystal clear water,
as smooth as glass,
a deer walks on by,
mouth full of grass.

No cell phone reception,
and a cooler of beer,
a bag chair and tent,
I'm glad to be here.

Fishing rod and tackle box,
and some sandwich stuff to eat,
being on the backside of nowhere,
is one hell of a treat.

Dude knows how to lay the pipe
pushes it in and glues it tight
you enjoy his hot wet work
but in the morn your pocket hurts

The winds of change always blow,
in a neverending zephyric flow,
sometimes less and sometimes more,
you never know just what's in store.

Sometimes rains comes on with,
or hurricane's forces surpassing myth,
snow occasionally whites out blind,
then the sun comes and we're all fine.

From the mud grasses bloom,
and colors us away from gloom,
opportunities now abound,
pick and choose from all around.

Heat picks up and everything dries,
the only moisture is from our cries,
but this is short and seasons change,
life is cyclical, nothing strange.

Everpresent wind increases,
canceling all the leaves leases,
blowing them into pyres,
we ignite them with sparks of fire.

Still under your casted spell,
years and miles have not broken,
the rosined bow glides heartstrings,
a melody from yesterday plays.

It's funny how painted lips
seen across the room,
stirs a passioned cauldron
I thought emptied.

But those lips once pressed to mine,
branded and injected and scarred,
with witchcraft skill outshining Mab,
a lust that cannot be rend asunder.

The reunion cut short,
I hurry and leave,
lest she see me,
whereupon I shall turn to clay.

Too malleable in her hands,
and too open to suggestion,
my will wants this,
but my mind must overcome.

Thrown over my shoulder,
dissolved into my past,
crystalline stones,
no longer season my future.

Opinions and decisions
drawn on life's experiences.
lead each down our own path.
sometimes requiring introspection,
and examination of our own,
inner demons.

Entrenched history,
paints the future,
but you can change the hue.

Lost in the words, lost in the lyrics
our hips tied together in something so rhythmic.
The bass line hits, with grunts and moans,
we hope to continue, never leave this alone.

The face of the company,
pleasant and smiling,
conducts like a symphony,
answering and dialing.

Prowling neon shadows,
between the bass lines,
amongst the ******* clad,
multicolored glowsticks shine.

Twisting bodies on the move,
covered in ultraviolet paint,
on an ecstatic trip,
that no one possibly could taint.

Laser lights and bubbles too,
float throughout the air,
lost in the psychedelic,
most don't even care.

DJ on the stage,
like a conductor with baton,
conducts the human orchestra,
all the way till dawn.

Screams and woos excited,
as the songs never stop,
dancing till exhaustion,
till they all start to drop.

Music starts to fade,
as the sun comes up,
the balloons come down,
and coffee cups fill up.

From 9 to 5 the bilboes tighten,
a range of cacoethes spin my mind,
but to pay the bills, I work,
not just to fill the time.

The clepsydra has gone dry,
even as time passes it stands still,
at the end of the day the shackles open,
but I go home with no thrill.

A vidiot at home,
my thoughts spaghettified,
****** into the nothingness,
all of them undignified.

I long for something different,
to degust the spice of life,
but trapped inside the blandness,
nothing here but rife.

Whoosh of smoke filled wind,
like running through gray gauze.
She sprints towards her home,
now engulfed in crackling flames

A floating island of multicolored boats,
clustered outside the golf course greens,
bobbing in blue waters, white waves slosh,
bathing-suited and bikinied people waiting.

A speck and a sound approach in the sky,
the first of many roaring and tumbling planes,
in different sizes, colors, and abilities,
all performing to a synchronized radio station.

As the sun sets, and the planes fly away,
sparks of blue, and green and gold start,
the fourth of July fireworks begin as
Lee Greenwood sings, "I'm Proud to be an American".

Upon misery's moat,
we are destined to float.
some of us suffer our wishes,
the rest of us cast for fishes.

Terminal Sickness is a terrible thing
especially if its the one that wears your ring
The disease causes a prolonged fight
No one knows whats wrong or right

Doctors offer chemistry
Preachers offer ministry
You offer lots of love
you try to contain, like a glove

The treatments help but take their toll
The patient tries to stay whole
But is eaten by painful holes
having trouble fulfilling the roles

Of spouse and lover and of friend
Even love is not enough in the end
You try and try and cry and cry
No matter how hard you pry

The beautiful body begins to die
the one on which you did rely
The medicine and love cannot prolong
Time to sing our goodbye song

Its not about you but in the end it is
After she's gone, just you and the kids
Hold on to the beautiful memories you had
but move on with life, and please don't be sad.

Lost
I search
Yet I find
Nothingness

Found
It was located
What you ask
Nothingness

Nothing
Surrounds me
A void
Something

Moves in the distance
A flash
A spark
A flicker

Just outside
The realm
Of seeing
Mystery

Intrigued
I focus
Looking
There

Questions
Closer
But not any clearer
Fear

Waiting
Approaching
Waiting
What could it be

Expectations
Rise
In my sea
Of nothing

Be Prepared not Scared
40 tucked in the back of my pants,
out in the street, people scurry like ants,
concealed carry license, two extra clips,
Swiss army knife, to slice or snip.

Boy scouts always say be ready,
every day carry, yeah mine is steady,
never leave the house  without being prepared,
it's about having a plan, not being scared.

Say you're at the mall one fine day,
suddenly thugs come out to play,
or you're at the shop, here come the looters,
or you come across an active shooter.

Do you want to cower down and die,
or protect yourself and others, rack the slide,
you've practiced but  it's hard to take a life,
but that dude is aiming at your wife.

He just shot your neighbor's kid,
so you pull your gun, shoot and glad you did,
double tap center mass, he goes down,
911 from your phone, the sirens sound.

Apply pressure to the wound of the kid,
she'd a few tears for what you witnessed and did,
but it could've been worse, just one fatality,
mentally unstable man with scrambled reality.

The point of this story is not to be a hero,
but to be ready to do more than zero,
planning and practice goes a long way,
sometimes it might even save the day.

The smell of bakers yeast
with molasses undertones,
the roar of propane as it ignites
sending blue flame and heat.

Copper *** and curling tubing
a hint of brass here and there,
aromas of cooking flour paste,
and the steady drip into a mason jar.

Shifting ice's avalanche noises,
now a steady stream flows,
swapping jars and taking sips,
adding apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

Crystal clear liquids,
some now full of fruit,
stacked in the corner
ready for the next party.