Sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Cutting keys wit flour
****** man of the hour
It’s the sweet sweet powder
Sweet sweet powder
Lookin down from the tower
Homeboy, I got all the power

It’s the sweet sweet powder
Like I’m raven from the bowery
I be hittin fools wit trash cans
Wake em up in bout an hour
With that sweet sweet powder
Shootin three ***** like crowder
Hollarin hella louder
Like Aretha in the shower
Got that sweet sweet powder
That I’m given to the *******
Never ****** with those snitches
That are wearing goodwill britches
No I roll with the
Sweet sweet powder
Been running through the ditches
Eating salty ham sandwiches
You act like I don’t know riches
I know that

Sweet sweet powder
Be cutting keys wit flour
I’m da man of the hour
Jumpin in the shower
With the sweet sweet powder
On the ivory tower
Pimpin tricks by the hour
Holding all the ****** power
Got that sweet sweet powder

Now wit that sweet sweet powder
I get ******* like a Scotty
****** Baio was hottie
But with that sweet sweet powder
He coulda ****** gotten Molly
Little Ringwald in her prime time
Slap that *** like a hate crime
Sweet sweet powder blowin my mind

I got that sweet sweet powder
Fuckim man of the hour
Rollin with robin trower
Acting like a lil bow-er
With my sweet sweet powder
Turning trick by the hour
Showering with power
Giving ******* flowers
Got that sweet sweet powder

The blackberry bush had one new bloom
Its light fragrance was so delicate and sweet
I closed my eyes to breathe in deep its beauty
And felt as if I were floating on a leaf
Traveling down a quiet meandering mountain stream
Touching down on a sandy beach

The soft sand of the creek beach
Was outlined by brambles in full bloom
I thought of the blackberries to come, how sweet!
And gave a moment to consider the beauty
Of one thorny leaf
Plucked it and tossed it into the stream

I considering taking a dip in the stream
And I took my shoes off on the beach
I could see on the shore an algae bloom
And wondered if that would taste sweet
Before the plunge I looked at the crystal clear beauty
And cast myself in the water as I had the leaf

When I broke the surface on my face was a leaf
Floating unaware down the little stream
Seeking only a place to land, like a nice beach
To be amongst the other blooms
And create a berry so sweet
That, would be the truest beauty….

I was caught up by the beauty
Of a twisting maple leaf
Falling down, down to the babbling stream
Bypassing the sandy beach
And casting no glances to the opening bloom
Giving no thought to their future sweet

I swam to the shore thinking about berries so sweet
Sunlight dancing on the water created such beauty
That I stepped on a sticker leaf
And fell backwards into the stream
Filling my shorts with sand from the beach
And giving my *** cheek a nice rosy bloom

I sat on the beach right next to a mountain stream
Watched a leaf float by in all its beauty
From a sweet blackberry bush in full bloom

~


yellowing birch leaf
   suctioned to a rounded river rock
shimmers

my attention is caught
        the gleam penetrates me
lasers shoot forth from my fingertips
                        bending light weaves
          the forest  
                            a basket

unable to keep my eyes open
      a warm wave washes over me
                 peaceful slumber descends

startled by a new predicament
       I find myself stuck
                  arms and legs outstretched
as if my body were attempting to locate
individual compass points
                  with alternate appendages
and yet, I feel elastic
    able to morph and elongate
               and out of the corner of my eye
                      I see my left hand
seem to shimmer with a yellow glow   /

rudely intruding on my stellar mood
the thought occurs I need some food
at the risk of coming across mean or crude
the entire process feels to me lewd
as if I were a wild horse forced to be shoed
or stuck in a clown suit living fancy dude
I hope to make this clear and not be too *****
there are few things in life I despise like food

the very idea I am forced to stop and eat
you might as well tell me they are going to cut off my feet
in modern society there’s no way to be discrete
and in all actuality it’s the only way to be complete
whether vegan for life or a lover of meat
salted pork sandwich or a bite from a beet
both can be smothered in a sauce of mesquite
and with the right olives you can be transported to Crete

yes, the woes are so great when stuffing one’s face
like a hog you slop food all over the place
sit there grinning what a total disgrace
I bet you’d eat dog **** covered in mace
if deep fried and plated with a creamy white glaze
eating so fast you can’t even taste
no thought for the starving with flies on their face
you throw scraps away like there’s no such thing as waste

gaining and sweating getting terribly fat
eating mayonnaise straight from the vat
got too excited in the kitchen and swallowed the cat
one time on vacation you ate two whole rats
imagine the horror of something like that
so fat that when sleeping you need a C-pap
machine on your face to keep open the flap
you need for breathing because you got so ****** fat

I am too guilty of being a fat ****
I have lost 70 pounds and some pants still don’t fit
look at my chest and see hairy man ***
makes me so ******* mad I start throwing a fit
but it can only be my fault when really looking at it
is eating too many sweets really worth all this ****
making me feel such an ****** drooling cross-eyed old ***
falling and floundering in a self-pity pit

but I broke free and took control of the food
no longer eat gravy which used to be glued
to my ribs and my gut while growing me *****
and fell out of my bowels each time I pooed
too much sugar creating bad attitude
and helping me to stay locked in my room
a room on the inside of my body that cooed
for the release from the trap of over processed food

~

we laughed at my attempt

pretending I was the moon

trying to create tides by


dangling fingers which gently brushed

the skin of a river



a ripple floated away

captured a leaf and carried it

to the opposing shore



I heard a voice

cool and soothing

trickling around soft earlobes

the ancient river spoke



on a grassy mound I listened

to tales of great brown bears

thrashing after sweet row

of flooded banks gathering crops

and depositing fresh rich silt



after a moment I rose to leave

a whisper followed me

babbling about the invasive carp eating

every last crawdad in sight



and the pipes of the old saw mill

forever vomiting sewage and

oily discharge

clogging tributaries

poisoning algae



as my tears fell

they created new circular ripple

within the center

a face stared back

eyes full of blame


I slowly looked away   /

~
Tiger grass in the Willamette Valley hides canine anaconda
they slither unseen except for the sifting chaff,
westerly breezes give them total cover until the attack
of tongue and slobber. We sit, half expecting,
a pounce and roll. The scratchy paw against cotton blend
inspires distant tree frogs to croak and seek
mates and pools perfect to harbor new life.
Delicate eggs surrounded by slime fly up and over
heads not paying attention, heads that instantly become open caverns
and howl like banshees at splashing hounds in the moonlight.
Disciplinary tones squelch exuberant activity and
three old men with hanging heads gather around the fire,
unable to make eye-contact or even muster up the courage
to lay upon booted feet of angry masters. Only the occasional whimper
rolls across the valley as even the frogs fear for their safety.  /

out of the still of night
and with a jolting start
I find myself inundated with cool liquid
and given life through direct current –
pressed against the yellow mica
I sit quiet, then, at once,
a rumbling fills the quiet stillness
held together only by glue and gravity
the boiling water transforms
settling back down to a simple
swirling and steaming mass
but now, a slightly different color appears
and the smell of spice wafts freely –
grabbed without a please
or a moment’s thought to my well-being
I feel myself lifted into the air
and tipped over
the sensation is not unlike a rollercoaster
except after, I am always empty
the hollowness of my body matches the emptiness of my soul
as I watch her sip the tea
and leave the quiet kitchen to start her day –

sunlight glistens off latticed steel
one inch by one inch diamonds
a succulent sits in a window
open three inches
enough for a slight breeze
to permeate the drudgery –
body odor mingles
with ancient brickwork
as the ball sweat cheese wafts
through the narrow halls
encountering so much foot fungi
creating a medley of stenches
only partially conducive to learning –
the ever-present clacking of keyboards
qwerty in their fashion
keeps the static rustle of my radio muffled
but barely enough to be less distracting
that a lifetime of bad choices
and the damnable math GED test --

cross-over
behind the back
simple wrist flip
34 footer drops
and I sit in awe --
having witnessed
Showtime
Magic, Kareem, Worthy
Vs.
The Parquet floor
and Larry Bird….,
the bad boys,
and the Jordan era
(both incarnations),
big Timmy in San Antonio,
and Hakeem in Houston,
Shaq and Kobe,
Kobe and Gasol,
the reign of a new king
shinning like the sun in Miami...
they all sit back
like me
mouth open
feeling a state of awe
muthafukkin Stephe Curry
……hope homeboy stays healthy,
I like bearing witness to NBA godliness –

monkey DNA rules the landside
multitudes of dudes
rally around the ranch hands
planning to take stands
against stands of trees
standing tall
light refracts
bending ever so
giving the low lying foliage
full spectrum—
apelike in their motions
and communicating only in grunts
suspendered stewards stake claims
on the Sycamore
for more money
moreover,
eyes shine on the falling pine –
mannish flexing
droplets of sweat
stack rack of sweet smelling fir slats
binge drinking between filling bins
train cars destined for ports
shipping the soil's children
to the impoverished and underdeveloped –
aged tycoons
rest scabby elbows
on traditional oak armrests
seated near the mahogany footed desk lamp
just to the left of a little cedar box containing cigars –

Oh, amazing language
I thank thee
for my ability to be the thesaurus
my understanding of my native tongue
the masterful way in which we all express ourselves
through the bastardization of 100 cultures
stealing the noises we enjoy and casting the remnants
to the void
set up shop next to Sanskrit or Latin
death to Elizabethan *******
only Ebonics and Mid-Alabama mush mouth
sprinkled with a little Boston soft “R”
paak da caaa in da yaaaad
like a mad ****
disjointed Caucasians
desperate to steal the next black vernacular
nothing beats a middle-class suburbanite
expressing their feelings about broke *** hoes

sickly thoughts of self-harm
bubble from the void
nothing as trivial as cutting
but the cold steel
pressed hard…
lace wing butterflies flutter
lighting ever-so-gently
colorful powder floats in soft breezes
as my reddened fist
turns to uncover
the guts of gods beauty…
bile rises from the depths
contorting my face into a scowl
hate filled eyes enraged
stare into the cracked mirror
happy fun time is over, again…
I awake with a start
too much fried food
and the anniversary of Mother’s death
have me in a very unsettled spot
wishing I could sleep
thinking about my estranged daughter
lost within myself….

there is a line of thought
that each soul chooses its path
creating a general outline of experiences
a sense of direction without any concrete
it was then I became a writer ~

my mother sat me upon her lap
read to me little golden books
and Dr. Seuss
from time to time she would experience nostalgia
and read to me her own youthful writings
it was then I became a writer  ~

AP English taught by a wicked witch
no vision   no freedom     no fun
write this style this way or fail
I failed
it was then I became a writer  ~

sobbing over stationary
attempting to write away a failed marriage
trying to rhyme piece of mind
with leaving a daughter behind
ultimately choosing a needle and the life
like Hunter, Jack, and William…..
it was then I became a writer ~

sitting across from murderers
sharing the secret I held most dear
I read aloud my poetry for the first time
It was then I became a writer  ~

I became a writer the moment I
cocked my head to examine closer the delicate petals
of a dandelion  ~

I became a writer the instant I felt
          anything  ~

the day I set my hand free
and it became dearest of friends
with both my head and heart
that
that is the day I became a writer /

~


I see his face in the smoke
      though he has only gone fourteen days
I feel the weight of absenteeism

It is only proper for a twenty year old man
              to leave the nest
strike out on his own and find his way in the world

                  it is only normal for me to suffer this loss
                      for I not only have lost a son
                               but a friend

but loss to too harsh
      four hours travel time is not eternity
                     it is distance
                         and that space holds weight

this is a positive story
      of evolution and growth
natural order and regular happenings
I can’t help
feeling sad
            
               I might be wanted and loved
                    but I am no longer needed  /

yo, dawg
I remember this one time
we was straight chillin
I fell out and was sleepin hard, dawg
my homeboys was actin the fool
smoking that tea
wildin out
like they was straight mad
party was of the hiz-ook
then this little blond ***** rolled in
takin bout whitey
o’ some ****
I was tore up, dawg
sleepin in a muthafukkin teapot
this ** flappin her gums
bout this and that
like we give two *****
homeboy, we was jess lookin to rip it up
out of the blue this trick
says ‘cat’
dawg, I jumped up
running across the table
moving furniture
up in this here muthafukka
my homeboys lit out after me
hollerin like big dawgs
one a’ those fools
we like to call the Hatter
went to rubbin a bit o’ jam on my nose
a little on the gums
you how we do
anaway
that **** did the trick
and I fell out
hard like a muthafukka
passed. the ****. out.
hit the bricks and skid my chin
you feel me?
bout that time this little trip rolls in
talking about being late n’ ****
that Hatter straight destroyed his rolex
send homeboy to cryin like *****
dawg, that **** was the craziest party
we still talk about the madass ****
…..never knew what happened to the blond
chick was a trip ---

comfortably placed in a well-padded swivel chair
fingertips tapping a lovely mahogany desk
on the left rests a vape pen loaded with rosin I squished
next to a hand-blown glass pipe
specifically for the finest organic outdoor flower
which, it just so happens, I grew myself
the soft glow of the screen beacons
another lovely poem for the community –
outside the window just off my right shoulder
barely noticeable fin movements send spotted coy across the pond
just beyond, the gardens, both vegetable and medicinal
sit in the sun, swelling and flourishing
surrounded by large quartz stones
placed into a medicine wheel
ala black elk speaks       --
the old lab comes and rests his greying mug on my leg
a few pats and some scratching under the chin and around the ears
fat and ornery black and white cat hops into the window sill
offering up a weak meow, and anticipatory purrs
soft caresses from the top of his head to the base of his tail
stretching his *** way into the air, he looks over as if to ask,
“who said you could be done”
I place my hands at the keyboard
typing what may be the one that gets me on Colbert –

America is
     dying


services
will be held
                        at


                                                    **Disney World

One day
parents

will be in court….

over denying



television.

sitting in shame
re-reading Gregory
thinking about the movement
that was civil rights
the death of Medgar
and Dr. King
unity and harmony
for all American citizens
peace and togetherness
equality….
Donald sits atop a throne
shinning white in the sunlight
my guts tighten and twist
at the specter of this racist
becoming the face of my nation –
remember the dream…
think back to stock footage
black and white
black and white
marching demonstrators
in the hot Mississippi sun
looking only for fairness
and a constitution for all
instead,
fire hoses and German Shepard dogs
mingles with the voices
of hate and intolerance
circa 1967…
2016 and a man stumps
divisive messages
falling on ears filled with ****
propagandized lies systemized
no one hears truth anymore
especially written on faded
and water damaged pages –

~
Standing at the concrete bridge
just at the entrance to the L-Line
I scan the clear-cut of two years ago.
New maples stretch to the sky and
ferns fan out like a forest compass
each direction, devastation.
I close my eyes to the horror and feel my brow
scrunch. A lifetime of memory spills like the creek below
passing me by, cloudy and swirling.
It is really progress to ends so many lives?
Each stump I pass seems to call out
in a weak wavering voice, asking my why.
I rub my fingers along the chainsaw tracks
shaking my head as I cannot answer.
When my father used to return from work
smelling of sawdust and
gear oil, I relished those scents.
Today, in the face of a forest in ruin,
my nostrils flare against the stench.
And yet, even in my anger and dismay
new growth brushes my pant legs
and I see where the planters have come through with
***** and ***
giving baby firs a new home.  /

~
Bending low over cultivated flowers
feeling petals soft and delicate betwixt rough
and calloused fingertips. With the gentlest tug
a single veined pollen respite
floats at first then lays weightless
within my palm. I hold the entire universe as well.
Each atom in balance expressing color
and fragrance. All without any
measurable substance. A slight but steady
breeze takes my prize. I stand defeated;
no longer able to garner a mate…
or experience joy. I pull another
and am reborn in nature.  /

~


I didn’t see her at first
the frolicy bounding yearlings
                       had my attention~

When I looked back to the south
         I was stricken
               her hunched straining body
                   ears frantically twitching
                        one large black eye
                              fixed  ~

she must have just begun
             her morning ritual
                      as she kept
                                going ~

I have never claimed to be the most
                          mature man
so this spectacle
                 made me laugh
my noise added to her
                         rigidity
which inspired more
                       uproarious laughter ~

duty complete
              she flipped a large
                          white tail
and cast a disgusted glace
back at me
     not once or
               even twice
but three separate looks ~

the third was more than
      I could bare
so I shouted out
across an empty field
to one indignant doe
a heartfelt apology ~

There once a puppy named spot
Who liked eating pancakes a lot
With butter and jam
Sausage, bacon, or ham
But never if covered with snot

There once was an old cat named blue
Who enjoyed life when chewing on shoes
He ate up a Ked
That hurts his ole head
So he switched it to eating up glue

I knew a little boy named Mike
Who had the best red and black bike
He crashed into a tree
and skinned up his knee
and sold it for a yellow kid’s trike

we all went on a family vacation
to see the great spots in our nation
the canyon was grand
Wisconsin cheese bland
Bu the best was grand central station

We travelled three days and two nights
And never once had any fights
Except for the air
When my head got stuck down there
And I’m still not seeing quite right

Of course these are nothing but lies
Like a spy in a gorilla disguise
First put on the mask
Then cover your ***
And try not to attract any flies –

Her long delicate fingers took my hand
Then she looked me right in the eye
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

Figuring out what it takes to be a man
Work hard, be home, and never lie
Her long delicate fingers took my hand

Taking out the garbage, filling the recycling can
Making sure to buy two-ply
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

Scanning the horizon, looking across the land
Thinking about my desire to fly
Her long delicate fingers took my hand

We made the commitment with a tattooed band
Watched my mother start to cry
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

For this life and the next, from wind and rain to sand
Ours is a love that will last after we die
Her long delicate fingers took my hand
She was the perfect one for me according to the universal plan

evolutionary revisionist
screaming about alien DNA
and the Annunaki
teaching ape-men
on the Sumerian plains –
looking at the southern skies
for the coming of Nibiru
sending red horns across the horizon
bringing back the overlord giants
another round of ****
and zero-point energy –
fallen angles look like greys
travelling from heaven
in shiny silver disks
abducting the impoverished
for genetic manipulation
and artificial insemination
attempted creation
of a hybrid nation
my lament is not taken seriously
and I slip further into the fringe –
cattle mutilation no longer garners
a press release
five million people with similar memories
are all discounted as crazy
so the masses can sleep
believing they are alone
and special
in the universe –

wordsmithing virus lyric
twisting lines empirically
like British empire builders
treating native speakers
subhuman /
reading worn cliché
daily lamenting regurgitated
form and style
while smiling at the beguiling nature
of multisyllabic structure ~
it’s easy to forget (in a legalization nation)
that the idea of utilizing parentheticals
is really
just using parenthesis  ~
creating space between the artist


                     and
                           the
                                reader


is pretentiousness personified /

it is our job to play Ishmael
and take them with us
not leave them shore bound
watching the speck of sail
slip into the stratosphere ~

come with me
lend me your hand
more importantly your eyes
and an open mind ~

then we can journey
together /

Trump reached the magic number
of
pledged delegates

this morning…..

~



The morphine undissolved upon his dry and cracked tongue
Mother frantically grabbing and sobbing
asking 'why' even though cancer
had been devouring him for years

I slid a silver ring off his cold finger
feeling the thin and frail culture
I thought back to massive hands holding wide leather belts
who would be able to discipline me now

More pills swirled around the toilet bowl
everything that wouldn’t get mom or I high
sank and disappeared
I think I flushed my feelings that day too

Fading images play in my mind
his braided hemp cord necklace woven around a tiger’s eye
the black heart earing that I lost almost the same moment
they wheeled his body out into the day
mom collapsed like a dying balloon
in dad’s chair
her red watery eyes looking up at me
still holding the same questions   /

what sounds good
is that we all write for ourselves
that we write because of passion
we have to
we can’t not write

such drivel
this is a public site
if you post your work here
it is not

just for you /

sure, you like to pretend
it’s all about craft
honing skill
trying to be better

this is a public site

expect feedback ~

lies are acceptable
we are writers after all
poets, really
but you shy away
like that word
hurts you
like embracing your gift
makes you an egomaniac
instead of driven
makes you pretentious
as opposed to free /


each time you type your life
then submit it to this site
you are no longer writing solely for yourself

sorry

that bubble needs burst

you are writing for acceptance
for love
for community


or

you would simply file each writing
into your desk
never to be seen again /

~


fixated on a textured ceiling with dampened cheeks
failed vocalizations left her wanting

noises caught deep in the esophagus
gurgled and sputtered

the words evaded me with ease and grace

when at last I was able to focus on both breath and speech
she no longer wanted to know

the time for compassion and understanding had  
passed much as the darkest night
always presents dawn’s glory  to the waking birds

she knew the answer before I did
which is almost always the case with marriage

I just had to find my way to honest
again   /

we speak of both the past and now
each giving the other time
thoughtfully considering
before responding
just like in the books…
we sit together watching trash
commenting on absurdity
and passing on the conclusions
in order to catch a few quick kisses
the world ceases to exist
outside of a place for our air and water
to materialize
14 years in,
I still feel this way –

considerate conversation
in traffic
watching irritated passersby
chuckling at the scene
hands resting
skin pressed but not pushed
as the comfort of touch
and the warmth of togetherness
fill the Kia
and replace the honking insanity
only a window pane away –

soft breath, steady and rhythmic
she waits for an answer
to the simplest query
as though I might pop off
with a cure to aids
or insight into the cern collider
I only say “yes”
as I do so hate telling her ‘no’
a smile passes her lips
inspiring mine to do the same
and we walk hand in hand
down the sandy shore
as is always the way –

I remember creeping up slowly
I was not allowed to play
in the busted and rusted out
’56 Ford –
I remember the faded yellow paint
peeling in the sunshine
chipping slivers off
and watching them flutter slowly to the ground
like the oak seeds
helicopter style
spinning and twirling
down, down, down…
I remember the shinning silver handle
with its easy downward force mechanism
and how smoothly the door came open
as if it were fresh off the lot
and I were an interested buyer
and not a child
breaking rules placed for my safety
and well-being….
I remember not caring if I might get cut
or rusty paint chips in my eye
only that this was mine and Grandpa’s special place
and I missed him –
I remember reaching out to the ripped and faded interior
feeling its heat on my hand
I remember my ears being perked
straining to hear the backdoor
of the farmhouse
if mother found me
dad would whip my *** after work….
I remember that is what he called it.
I remember that hot upholstery
and my small fingers  
twisting a string
before I made my move to jump into the cab
and drive, cross-country….
as I looked up,
legs like coiled springs
I remember the fattest bodied garden spider
I remember his black and yellow pattern
his perfectly developed web
I remember standing in shock
as this monster had taken over my special place
I remember falling backwards onto the yellowed grass
his freakish body forever imprinted
my 4 year old psyche damaged
giving me a lifetime
of an unreasonable fear of spiders
…..I remember that day
because I cannot forget it –

recklessly tracing her freckles
demeanor shifts at the touch
barely perceptible shudder
and a sleepy smile
new day begins
love lighting the horizon –
twisted braid holds grey’s at bay
highlighted strips
blend with soft auburn
a slight red stain brings full lips to the forefront
love cascades from the florescent –
delicate ankles, perfectly accentuated
by the thin, black, faux leather boot
a boot which climbs playfully
up a tone and tattooed calf
love gleams as a refraction
           off the shiny footwear—
dainty fingers tickle my neck
shooting electricity
followed by warm tropical waves
falling feathers caught in a summer breeze
love sets over an ocean of blue –

it caught the corner
             of my eye

Pavlovian neck twist
jarring synapsis
                  tears followed

was it a ghost
or flickering dust particulate
                   sent me
                             crashing into your picture

sitting crisscross
considering memory’s place
longing to touch your finger
              

                               soft sunlight played
                               dog dander and field burn
                               swirled in the long evening

the radio crackled
long forgotten songs
        played on vinyl

once again they fell
    
                  Is today your birthday?
                  Anniversary?

numbers blur
last year’s calendar
still hangs
         rectangle wall stain

emotions wipe away
mental images persist
a face through the years

               suddenly I stand alone /

Lost in the fluidic movements of Keats
Feeling each line, steady rhythm ‘n beats
Sending my head spinning, beautiful tune
Swooning all love-struck hooked on the spring moon
Glancing gay-fully over hill ‘n yon
Silently anticipating
the breaking of dawn
brought back in a flourish reading aloud
tears well up as I destroy this old shroud
keeping me locked up so tight…life, no air
thinking repeating rhyming couplets
lead only to despair
but here is a romantic from days past
creating lovely pictures that do last
with only his words, ink, quill, and parchment
thoughts, ideas, love, being different,
setting them free on wings of written word
allowed then to soar, spectacular bird
then to perch on tongues of well-spoken men
let loose on the world, set free once again
travelling sounds delighting each sweet ear
giving peace to downtrodden… far, and near
offering some solace to the forlorn  
on the darkest and coldest dreary morns
these sounds which fly so high, brighten the sky
swirl in the mouths of our loves when we die –

dragonfly wing beat

mother sits on my shoulder

spirit eternal

the sun shown scarlet on the shore
and the day faded away
small feet sunk slow into wet sand
as they too seemed to fade
wavy hair tossed playfully
in the cool evening breeze
and the last moment of sunlight hit her eyes
I stood transfixed –
with seeming deliberateness, she turned her gaze
and I felt pieces of my heart crumble
falling within my chest cavity
finding rest only in the soles of my worn shoes
a word caught in my throat
bringing moisture to my eyes
it was then she looked back at my face –
wishing there were words to descried the beauty
I could only smile and extend my hand
placing her tiny pale fingers
into my rough and calloused hands
a love filled me
that I thought was reserved for fairy tales –
Each new day I remember
thirteen years of these moments
and as the sun shines brightly through my window
I smile knowingly
as there are so many more to come –

~




writhing
               reptilian bodies…….....


aren’t we    randy




                                                                                       maybe it’s me!   /

I
Squat, under a Viney-Maple,
    bursting with orange…
        the Fall Chanterelle.

        **II
Pine needles mound;
    perfect little rolling hills
         cover the forest floor,
Chanterelles are coming!

        III
Her eyes shine bright,
     the excitement of the hunt.
          Chanterelles!

        IV
Five buttons in the bottom of the bucket…

        V
Quick movement out of the corner
    of my eye;
       squirrels like Chanterelles too.

        VI
Buzzing becomes the only reality
   as another bees nest has been disturbed…
    There are many perils
        involved with Chanterelles.

        VII
Closed eyes bring forth
   images of fields,
     orange and extended,
        as there are more Chanterelles in this patch
            than anyone has ever seen.
A cold sweat follows.

        VIII
A blackbird sits high
   on a Fir limb,
      lookin’ like a muthafucker in the club,
          below him, a Chanterelle.

        IX
The scrambled eggs smell divine
     when one cooks them with a fresh Fall Chanterelle.

        X
I throw a steak knife
    with a barbeque brush duct taped
      to the handle
          into an old bucket I drilled holes in the bottom of
                and toss it into the back of my 1984 Nissan 4x4.
                          Today I find Chanterelles.

        XI
The smell of musk fills the air.
     A giant pile of bear ****
          next to a Chanterelle.

        XII
Three sets of tracks lead into the undergrowth,
     cut butts jut up from the floor,
         someone already found
               these Chanterelles.

        XIII
Stopping by a dear friends,
    I leave with them my treasure…
      three pounds of fresh
        Fall Chanterelles.

recollecting collections projecting selections injecting protection infection dejection
dyslexic narcoleptic rejecting dejections ******* complexion complicating interjections
perplexed inspectors intercept pterodactyls relaxing in backpacks extracting disillusion
contortionist philanthropist dejected transgression implementing eradications of moss buying patrons
eclectic perfectionist rests limp-wristed whispering disparaging remarks to the wait staff
trombone percussionist impressed and impoverished gravelling wistfully mimicking Rickles
I sit half disheveled grinding my wisdom teeth feeling the fleeting muse sitting in disbelief –