Have you ever considered what the world would be like,
The day after you die?
For you, it has ended
For them, it goes on

On and on
The grass continues to grow, on and on
The sun still shines, on and on
Wars rage, on and on

Minute by minute
Family and friends grieve, minute by minute
The worried parent waits up late, minute by minute
Wars rage, minute by minute

Day by day
Family and friends live their lives, day by day
Hope for peace survives, day by day
But
War still rages, day by day

If I had but a wish
A reward greater than heaven
I would give
However, must you demand?

The Elephant ask that we leave them in peace
The seal asks us to lower the club
The trees ask for more time
But you ask for the world

The cold and weary ask for a blanket and a place to rest
The hungry ask for just a morsel
The abused ask for safe passage
You demand the world

The wind, calm as light penetrates the morning canvas
Not a sound, except for my defeated heart
That reverberates through my soul
The smell of the crimson red sky; cool sweet lilac and myrrh

Warns me of a tempestuous day
A heartfelt tiding of mediocrity
The greeting of your most irreverent facade
Has driven from me, any appreciation of a summer dawn

I have not the strength to summon a thought
Or a thought
Or a thought
Or a thought

Maybe a kind word
Will lift this veil
And allow me the strength
For a thought

I remember looking up at the tree tops
The wind blew and lifted the great leafy branches
Up and down
As if fanning Pharaoh in his magnificent palace
I can feel the prickly heat of that day
When I was five
You told me that she would not be coming back
I think that is when I first wanted to die

Is a poem contrived, less a vision?
The sweet words that fall short
That has no joining to the soul
Is still a poem; orphaned and solitary

We force it out, the three stages of literary childbirth
Stillborn stanzas
Severe are the shrieks
How long must we grieve over the forgotten verses?

Her panting
Wheezing

Eyes, a second lid of Vaseline
Mouth gaping open

As if to scream out but
Nothing

Take your turn to clasp
For the last time

A last exhale
White as clean linen

My shadow has departed
A dim luminescence has not the power to prevail
So casts my follower to the depths
To wallow in ineffable sorrow
Where heartache mutates to anguish, to scourge, to death
And lucidity has no foothold
And light, no admirer

Caught in your thicket of embellished verse
Trite but resolute
Efforts to crack the indestructible  

Here you say:
Willowy white Lily-of-the-Valley
Softly flowing waves of ecstasy
Delights a recessed heart
And resurrects the willful soul

I say:
No one knows the heart of one
Cast onward towards the billowy grey
Destined to revive
My vain attempts at life

Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival

Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale

Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year

How is it that I am floundering on a raging sea?
With waters as smooth as the limbs of Daphne
The only occupant tossed to-and-fro
The others, still as corpse

I have placed myself in such peril
Trusting in my own sly counsel
Navigating a path, pointless and interminable
A fool with an appetite for defeat

Am I to believe the barn swallow,
And build a home of mud instead of dreams?
Tangible, instead of that which is without form
I choose the dream and its glorious deception

It was just a game
We played at night
Just before the dream world
Spell a word on our backs

When you drew an "I"
I said, “I love you”
You said, “Good guess”
My turn

I drew an "I"
You said, “I love you”
I said, “Good guess, but no”
I have to leave

That was twenty years ago
I still remember that
It’s a game I don’t play anymore
I would never get beyond “I”

His hard eyes stared me down
The remnant of a smile
Now a distant memory
It’s funny how the eyes can relate hatred

Out of nothing came a blow
It made me see stars-for how long?
I can’t count but I’m a **** good smell sensor
What I did to deserve that smack, I may never know

I miss my friends from that place
I don’t know what they call it but I remember its smells
*****, ****, fear, and death
Why did I have to go home with this guy?

It started as soon as I got to his digs
Couldn’t hold it
There were others here; I could smell them
But they are gone

I used to remember everything
Now it’s a blur
Head smacks all the time
I hate the stars

What a fool
He took me outside and unlatched the spike collar
Took off, full speed
Not looking back, gonna find another pack

She spies the ants in bewilderment
A linear and meandering path
Undulating like a wave on a flat ocean
They are deliberate and sure

The ant spies the girl with indifference
Her path is unknown and random
Undulating in and out of reality
Her scars are deliberate and self-inflicted

The woman spies the man
His path is like the girl and the ant
Undulating like a *** of boiling water
The wounds he exacts are deep and copious

I have trodden many a creature under foot
A few, unbeknownst
The bug has an intolerably short life span
And shorter yet, under foot
Do I traipse out of spite or cruel wonder?
No, it is just my disregard and shortsightedness
For I have been trampled upon,
From creatures smaller than me
They stir upon me, feelings of a bug
A distant rumbling of thunder
As I count the seconds after seeing the flash
There is a heavy weight upon me
Imagine what is stirred in a bug

On a meandering road, many years ago
Our destination unknown
We came upon an ancient and majestic oak
Its branches, bare of clothing;
Autumn’s demand of an offering to the soil
We stopped and did not venture forward
Observing only from a distance
Knowing that if we walked among its greatness
We would not see the fullness of its truth
You sketched it
I sat in awe of it
Years have passed and she is but a memory
The tree no longer stands except for the lifeless remnant,
And your sketch
A cruel beheading
I live knowing that it's greatness,
Rooted below the earth
Is a soul larger in death than in life

Your silken skin, trembling to the touch
A scent of sandalwood, wafts as it soars
Your pant, accentual-syllabic verse
Beats ever faster, no ration of time

Awkward moments as two become one
An everlasting symphony of fire
Quenched, after the crescendo of the night
Descending from a dream all in my mind

I sit at my desk with unremarkable posture
Crooked back, crouched forward
Hands, shaped like lobster claws
Ready to pounce on the invisible prey
However, my quarry is a thought, not yet set to reveal itself
Scrambled thoughts of memories ferment
Oozing out and dropping to the floor
Trampled on
A phrase or two lifts and permeates through my fingers
A loud click of the keyboard, followed by another
A symphony of automatic gunfire
This is a war zone
A killing field
Then silence
Coffee at nine
Internet browsing for the rest of the morning

Pugnacious mind of mine
Seeks an end to this winter fog
Your ramblings, on and on
I close the shutters, for spring is not in sight

Pig manure emasculates the air
Not a farm in sight
Your ramblings, on and on
I find solace in the bedroom closet

I hear the car door slam
The front door slam
Your ramblings, on and on
I chamber the round then nothing but stars

Eyes closed to a fading light
The last beat of a tired heart
Muffled voices, a murmured prayer
A pathway unresolved
What lies ahead?
Endless slumber?
A new beginning?
Not knowing is what I fear.

What a man you were
Your knuckle, hard as rock
Knocking on my seven year old skull
Flash anger that came from nowhere
Did I remind you of someone you hated?
I remember, buckets of years ago
Now you, with “old timer’s”
Those days forgotten
Now, my time to disappear
By tomorrow, you would have disremembered me
But I remember, I still carry the lump

Pendulous eyes, weary and bleak
Immoveable shadows, the unseen torrents
Coyly divulge the once impetuous spirit
On his shoulders, he carries a colossal weight
For his is a cleft vessel, rudderless and floundering
The rise and fall of each swell, brings neither hope or despair
He contemplates the gilded life, an absurd apparition
And slithers back to obscurity where the worm and dreams cohabitate

Words were all we had
So long ago
Echoes of the destitute heart
The ramblings of an arrogant poet

You thought of me as the prophet
Foretelling a future that would never be
You discovered the truth and left
Leaving me to wander the desert

A parched soul
Hungering for the tangible
In an intangible world
Will this journey last another forty years?

The heart beats on its own accord
I am free to control its cadence
But love is its only ruler
My despotic master

Try, as I will
My hardened heart resists not
Love’s melodious voice
My despotic mistress

She reaches in my chest
And resuscitates the blackened cinder
I thought you lifeless
My despotic love

Music
Passion, wistful
Devouring, seizing, engulfing
Mellifluous voice of the soul
Fluid

Ominous feelings
Grasp my heart as the phone rings
It’s the wrong number

We were here once
Another life
Together
When I close my eyes
I can taste the memory
Your touch like
Rippling electricity coursing through my skin
Reminiscences of a thousand years ago
Maybe two
A different time
Those were the days that bind us
For a thousand more
Soul mates

The fragrance of a memory
From childhood long ago
I’m brought back
To a fenced in back yard
Crayola blue sky
A burnt umber ground
Islands of green and yellow grass
The scent of Summer Hill wafts
As the unseen is revealed
A dream is remembered then forgotten,
And you say it didn't happen
I recollect the aroma that says it did

A broken man
Sees the morning light
And crafts a dream
Soothing his broken soul

A broken dream
Sees the morning light
And crafts a man
Now two with broken souls

I am tangled by your rhapsody
Sullen words deftly said
The rise and fall of the harvest moon,
Will ever wonder why we turn away

A desolate roadway, endless and meandering
Once well maintained, now splintering asphalt
Wrinkles of the aged silhouette
From the cracks; earthen mounds of despair,
Grow with each passing season
The overgrowth of malevolent verse,
Blanket a once fertile mind that traveled these roads
Undeterred and unfettered
Memories that are incoherent, comprised of fragments
Lost to time
The never-ending scavenger

In his youth, his father’s words
Were like a steel sledge; beating down his spirit
A malleable soul, formed in his father’s image
Forged by the fires of maleficence
Now tempered steel
A two edged sword
A weapon created by words
There can be no happy ending to this story

Love
Bewitched, tender
Yearning, thirsting, feeling
I fear my heart will burst
Ephemeral

Beneath the willows lion mane
A place to hide from earthly ruse
My cherished memory of younger years
Under the sacred umbrella cloak  
Shimmering tentacles move about
As the wind brushes gently and the sunlight gallantly
Filters the afternoon illuminations
I am in the belly of a jellyfish
Swimming deftly in a sea of dandelions
Tomorrow marks her demise
Another memory left to its devises

We clash with unabashed ferocity
One of us; me, unaware
That a third is present
A flower, blossoming will wither
When watered with resentment
O’ little girl, sunflower
You stand in an empty field
The luminous rays of the morning sun
Comforts you until the gale of your fathers fury
Runs its course

The four leaf clover
Springs mystical compass points
North, east, south, and west

The sullen June rains
Clear as the sun breaks through and
Rises like a phoenix

Soul
Alive, astir
Gliding, enshroud, obscure
Awaken my tormented soul
Nomad

You are a loathsome creature
In death, you elicit sympathy

Your mental illness is your scapegoat
How could you **** so many?

The rage you felt
Turned outward towards the innocent

So many awash with the blood
Adam, high priest of perdition

You are not alone in your complicity
Did the NRA whisper sweet nothings in your ear?

Your father wishes you were never born
You’re your father’s scapegoat

You have uncovered a putrefied wound
That we are unwilling to heal

There is an old trestle bridge
Soot black skin
She summons the half living with her
Siren’s song
A melody heard by the tormented
The rope, laced through the lattice
An intricate weave
Claims another
She lives, that others may die
Her reticent soul is a comfort to me

I sit alone, at a table,
meant for someone other than me.
Waiting for the flash of inspiration or
a synchronistic event that
will change my plasticine life, molded
by someone other than me.
I’m here, when the sun fights its way to
be seen on it’s lonely track across the sky.
Today it’s cloudy but somewhere, the sun is out,
only to be seen by someone other than me.
I read your email and wonder—Why?
Why would you choose someone other than me?
I read the news, to take my mind off your email,
and read of a man, hanging from “The Black Bridge” and
wonder—why does it have to be someone other than me?

I Walk through the lonely ancient woods
And hear the voices from the Cedars of Lebanon
Whispering a truth known to all
But remembered by few

A felled branch reveals the wound
That smells of comfort and wisdom
Your knots are like the eyes of God
Scrutinizing my every intentions

I feel at ease as I rest in your strong arms
And think --
If I had a choice for a final resting place
It would be under your majestic feet

I took a gamble and asked the question
A spectacular mistake not to see the irreverence
In your quantum answer
A parting shot across my bow
That sinking feeling

As the story goes…
You descended from obscurity
A wind from nowhere
The shadow of the shadow

You made room for me,
The open slate
For the closed mind
I repent the night of the nor’easter

You awaken, screaming
Alone in a crowded room
Nothing would quench the thirst that night
You’re cold inside as the spirit fades

Conjuring your next escape
You seek a raft to ride the raging whitewater
Your existence requires nothing but faith
I'll throw you the mooring rope – Godspeed

Standing afar, watching your face
A wince. A sneer. A despondent stare
I could write a book, a thousand pages
For a thousand faces

Imprisoned by your own enigma
You define your life with simple words
Whose meaning escapes even you?
You are complicated

A song only heard at night
A fragrance that floods the mind with lost memories
A soul of obfuscation
Transcending the ways of man

Staring down the duplicity of happenstance
I crawl through a landscape, alien to the uninitiated.
In strict cadence to the night song
The smell of burnt sandalwood emasculates the soul

Afar off, you glimpse a shape that once meant something to you
An amorphous shadow
Do you give life to a memory?
Or Ashes to Ashes

Nocturnal spirits ablaze with the
Mark of the weary. Encased souls,
Comforted by the sounds of her exhales
She reaches for oblivion with outstretched arms

Her minor catastrophes delineate the obvious
But what of love?
Its cold and calculated lies have no place in the night
She thinks

The sparks of the firefly, dance in the firmaments
Ripples of thought plunder the silence of the darkness
She wants to jump in the abyss
A baptism of fire

A crack in my windshield lengthens. A radiance scatters
And bends as sunlight skates its narrow channel.
Tree shadows are a distraction, turning the fissure into a strobe.
A stone, the size of a pea, caused this.

The oak tree stands upon firm ground; an ancient
agreement with the earth. Autumn leaves agree to
nourish an infertile land if the contract is ratified. The
monsoon winds have no arrangement and are indifferent.

The snows of Kilimanjaro blanket a primordial volcano
and has an agreement with the rivers. Its melting glaciers agree
to flow freely and nourish a thirsty land if the contract is
confirmed. The sun has no arrangement and is cold and unmoving.

The soul resides freely in each of us. Ours is an immortal covenant.
If we agree to honor our bodies and humankind, life’s pact is
affirmed. Death has no arrangement and is uncaring and heartless.

I wake early on weekends to a ritual of writing and
drinking the life giving elixir. My temple is the abode
of the green mermaid, where she summons the weak
with her siren songs. It’s said that she has no soul.

This is where words are born in my mind and placed in
ambiguous order; meanings known only to my soul until
the rational mind unscrambles the mess. It’s hard to be
profound with the loud world music in the background.

Trouble brews when the temple is filling to capacity. They
want my table. They don’t know I’m trying to weave a
fabric of words that will change their understanding of (place
question mark here). I am lost without my muse.

A change of venue is in order. I’ve lost my purpose and
words. My teeth are stained and my mind is no longer malleable.
I’m invisible to the passion that once inhibited my soul. I’m cast
in an ocean of blackness where the green mermaid reigns.

I am but a wanderer seeking refuge
Finding shelter in the arms of one cherished
But this sanctuary lacks congruency in my heart
Now, I acquiesce to hope and conviction

We mourn the loss of a child called love
With youthful enthusiasm it was encouraged
But if one loves the child more than the other
Love grows divisible and rebellious

The pain and anguish of the vanquished,
Need not to be in vain
All feel the sting of relinquishment
Soon, a fleeting memory

The soul intuits destiny’s detours
Like a mouse in a maze, we seek a prize
Worthy of the pursuit
But are we mindful of the past costs?