Moving past the shuttered mind
that shuns imagination
I seek a stimulating thought
a cause for exhultation.
It hovers there
like hummingbirds
whose entry I deny.
And yet
I see the imagery
and heave a heartfelt sigh.
It teases me
and mocks me
as it dodges
every grasp
Laughing at my efforts
to retrieve it
with each clasp.
Yet empty air is my reward.
My snares are all in vain.
I close my eyes and meditate
for inspiration's gain.
An empty net
a vacant trap
the target still eludes.
Perhaps tomorrow
try again
away from darker moods.

T'was a month before Christmas and lights needed hanging.
The tree needed trimming, (my headache was banging).

"The stocking were hung on the chimney with care..."
While electrical chords, were strewn everywhere.

I unloaded boxes of tree decorations
And listened to carols from old AM stations.

"When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter...."
I hurried outside to see what was the matter.

Over-reaching the hedges, the ladder gave way.
And then I saw, in the bushes he lay.

After shocking himself with a faulty light socket,
His tootsie roll'd melted, inside of his pocket.

He stumbled and bumbled, untangling the strands
Replacing the burnouts and cutting his hands.

The ordeal was finished. At last! What a feat!
(Then one strand burned out, as we watched from the street.)

Incendiary passion
that ignites an ember's flame
Gone but not forgotten
but t'is really not the same.
I long for lips that hunger
and the unrequited bliss
The torch that sets the heart afire:
the unexpected kiss.

Lies and deceit, it's all around me
Lies and deceptions, two bad surroundings

I see no point, I see no end
Those are enemies, who I thought were friends.

I see and hear it, find it hard to believe
They don't want any good, but only to deceive

I don't know who to trust, everyone's a target
The things they'll do it’s hard to forget

Deceit and deception, over and over
The chances of good friend, like a four leaf clover

Be careful of personas or alters unknown
Hidden behind a profile not wearing perfume but rather cologne

"The Kiss" in marble
of Rodin's work
embraces art with passion.
Ovid wrote of kisses
back when "amor"
was in fashion.
To capture
such a moment
in marble or in verse,
is beautiful
but can't refine
the taste
when lips immerse.
In meditation,
I close my eyes
on kisses
I remember.
of hot August nights
in sultry heat
or amid a fireplace
in December...

You approach me
i feel that look of
Justice in Your eyes
though blind by Your tie
around my sullen eyes
i’m tethered to the bed
splay for Your display
“i’ve been naughty, i know,”
i say, lowering my head
and though You know
how sensitive i am
i must be taught firmly
i feel Your grasp
around my throat
i shiver at Your touch
of glowing hands
scalding hot
You release
moving slowly
down my curves
i feel every hesitation
with pain and pleasure
anticipation
my moans just a whisper
as Your fingers
twist my *******
lingering for a moment
before Your wet lips
kiss my stinging nip
i feel my wetness
in an instant
i wonder at Your pleasure
You pour hot oil
upon my tender flesh
i cringe, at first
and then melt
‘neath Your caress
pain and pleasure
“time to turn you over
naughty girl”
flip and belly flop
arms stretched high and wide
ankles spread secure
to the corners below
Your tongue a whisper
a wondrous tone
a trace at the crevices
down below
i feel Your tenderness
though i know
where this will go
Your hand dipped
in the caldron
of my *******
i sense your hand
raise to the heavens
i am stubborn
a lesson to learn
i refuse to brace
feeling the full
wake embedded
on my cheek
imprinting Your sting
so i don’t forget
forever seared ...
as I awake from a dream,
sweaty and breathless, wet
a fantasy so vivid
I couldn't close my eyes
without hearing his voice
It frightened me,
enraptured,
obsessed with a world
I had only glimpsed
in my dreams