Between the hemispheres,
beyond the furls and
wrinkles of the mind,
the limbic brain beckons.

Ancient keeper
of primal instinct,
of collective knowledge.
I open my inner eye
seeking bliss.

The Poet strips bare
the wounded Soul,
that it may bleed
upon the page
for all to see.

The Lover sees
the futility of
staunching
the flow,

for the Poet
would have
nothing
left to
give.

I want your Truth as you believe it,
weaving it into words poetic
even when it's bleak.

I want your Truth as you perceive it,
deep in your imagination
far from the maddening world.

I want your Truth to make me feel good,
because ugly or beautiful
it is sent to me from your most pure Heart

Poets pen their Love.
A tangible tracery,
ink stains from the Soul.

He thought it fun
to have her nibble at his Heart
in that filigree pattern so lovely.
Until one day he noticed
he had a Heart full of holes

He says he holds no Wisdom.
That his cup is dry,
though he feels like a man drowning.
Why then do we flock to his feet?
So many hungry birds
pecking at the bits of poetry
which fall from his Soul.

She used to wield her power,
turning every mans head,
believing in her own whims.
Now she walks the street,
anonymous.
Watching younger women
and men's foolish faces
on craning rubber necks.
She is laughing merrily
in her Wisdom

I sew the seams of my life together.
The fingers of my Heart
busily stitching
the patterns of my Mind.
A wondrous patchwork quilt.
It lays upon me like a mantel
with a bridal train billowing along
in the wild Cosmic Wind.
A garment not quite complete.

You brought me tiny fishes
wrapped in a twist of waxed paper.
How could you know
I craved the taste of salt on my lips
in this dry time of summer.

For hours she sits,
the Poetess,
alone in her dreamy world.
Weaving a tapestry
of consciousness.
Ink upon paper,
curling clusters of words, waiting
to be deciphered
by a wandering kindred soul.

Caught on her
Love line
he flys through the air.

That big fish
had never known
the sky so blue.

Gasping on the deck
of her little ship
he sees the face of Death.

She loosens the hook
and kicks him back
to the Sea.

She wonders,
will he forget his desire
to bite that bait?

To see that
pure blue sky
once more?

She lifts the rod
and casts her lure
again.

Blessings

The Blessings come
in the curve of your words,
like a tangle of twigs
that weave a nest
around my heart.

The Blessings come
with the stroke
of his hand on my skin,
stoking the fire
of our home.

The Blessings come
with the thought of our friend,
so far away,
in a land stripped bare
with only Blessings
to drive him forward.

The Blessings come
To fill the hollow of my Soul
with Love.

Let's melt the ice in our minds
with the fire of our hearts.

We will strike the hollow bells
until the poems' pealing voices
howl like wild wolves.

We could be dancing dervishes,
our bodies twirling so fast
that reality blurs.

Then spent, we shall fall to the sand
and watch the stars spin their mythology
to the edges of our universe.....

Wandering
along the arroyo.
Dry.
Wondering
"Where
are my Words?"
Leaving
no stone unturned.
Waiting
for the flood
of ink
to gush again
from my empty fingers.
Staining
the page.
Quenching
my Soul.