after the rain
I see raindrops glisten
on your tender breast

Tell me if you will, dear one,
of what was meant to be-
I did not know the tears you shed
were shining there for me.

When we were young, I held your hand
and whispered in your ear-
but when I looked into your eyes,
your words I failed to hear.

I should have known your heart was true,
and given fair to me-
but now I know no good will come,
no good, for you and me.

I once loved a girl without fortune or fame-
The gold with no glitter-
The pearl of no price.

Her heart was the gem I could not obtain-
The gold without glitter-
The pearl without price.

My heart full of passion, no love in her voice-
The gold lacking glitter-
The pearl had no price.

Today she lies deep in a grave of her choice-
The gold lost its glitter-
The pearl lost its price.

He huddled in the woods,
In the trees, in the grass,
Clutching Spring to his *****.

Damaged, cracking, his envy
Frozen in time, he knows
She cannot remain much longer.

The tighter he holds
The more she yearns
For her freedom.

Melting his lust to nothing
With a final lurch
She slips his frigid embrace.

She yawns. She stretches.
She breathes. And we,
The all-too human children

Craving her renewal
Believe in warmth again
And what it means to us.

My lover's not so commonplace-
Strong of mind, and fair of face-

She paints her nails, she paints her toes-
Who knows where my lover goes?

The birds fly here and everywhere.
They even nest within her hair.

They sing a song of fated love.
They scatter in the skies above.

When she walks by, leaves in the trees
Whisper her name. Or is it the breeze?

She loves me not. Who is to blame?
She does not even know my name.

the winter tree
how it yearns to be
the summer tree

your smile
is all the poetry
i crave

They say that only man
can know of death-
but you, old dog, you knew

the pain within your eyes
would mingle with the sadness
in our own. How tactful

was the vet, as her tender needle
probed your shaved flesh.
A final shudder of your lungs,

then all was still. No more
lusting after scruffy *******,
no more fetch the ball,

no more flying disc, ragged from
your teeth, no more the eager whine
when we arrive. Perhaps someday

we will be as strong and true
to life as you have been
to the death that took

your pain away
and left us longing
for your furry love.

The man-god stands apart,
burnishing his youth.

The sword he clutches drips
with gore more green than red.

The sisters hover round
her broken frame and murmur,

Pity, pity. Their tresses hiss
and snarl, coiling, writhing,

coiling, writhing. Her serpents
lap her clotting blood. Her sisters

stretch their leather wings
and fly to purge the bitter gall

of their revenge, singing,
Sorry sister, Better you than us.

frosted autumn moon
shining in the bottom
of my saki cup

It smells of dead smoke and stale beer.
A faded barfly warms an ancient stool.
Her cigarette stabs at stale air.
The sax man solos. He's cute, she thinks.
He plays a lick, leers at her, and winks.

the old man naps
sudden snore erupts
startled child cries out

I let my cat outside the other day
(or perhaps he escaped- I don't recall)
he stayed away all night and day

then he returned- his freedom spent
with a furry present- a small brown
victim clenched within his jaws

he dropped the thing at my feet
at first the mouse was still
then fear took hold as it ran

the beast pounced and seized and released
eager paws batted prey to and fro
then the final act- the curtain drawn

and as I watched I could not help but think
how kind of cat and mouse
to play and die for our amusement

In the valley of forever
where yesterday once ruled
we walked in hand together
in country spare and cruel.

I let the child within myself
embrace another's heart
but soon I found myself deceived
alone, and more apart.

The soul that yearns for solace
seeks another place and time
a place where truth and righteousness
are king and queen in mind.

Such journeys are but simple paths
bestrewn with bitter roses
that pressed within an ancient book
once opened, never closes.

How dismal is the burning of the day
       as dusk ensues.        
Emerging from her burrow

               she tests her brittle light-
ON            OFF          ON          OFF
               her abdomen cold, yet hungry.

She seeks a mate-
               or so the males believe.
Tempted by her spark,

               they answer back.
The scanty light remaining
               reveals her true design-

the chewing jaws, the male deceived-
               while ragged cornstalks whisper,
               waving
                     goodnight
                           goodnight
                                   goodbye.

how sweetly she must hiss at me
my diamond death

I never meant to harm her day
she caught my breath

as I walked in green serene
in blessed ignorance

her gentle warning rattling
said her fangs were meant for me

for death is a woman
her coiling built for striking

gingerly I keep my distance
from beauty such as hers

as I bid her farewell
enjoy your sunlight

my love my death my dream
my sweetest of sweet poison

all the days of sea and sand
must surely curl away

relentless as the ebb
and flow of tides

as shorebirds hunt and peck
in sand and grit their lives away

other birds have made themselves
at home next to the crystal shore

their offspring pink
and warbling in the sun

young females preen their plumage
scrawny males hover in lust

later on the clouds come open
and all the shorebirds

damp and shivering
huddle under the eaves

fragrant with salty spray
teasing the senses

as the shorebirds
shimmer in the gloom

under boardwalks of dusk
and ice cream nights

I never heard the bullet call my name
I never felt the sunlight wash my face
I never heard my newborn baby's cry
I never saw her cradle when I died.

No one told me war was just a game
(they said I was a warrior- I was not)
that old men play with us, like we are toys
(they said I was a hero- I was not.)

Tell them to go and press my clean fatigues
and put my golden chevrons on my sleeves.
Tell my honor guard to have a care
for those who cannot know what soldiers bear.

Battlefields reveal the ways of war-
the bayonet impaled within a womb,
the scorching of the flesh that was a man-
rubble, piles and piles, an endless tomb.

If those who have a care for me and mine
may wish to say some words I'll never hear-
tell them, go away, and leave me be.
Tell them, mud and blood belong to me.

The blood that rushes in the womb
unfolds the waking of desires.
My fingers gather round the cord
and pull me, heaving, to your smiles.

How desperate is the sun to stay afloat,
the sullen burning orange. The gulls
are not yet sated here,

quarreling for scraps and tidbits
clinging to the crusted foam
at water's edge. A buoy stands alert,

the bay's floating sentinel. Nearby,
an angler, struggling in the gloom,
strains to pull his tarpon in.

The harbor master knocks the rosy embers
from his pipe and, shrugging,
wipes his salty chin. In the water

by the tiki bar, a manatee disturbs
the surface, bobbing for rainwater
engendered by a sudden storm.

Refreshed, she spies a drunk, and disappears.
How quickly even purple fades to grey,
to twilight, and then the eager nothing.

Still, insufficient creatures that we are,
we feel the surging in our marrow,
pulling us further, further out to sea.

These are the hands that bring you into the world,
and these are the hands that take you out of it.
These are the hands that cling for dear life
to a capsized boat in the sea.
These are the hands that wield a knife
that cuts your life to save it.
Some of these hands are cracked and torn
from all the labor that tears them.
Some of these hands reach out to a man
who despairs of receiving deliverance.
Some of these hands belong to the women
who lift up and give strength to the sufferers.
Some of these hands are soothing a child
that cries in a night full of sorrow.

Some of these hands are praying to God
and some of them pray to Jehovah.
Some of these hands are praying to Allah
and some of them pray to Buddha.
Some of these hands pray to the Spirit of Man
and some of them pray to Brahma.
Some of these hands pray to a Higher Power
and some of them pray for a sober tomorrow.
Give thanks to the hands of all those you esteem.
Remember the hands of love, of hope, and of dreams.

I had forgotten what it looked like,
the death of a tree. Somehow
it all came back to me-

the empty hilltop holding it alone,
denuded of its bark. Somewhere
inside its core, the tree lived

the forgetfulness of death. Perhaps
it was the beetles and the grubs
that did it- although I doubt

the old boy ever knew what hit it.
High upon its former crown,
where freshened leaves once had grown,

grew a jagged slash that lightning
tore asunder. I'm sure the limbs
defied the angry thunder, while

creepers hugged the trunk and limbs together.
Above, the surly buzzards glided by,
wrapped up in a most indifferent sky.

I saw it glitter
on the walk outside my door
a watch with no hands

the band was old
and cracked
the crystal scratched and dull

the universe consists
of bits of time
measured in a universal mind

the stellar stopwatch
ticks its way
from cosmic to mundane

how may we be measured
perhaps by the tossing curls
of a young girl's hair

cascading ringlets
singing in memory
perhaps by piercing loss

of what was close
yet all too distant
youth is dragging

chains of time
behind it
age will long for time

but fail to grasp
in a world where
no one escapes unscathed

time has kept us captured
perhaps the watch
with no hands

its handlessness endearing
will grant us time
to be human once again

I thought I heard her footstep on the stair,
the ghost of sorrow. Lingering on the staircase
of my dreams, she curled up like a ball

at the feet of longing. I had forgotten all
about her, after she kept another's company.
But there she was, bitter and alone

once again. What was sorrow now to me?
Only remembrance of how it once was-
the furtive glance, the stolen kiss,

the hidden measure of time passed
hand to hand. Time is what I have
for her no longer, though the memory of her

presses like a twisted nerve on an irregular heart.
Let her leave her fragrance on another's bed
where ghostly sorrow longs to rest her weeping head.

The shepherd will take care of us-
Baa baa baa.
You mustn't think the less of us-
Baa baa baa.

We're really not so bad, you know-
Baa baa baa.
We shouldn't be so sad, you know-
Baa baa baa.

You needn't raise a fuss for us-
Baa baa baa.
They only want the best for us-
Baa baa baa.

We all must give the shepherd a chance-
Baa baa baa.
He plays the tune, and we all dance-
Baa baa baa.

We're so afraid of the wolves at the door-
Baa baa baa.
With names we can't pronounce anymore-
Baa baa baa.

Don't let the bad ones get to us-
Baa baa baa.
The shepherd is the best for us-
Baa baa baa.

I thought I saw your face the other day.
I looked outside the window at the rain,

and as I watched the cold take hold,
the frosted ground embraced the frigid day.

I gazed upon the glass, somehow hoping that
your face would fill the space you left inside me.

But all I saw was empty glass,
crying for your face

to trace the tears of rain
you left upon the frozen window pane.

the lotus of spring
eight petals floating in torrents
freshened by sudden rain

A mother young in life will give
her babe the breast until the weaning time.
Then cries and supplications fill her ears-
much frustration, a hearty chorus of tears.
Where has my milky comfort fled,
says the babe, sulking in sorrow's bed.

I heard tell once of another Babe,
soothed at His Mother's breast, quiet and serene,
and destined for a greater sphere than this.
When He was weaned, did He cry
and shake His tiny fist, and rue the day?
Or did He know of what the future held,
that He would nurse at the ***** of his Father,
and hang from Redemption's blessed Tree?

O
elves
tanenbaum
tree top angels
babes in mangers
toy soldiers marching
nut crackers cracking
putting elves on shelves
those eggnog swilling elves
all the pretty ribbons and bows
rudolph blows his ****** red nose
where did the wise men put the gifts
drunken daddy passed out in a snowdrift
why are the **** lights always so tangled up
twelve day hangover makes me sick as a pup
and the
******
elves

left foot                                                 right foot
toes flex                                                ankles whisper
such tendons                                         soothing calves
little hollows                                          backs of knees
firming hams                                          singing strings
so maximus                                           her gluteus
spine serpentine                                     how undulous
soft shoulders                                        rounded corners
hands caress                                         twin handrails
her flight arrests                                    a backward glance
what are you                                        staring at
only you                                               ascending love