route number nine
we traveled your spine
over two lane vertebra
an occasional scoliotic stray

pass farmer hands in fields
on tractors of painted steel
labored maze rows to feed cattle:
chattel

windowed wind in evening's chatter
filtered light, komorebi, back matter
natural at fifty miles an hour
time melting spills of roadside flowers

and press of an orange-red moon
you unwrap its butterscotch rune
full of eons of seeing eyes, candy store watch
its popcorn face staring, tick-tock

then high-beams replace the sun's
intervals of lightning bug reflectors
into dark, deer vision, tunnel turns
and newly oiled ticking blacktop

distant into day's finish, night
journey's last braking bights
in memories gloaming sight
of a rural tale spin write

-cec

My Grandma told me,
About a poem she wrote
About a sunset on the
Key West shore
Painting poems to be
Ethereal and bright,
Full of beauty and
Delight.
Which they are,
But

Here I sit,
Writing poems
About how much I'd love
To die.
Or writing poems
About what's inside my mind
Which seems to be
Terrible,
Dark and
Telling me to be
At the end of bights.
Lonely nights I've spent
Spend days travelling down
My brain to my pencil,
Tracing backwards
Symbols to conform to.
Writing these words
Like child's play to
Nightmares.

So tell me,
What's the real meaning of poet?
Sunsets or an experience
Making poetry
Or poesy your only catharsis?
I think or hope it's both
But either way
Like most folks,
I still don't know what the hell
I'm talking about.

A   BEAUTIFUL  PREGNANT WOMAN
                         ( In Australia )
A beautiful within attractive pregnant woman
Her partner decides to end it all right then
With the blunt end of an ax killed her and baby
Jailed for life fed clothed taught a trade till when
If a dog bights a child on any day they shoot it
This angels life is over her family suffer always
Bring back the electric chair rope or needle
An eye for an eye in religious books it says
Me , I'd tie him to a tree on an ants nest
Pour honey all over him just to be kind
Sit back if I was her family with a wine
Allow him to suffer as they heart and mind
Everybody knows right from wrong in life
If not happy he could have walked away
Put these mongrels out of their missery
Capital punishment for these crimes to pay
Don't any talk to me of forgiveness and love
Religions tried it on Jesus as he didn't agree
With their holier than thou as if once cross
No talk of forgiveness for these crimes to me

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

All you need  is someone to dream about,
Someone who raises your pulse up as a knight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

Cuts the fog, with no wings, makes you fly above the clouds,
Lighting up like a thunder, lighting up  like a thunder, in the night,
All you need is someone to dream about,

There are games that poets never can win, as dreamers do, in the walkabout,
Forbidden to touch you, but always  rearranging the starlight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

The reader  reads that confession  can harm  or make famous only  the poet,
Without the attempt to evade the hero's journey, and fight,
All you need  is someone to dream about,

And do not wonder, that you sit alone at your table,
When we”ll grow up I want us to have chestnut bights,
Move the dunes in the sea, warm our palms without
touching,

There is nothing in the world that you know better than stones,
And yet, my darling, you crash them in search of diamonds, light,
All you need  is someone to dream about, that
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

I see her in smiles of the living room fens,
When sunlight hits wet on the mire.
Between the waves that lick the bights,
On the steeps of the fjords as sound.
In the vibrations of breezes on stamens,
Like a gentle resonance of pollen on pistils.
In the currents of a universe as a celestial,
Through these fluctuations as mysteries.
Deep out like some starry cosmos,
Far out like some alien culture.
On proverbial outskirts as hypothetical fringes,
As like waterfalls after rains have swelled.
By the puddles stirred together as unison,
In the droplets as ink splatters join paper.
Moon sets as like blues jazz records end,
On mornings mist full as classical pieces.
Like indescribable ideas as beautiful emotions,
When pebbles fall as sand by the ocean.
As worlds collide like harp concertos,
Through chords of movement as cell division.
For like den to hare as ribs to hearts,
Like mind to matter as sight for hawk.

Music of life,
How I long to sing with you
Into eternity & for perpetuity.
What is the song,
For but us as one?