Deep timbre words,
seemingly from nowhere,
offering advice on life
and different opportunities.

Choices are the spice of life,
they flavor the future,
from deep within,
ancestors speak guidance.

Sometimes skull-rattling,
other times a whispered word,
like marks on a map,
to keep us on track.

In the end, the choice is ours,
to heed the mental whispers,
or to venture down dangerous alleys,
despite the inner warnings.

Love opens doors,
Transdimensional gates,
Transporting us to new lands.

Original experiences,
Shared together,
Traveling through time.

Essences blending,
Like incense smoke intertwining,
Flavoring our shared knowledge.

Potential,
a potent word,
rife with meaning.

Possibilities for growth,
stored energy contained,
a word determining the future.

My ears hear a different tune,
than others understand,
my eyes see into true depths of beauty.

The pack on the move,
through crystalline snow.
silent foot steps fall.
a hush over the land.

Not a cloud overhead,
to shroud Luna's light.
moon shadows sparkle,
where paws have trod.

Trees  howl from the wind,
answered in unison,
by the pack,
a sad, forlorn noise.

Trees shed their load,
from the sound,
snow crunches,
as the howl fades.

Silvered eyes glow,
moving as one,
following a scent,
of pumping blood.

Steam rises,
nostrils breath,
bedded down deer,
surrounded,

In the mornings twilight,
red streaks on white snow,
will be erased,
by suns rays.

Ancient envy searches,
sprayed into the cosmos,
parasitic proboscis,
draining life force elixir.

Prismatic injections,
Geiger counter clicks,
purple glowing
black light smile.

Huddled amongst constellations,
hiding from the photons,
lost with the flavored quarks
on the jello shot tray.

Slurping jellied happiness
from humanoid masses,
on a plethora of planets
distributing diseased directions.

Turning paths to cliff edges,
the precipice calling,
fingernails bite in,
you dare not answer.

But the ringing continues

blue-grey dreams attack,
melancholy clouds drift by
blanketing my soul

An insulated landscape,
heavy and laden,
like my heart
longing for the sun.

Yet trapped here,
needing to get home
to my Venus, my love,
hoping the sun will come.

Thawing out the landscape,
bring spring to it's right
and sending me home
on silver wings.

red tentacles reach
suction cups attached
the stuff of nightmares

Coconuts and vines,
made technologically sublime,
can pick up radio signals, if assembled just so,
but never could build a microphone though.

So we could only listen from time to time,
even though I was in my intellectual prime,
perhaps I was distracted, by the girl next door,
or maybe it was the model, with beauty galore.

Birth is a guarantee of death,
life is a series of near misses,
and occasional sentinel events,
in the end, we fade to black.

The flower's colored blooms,
wilt to brown and fall away,
turn to dust in the wind,
just as youth is over in an eye-blink.

Dark spots and waning sight,
the music sounds turns
to black notes on a white page,
that simply turns to fuzz, then nothing.

All that is or ever was you,
returns from whence it came,
cosmic matter scattered,
as in the big bang.

Knock that chip off your shoulder,
you spoiled little brat,
you are not owed anything,
the world doesn't work like that.

Coddled by your parents,
given trophies for showing up,
brainwashed by professors,
to expect a golden cup.

The real world slapped you down,
there is a ladder to be climbed,
but no one ever told you,
that its a daily grind.

So you cannot hold a job,
none are good enough for you,
or that's what you think, truth is,
you bit off more than you can chew.

So drop your superior attitude,
understand that life is hard,
to build your crystal palace,
you must work for every shard.

She sheds her robe,
as white lights strobe,
music booms real loud,
as screams come from the crowd.

She grabs the pole and climbs,
the scene is so sublime,
spinning and turning she slides down,
like a slithering serpent to the ground.

Then she pops to dance some more,
the crowd let's out another roar,
her body oozes sweat,
her hair hangs damp and wet,

Swirling hips and fingertips,
roaming hands and licking lips,
Neon flashes blue and green,
adding too the boys dream.

Red hair whipped side to side,
on a lap she will ride,
but only for a second or two,
lots of boys dreams to make come true.

Warm island's breeze,
sets us in motion,
rhythmic swinging,
next to the ocean.

Alone on the beach,
beneath palm trees,
red sunset sky,
as the clouds blow by.

Hand in hand,
hammock sways,
my hand's search,
her body does amaze.

Passionate kisses,
bikini strings untied,
hammock swings wildly,
as we enjoy the ride,

Waves crash in time,
as our symphony plays,
tangled crescendos,
at the end of the day.

summer blazes hot,
the greens of spring fade to brown,
lakes and shade beckon

As the sun hides behind the moon,
the noon light is suddenly removed,
night-time creatures come out,
and the daylighters hide.

In the midday darkness,
amongst the circadian confusion,
my thoughts clear,
the dark and light combine.

Love and hate,
free will and fate,
all become clear,
there is a plan.

No one knows what it is,
in the land of the noontime darkness,
nothing is revealed,
just confirmation that we know little.

lips pressed together
pheromones now exuded
lust is in the air

Mirrored personalities,
visible to none,
seen in the silvered pane,
all of them create the one.

The lover and the fighter.
the dreamer, and the realist.
the angel and the demon.
the solid and the mist.

We are all made up,
of several selves.
some we let out,
others, always shelved

angels fall to earth
arrive as daughters of man
through love, create more

The smell of beer and fears
catch my nose as I walk in,
the tinkling ivories music drifts
across the floor to me.

My mind is filled with stories
as the music inspires my mind,
I create a mental biography
for all the people here.

The smiling bartender
fills up the pianist's cup,
they share a joke and a smoke,
as a new song begins to play.

I feel I know these people
though I know nary a name,
they came here for something
we are all searching for a reason.

I walk over and drop a tip
in the jar on the top of the piano,
a wink from the musician
and a pat from the old man sitting.

De ja vu strikes
have I been here before
as I hear the old man
ask for a memory to be played.

Charcoal smeared gingham,
hangs from malnourished bones,
like curtains on an abandoned house,
whose windows have long since broken,
yet a spirit is contained behind blue eyes,
a life that refuses to break into dust.

Drunken remembrances of battles
and of loves conquests,
relived over and over,
through the amber in the glass

Loves elixir flows,
from dripping petals,
an excited tentacle throbs
at every taste.

Aquamarine eyes hide,
rolled back behind eyelids,
skin as smooth as butter,
massage cubes roll under my hand.

Her green lipstick smile,
giving away her thoughts,
as pleasure overrides pain,
***** martini to finish.

Resuscitating me to breathe,
pressing on my hearts strings,
raising my eyes, to a life bringing beauty.

Loving tears seep into crevices,
rehydrating and invigorating,
visions and smells of love.

Using breath to change my form,
like a glass-blower sculpting,
bringing out my inner glow.

Coaxing me into new shapes,
taking me to new levels,
with heated breaths and skilled hands.

Ankle deep water caresses us,
we walk hand in hand over the sands of time,
revisiting memories, literally and mentally,
vacationing on the beach where love bloomed.

To be folded into your love,
an origami sculpture of two hearts,
to sail away on a paper airplane.

Inside of me,
a cold black place,
where a heart once was.

a black hole,
left from my love,
going supernova.

shattered into shards,
by your angry words,
and when you left.

swirling in the darkness,
a maelstrom of hate and pain,
******* in any hope and happiness.

forever in the cimmerian shade,
clothed in malady,
drinking despair.

a melancholy hope,
exists inside of me,
hiding and hanging on.

as I search the world,
for a love that I can see,
and maybe heal my soul.

Through the pickets stared,
at the lady who was bared,
in the summer sun,
he was only having fun.

Walking between houses,
on the way to a friends,
he never really knew,
how this adventure might end.

He heard the waters splash,
and decided to take a look,
he saw her lay down,
and begin to read a book.

Water drops ran,
between places he had dreamed,
never in his life,
did he think he might have seen?

The lady two doors down,
on display, her beauty shown
and since then he volunteers
when her grass needs to be mown.

At night in his dreams,
he sees her in her glory,
to say he is excited,
isn't nearly enough story.

grinding ice travels
across a billion years
forming the landscape

a tug on the line
the cork goes under
grilled fish with wine

Through the portal of my mind,
I never know what I might find,
animals talking or a visiting alien,
synapse snapping, having fun.

Deep red Burgundy,
from a dark green bottle,
decanted, into crystal flutes,
wrapping of arms to sip.

Earthy sweetness touches the tongue,
teases with hints of smoke and mushroom,
a bit of sweet berry and spice,
and a finish of dark cherries.

Dark stained lips,
break into a smile,
as she leans in for a kiss,
her notes and flavors are sublime.

Torn bits of vellum scatter in the breeze,
black ink hangs on with vicious strength,
though opaque, the meaning remains hidden,
jumbled words in the ambient incandescence.

The author slowly walks away on the horizon,
the reader sobs, head in her hands on a bench,
leaves and dust begin to blow along with the poem,
scattered into the hinterlands of loss.

Ciphers and codes,
apple pie a la mode,
Navajo talkers unseen,
defeated the enigma machine.

.......................

Apple pie a la mode
is a code
that can only be solved with a spoon
under the light of the moon.

.........................

With frozen vanilla giggles,
goosebumps and wiggles,
I eat her apple pie a la mode
sending her into the zone.

................................

Pert apple stems heated
under my breaths warmth
ice cream rivulets run
as I enjoy her a la mode.

.................................

Morse code whispers
whipped cream topped whimpers
deciphering her squeezing hold
this time it's me a la mode.

Nothing in life is free,
even the air you breathe,
is paid for in seconds of life.

I stand in the middle,
dead center under the roof,
yet still I am splashed by cold water,
both from the sides, and underneath.

The green lake water rises and falls,
as thunder and lightning crash and flash,
a slow moving storm, at mid day,
pushed by a slow breeze over me.

I am happy, as I lean on a boat,
hanging in a slip, gently swaying,
my spinning reel on a short rod
tipped with a chartreuse jig.

I drop it in the water to the bottom,
and reel it up one turn, and bounce it up and down,
a tug and a pull, and a fat white crappie,
with a black stripe and spots gets lifted to me.

Unhooked and in the basket, he goes,
several of his brethren already swim there,
their bite turned on by the storm,
I enjoy the sounds, sights, and fish.

On days the mountains are close,
others they cannot be seen at all,
I swear they ride the rails,
at our imaginations beck and call.

The snow-capped peak winks,
in the spectacular rising sun,
reflecting thoughts and dreams,
and future hopes of skiing fun.

Today my mood is dreary,
on the verge of being bleak,
the mountains are all hidden,
for even they are feeling meek.

Shadowed darkness
laser beam of light
reveals spinning
dust motes of thought
in the corner of my mind

Locked away
usually inaccessible
but always growing
pressure building
volcanic flowing

The muse appears
with a key or a tap
sometimes a stream
other times an eruption
of words on the screen

Steaming thoughts escape
in verse and rhyme
as ashes of thoughts
coalesce into ideas
and usually just in time

Delicate features
a floral perfume,
in deep thoughts
of nature's beauty.

Heavy lidded eyes
contemplate questions,
with a raised brow,
as the answers grow.

A soft breeze blows
across her garden,
as yellow butterflies ride
the swirling current.

The bright sun warms
and nourishes
her natural skin,
no makeup here.

Feathers float on winds of change,
riding high up on the thermals,
ocean waves crash the beach,
in regular sequence like a second hand.

Crash, crash, crash, crash,
tick, tick, tick, tick,
time rides a run away train,
on flat tracks, with no way to stop.

The hopes and dreams,
of the innocent young,
left sitting at the depot,
as there can be only one bag checked.

The train is full of others,
help them if you can,
feed them, clothe them,
provide a little comfort.

Then climb the ladder to the roof,
spread your wings and fly,
only the brave will do this,
the rest are content to ride.

Soar while you can,
but still tethered to the train,
see past the tracks and the trees,
look at the hills and valleys.

Then one day your feathers,
will float down to the sea,
where a final wave will wash,
and you will cease to be.

Echoing among the craggy cliffs
the sounds of water cascading
over the precipice and falling
hundreds of feet into the ocean.

The flat water turns to ripples
scattering outward in rings
that may eventually
undercut the overhang into a cave.

Prarie lands cling to the top of bedrock
precious inches of soil
held in place by sweet green grass
allowing sheep and goats to feed.

I sit, feet dangling over the edge
taking in the scene
and adding to it with a mellifluous tune
I whistle along with the waters echo.

The sirens serenade on Anthemoessa.
their song, a neon sign to an open door.
death waits, for those who enter.

silver falling leaves
moonlight kisses the dew drops
the owl ***** its wings

Standing naked on the porch
in early morning darkness,
there is just a touch of color
on the eastern horizon.

The stars look faded
and there is no moon,
I contemplate the hour,
enjoy the brisk cool air.

Then clawed feet pitter
up the stairs and to the door,
I follow the dog inside
and go back to bed.

The precipice reaches out for me,
with gnarled fingers on bony hands,
tugging, pulling, forcing me,
toward the edge.

Freefalling into the abyss,
where words and verse form,
sometimes, rarely, maybe,
other times a gem forms.

Shining in the blackness,
plucked and shined,
and displayed,
for all to see and criticize.

Rattling bones in my ears,
from bridges long since burned,
jaws open, but no words emerge,
deep dark holes, stare into my being.

Fleshless fingers reach out,
into my dreams in the night,
drawing me into prison bars of ribs,
where once lived a beating heart.

From closets, and from under beds,
and even from within the walls,
the never-ending scratching,
of them trying to get out.

Some were friends, other lovers,
all now excised from my life,
I have moved on, or so I think,
haunted by the bones of the past.

Like the rolling tumbleweeds,
we all go on following needs,
riding opportunities wind,
never knowing where it may end.

Surf the wave to its conclusion,
never rule out, never make preclusion,
for if you limit the where to ride,
you will be stuck, never changing tide.

Ride the horse, till it falls down,
you may never win the triple crown,
but you can always ride another,
crawl out from under, never smother.

Throw the dart, and hang the map,
let her sit in your lap,
enjoy the music and the sway,
life is short, it's best to play.

Keep, chapstick and a knife,
when you find her, love your wife,
when you sleep, pray for your soul,
though life eventually consumes us whole.

Upon the streets,
faces were hidden,
armed with ***** and beads.

In my hand a swirling hurricane,
as I walk down Bourbon street,
numb I am, like novocaine.

Swaying hips from side to side,
dressed like Carnival in Brazil,
how I do long to be inside.

A turn, a smile, a pose, and flash,
and the exchange of some beads,
pictures on my phone, memories to rehash.

She laces her fingers into mine,
walks me off the street,
her lips taste like the finest wine.

Unmasked now with carnal need,
in the alley, just off the quarter,
on each other we feed.

Kaleidoscopic lighting strikes,
like when I learned to ride a bike,
couldn't wipe the smile from my face,
when I look upon her face.

Like Christmas morning trampoline,
jumping up and down, exciting,
meeting your hero out on the street,
when I look at her, my heart skips a beat.

Twixt regions of nether,
is a place of pure joy,
dreamed of by Peter,
and all of the lost boys.

A flower who's nectar,
is the sweetest of all,
grows in the valley,
they hear its call.

In the distance,
sensual peaks rise,
another place,
to claim a prize.

Though the boys fantasize,
about all of Wendy's locations
they have yet to catch a glimpse,
and they rub out their frustrations.

***** of rubber bands, multicolored,
a *** of paperclips, a maze of its own
an old pink eraser, crumbling in the corner,
loose, Tylenol, Benadryl, Band-Aids, and a random stone.

Chap Stick, tape, and highlighters,
keys to locks unknown,
remote controls and toothpicks,
and shiny loose change, strewn.

Scissors, dust and a pack of gum
of the cinnamon flavored kind,
you can get lost in here
no telling what you'll find.

Hands that hold,
love continues bold,
kisses, hello and good bye,
any reason when close by.

Nibble an ear,
just to be clear,
whispers of lust,
drive sparks to combust.

Fan the flames,
it is a game,
that you must play,
if you want to stay.

Be sincere and true,
in whatever you do,
straight from the heart,
continues now, just like the start.

The smell of manure and dust in the air,
sounds of livestock, must be time for the fair,
lots of things to see and food to eat,
but you know what is my favorite treat.

Girls at the fair are looking tight,
hair got curled, make up just right,
shined up boots and denim and lace,
walking around with country girl grace.

Jeans cut so short they're pockets hang out
everybody is smiling too excited to pout,
blingy shorts shining in the sun,
way more loaded than any gun.

How they got them on it's hard to figure,
but I'm just about ready to pull the trigger,
cut one out of the milling herd,
the redhead there who hasn't said a word.

Asked her if she wants some roasted corn,
answer drowned out by the 8 second horn,
the bull ride is on and the crowd is screaming
she said yes again, I hope I'm not dreaming.

Girls at the fair are looking tight,
hair got curled, make up just right,
shined up boots and denim and lace,
walking around with country girl grace.

Got some corn and some lemonade,
I'm feeling like I got it made,
Strolling the midway hand in hand
Winning stuffed animals in demand

Walking on over to the concert
Blonde looks at me and starts to flirt,
I flash her a smile and just keep walking
This red and I just started talking.

Girls at the fair are looking tight,
hair got curled, make up just right,
shined up boots and denim and lace,
walking around with country girl grace

The music plays, presses her lips to mine
This evening has turned divine
Singing and dancing between the kisses
My aim is on there are no misses

I picked this one and with precision
I'm glad I made this decision
She is gorgeous with the wind in her hair
Man I'm glad I came to the fair

Girls at the fair are looking tight,
hair got curled, make up just right,
shined up boots and denim and lace,
walking around with country girl grace.

Upon the moving of our friends,
it felt like this era should never end,
the hanging out and stupid jokes,
the various liquors mixed with coke.

The road trips with music up loud,
picking out creatures in the clouds
weekday dinners for no reason
hunting together in deer season.

Guys and girls trips full of fun,
sunday's with kids and lots of guns,
building things projects galore,
who could ask for any more?

Then it all came to an end,
will our hearts ever mend,
miles and states now stretch between,
if only we had a teleport machine.