Too long tonight I've lingered here,
And though time itself be intimate,
The ticking of the clock, is not.
Unlock those dreams of fate.
Old rising sun, you must wait.

If I had made of my scrawny arm
A pillow for my boney head
I may have had a moment's time
To chase a summer's dream that fled,
What would the Sun have said?

If in this troubled world of mine
I must linger sleepless in the night,
My only friend shall be the moon,
Who paints my lids a sadness shone,
As the Sun now shines a brighter light.

Exiled from my own home, I walk through
A lattice of shadows in the hushed rooms.
No one speaks, but in that emptiness, I sometimes hear
The sticky vernacular of the unreal.

The scents that used to wisp around me when she passed,
Gardenia on an evening out,
are but memories past pleasant now,
Ethereal butterflies gone back to their cocoons.

Nothing relents: I deal with the damage
to my downspouts, drainpipes, the kitchen sink.
One more hard storm and I’ll be drilling weep holes
In the basement walls to let the stink out.

Nightlights, streetlamps,
Convenience store glow,
Lit in a dull meaningless light.
Lives live on another decade or so
The same though, no exit in sight.
Death floats in, begins it all again,
Just as before, all repeats,
Nightlights, streetlamps,
Convenience store glow…

Water plays
in the shade of trees
Clouds flit through
new moonlight
Alone in the darkness
stands my shadow,
completely unnoticed
in the damp twilight.

I should have kissed you
in our garden of sighs
under the deep purple sky
while you shook the daylight
from your free-falling hair
that moment knowing only
the thick stain of life
staining fingers tip to tip
colors dripping limb to limb
tasting deeply the seasons
of the whole world hidden
on your **** tender lips.

Stories of passion,
Turn book dust to relics,
Calming short vowels,
linking verbs unconcerned,
in the stillness of a sunset suffix.

As consonants cry in the wind,
Prepositions fall,
like a predicate’s robe,
While conjunctions,
connect to their sin.

Regret has no business interfering with a person's life,
as if one could change the past by spending the future dwelling on it.
Were it not for regret,
the present might be a much more pleasant place to live,
allowing one to look forward to the future with optimism,
rather than hesitation.
Regret is useless to all but the person using it and deserving or not,
is nothing more than the disguised past tense of guilt.
Regret is a selfish act.

Cold and dim
the year draws to its end
Sipping my wine,
I search for the warmth
of sunlight on my chilly porch.
In the garden of my house
all leaves have fallen
In the garden of my heart,
many memories lay rotten
I tip my glass
and drink deep of the dregs
I look to the kitchen
but no light there glows.
Half written poems, unread books
Still stacked beside my creaky chair
But my autumn light is gone now
and I’ll not have time
to read again this year

Even in this fast world  
the spirit of a friend
May live and reign
for a thousand years.
Why are friends long lost,
Always the most stable,
Of the four legs on a chair?

Once, while sharing some wine,
On the tranquil banks of a silent lake,
I asked someone what romance was.
And they told me she was a lone woman,
in flowing gold robes,
smoking a joint upon still listless waters.
Dreaming amid her silver ropes of haze,
she was beautiful and lovely melancholy,
in the evening of a summer's fun folly,
all enveloped by the light of the moon.

Much later my admiring sigh,
travelled across the water
to her still waiting form,
and shattered her silence too soon.

So I stayed up all night,
to search for that moon,
the night sky's only living daughter.
Unaware that my affection,
was aimed only at a reflection,
that my romance had been lost,
in the water.

The thoughts of leaves interest me,
Fragile fall, crisp with color,
harbingers of cooler times.
How fleeting flow their days,
How long lay their nights,
Memories of summers past,
Those thoughts that still drift,
Into many a fragrant eve,
hanging gently in their trees
to sing a song of rivers and streams,
and melodies,
of lemon scented fireflies.
This where the image of leaves,
is mirrored in the realm,
of my mind’s infinite summers.
Where the thoughts of leaves,
blow wild and free,
and memories past still wander.

It is the needing within the silence
deep down in the body,
deep and pure.
Shimmering pools of desire replenished
but never truly full.
Those shifting liquid pools of needing,
their voices calling, ever pleading,
always wanting something more,
Always something more.

After allowing my love to leave me
Because of my own stupid absurdity
I baked myself a humble loaf
A reminder of my missing hope
I then allowed it to sit
So daily it would startle me
Until I vowed to make it quite
So with treacherous trembling knife
I stabbed its crusty hide
And on insertion deep inside
Softly something crumbled
Sadly something died.

In private at her they laughed,
Such laughter never more foolish!
Dwellers of this earth,
should cry and not cease.
Time's vulgarities crush us like glass,
Never to be reassembled in one piece.

I’ve just held you up to offer my hand,
And cannot help my weeping to see you wander.
Even leftovers leave to appease the nights hunger.
I will await your return with empty stomach.

In my mind,
I hold the words,
that life denies me.
Words sweet words,
speak love sweet love,
if only to grow wings instead,
if only to rise above.
Words are not speaking,
as songs are not singing,
words to wound,
words to please,
words to bring me to my knees.
All day I have written words.
My subject has been just that:
Words.
And I am wrong,
and the words are wrong,
and so the words I burn.
Cerebral pages of them.
Words.
Desperate I ask the moon,
to gather her moonlit words,
and those too I burn.
But a poem still remains.
Of the words, with the words,
in the flame, that is now the words,
I disdain.
So I burn the words to contain,
Those meaningless words un-heard,
my words,
and am then burnt,
by all I cannot save,
all I cannot love,
and all I leave un-made.
But the words,
the words remain the same.

How long would you have loved me?
A lifetime?
Ah wait, but that was too long?
Let us say just a moment.
Life is best but a moment,
If life is scarcely a day.
Might you have loved me then?
Perhaps while you drank,
From my life’s delicate cup,
with your sweet face turned up,
To love's exquisite taste.
Just one rapturous moment,
While my love inhaled you,
Like the soul of a flower,
For the space of a breath,
Within the breath of my space,
Where my words had no power,
But did their best to express,
Something so divine, so enchanting,
As your souls lingering scent,
Thrilling through all of my mind,
But at last in a sigh,
to be breathed out and spent.
Just one moment no longer,
and then all of my strength and desire,
all my passion exhausted,
With nothing left of my fire,
Gray ash scattered in the wind.
But then would you have clung to me?
Would you have then loved me?
Or would you have loathed me,
and scorned me,
And ruthlessly flung me away?
Yet again?
This maddening moment, I beg let the next,
Show what it chooses to reveal.
Is it enough that you loved me but a moment?
It was I after all,
who let fate spin her wheel.
What though from my dream when I awake?
My love a mere frolic it does seem.
What is life at best but a dreaming sleep,
And what is love, but just a dream,
A brief fleeting thought,
Only for fools to keep?

There's a gleam of green in the sunset red,
There's a stir of blue in the quiet mood,
There's an odious glow in the dusk outside,
Tonight, I’ll have my wine inside.
There’s none but me in this empty room,
Drinking lonely in in a swoon,
And yet still I hear a ****** voice,
Where moonlight fingers the window ledge.
Shall I calm the thoughts within my head?
No, I think I’ll drink my wine instead.

I have a tulips sense today,
soft and sweet, but short to stay
and where it goes no bee can say.
I have a tulips sense today

I told a daisy’s tale today
her petals damp in a sudden shower
that blushed bright pink within the hour.
I told a daisy’s tale today

I pinched a roses bud today,
she pinched right back and used her thorn
To draw my blood and show her scorn
I pinched a roses bud today

I had a tulips sense today
the bloom in mind
was one of a kind
then sadly it faded it away

I had a tulips sense today.

Just as I locked my door, and pocketed the key,
I glanced over my shoulder only to see,
My tortured soul staring back at me.
'Look, I said,
"this name is your name, this door is your door,"
And though I accept that now; why did I put the key,
in the back of my mind to hide it from me?

So my soul let me go,
but my name has been lost,
Along with the key.

I am blind in your eyes,
Pupils enameled hard,
against your glow.
When moonlight grace,
through treetops trace,
Our hearts then twined
still shine dark within our souls.
You are elusive as perfume,
a wavering gust of wind,
Not long will you remember me,
Nor those secret places I have been.

I am a solitary light in your sight,
a shadow short marked
for our rapturous flight.
I cannot ask,
for the cast of your body.
I cannot ask for the taste,
of your tongue.
You leave me from under the sheet,
your dark eyes drinking me in.
Now alone and awake I lay there,
Tangled damp in the silk of our sin.

All assertions.
Are defeated by time.
And yes, there has always been
more meaning in what's left untouched.
The passing time does turn to dust
amid my solitary and loveless nights.
Such lack of touch still leaves me yearning,
For sleep to remove me from my plight,
with a subtle singing of liquid sighs,
Reflecting loves lake with lonely skies.
Silent I remain, forced to abstain,
From those human pleasures of life,
That most basic need of human touch.

I found a fairy on a yellow rose along a silver stream.
The rose must surely dream I said,
to raise an emerald leaf, and have you lay within its bud,
to touch and taste your sweet.
This budding bloom she did reply, this slender flower with its dew,
all memories of the rain its blushing petals hold within,
so now this lovely rose and I,
Today we dream for two.

What of the rain I did reply, do drops of rain fall down in dreams?
Happy to leave their cloudy sky?
The rain she says in its defense, makes pools where poppies drown,
They float upon this silver stream to enter a land of flower dreams,
where all our fancies sprout and spring,
Only to return again next year to sing the lyrics of the trees,
And give the bees their buzzy sound.

The fairy stretched her gossamer wings and caused the blooms to blush.
Why must you ask such trivial things,
in delicious moments such as these?
Your questions they are all remote,
and cause the ladybugs to sneeze.
The mystery now I put to you, as a hush fell over the trees
Is have you now, or have you ever
Dreamt a dragonfly dream?

The one whom I thought of as a teacher
Passed deftly like the shade leaving no shadow.
He drank all the inertia, all the lethargy,
And waited himself in vain for fame.
He was his own omen, and the warning,
compassion for all, breathing torment,
Until he endlessly suffocated himself
On the nothing for which he waited.
I have learned well of his teaching,
It has become me.