the blood has gone black
on my boots and the floor
chopping up heads
piles up the gore

the *** is now brimming
with eyeballs and skin
the cauldron now bubbles
it's time to begin

I'll ladle a bowl
of half-done meat
my Halloween soup
of fingers and feet

won't you accept
my summons to dine?
what will it take
your life or mine?

Precious raindrops tumble down
weaving nature's crystal gown

Lilting breezes stir the air
braiding Gaia's silver hair

Bees and warblers hum and sing
when the snow caps melt in spring

Diamond streamlets dance along
with their joyous sparkling song

Waterfalls in feathered white
cascade from their noble height

Winter's chains all break away
leaving life to build a day

When stars above convene
They crown the Queen Serene
She dawns the veil of night
To hide from earthly sight

SOMETIMES VOICES
MAKE HOME HELL
EVERYTHING THEY SAY
THEY YELL

IT IS HARD
TO MAKE THEM QUIT
BUT YOU HAVE TO
DO YOUR BIT

LET THEM KNOW
THAT YOU'RE ON TOP
IF YOU WANT
TO MAKE THEM STOP

LET THEM KNOW
YOU'VE JOINED THE TEAM
WHEN YOU ANSWER
ALWAYS SCREAM

Send me a greeting
across the waves
when the green sea
misbehaves

Tell me if your heart
fails to feel
my true love
for it is real

Send me a sweet kiss
across the blue
knowing that my soul
misses you

Tell me you love me
as I love you
but tell me only
if you do

Sincerity listens
but does not hear
when arguments lie
in hate and fear

Sleep descends on gentle air
combing evening's purple hair
Angels glide down heaven's stair
to gather up our daily care

I need to check my pockets
I've lost another day

embarrassing
what happened to Tuesday?

my garbage cans
missed the bus again

they are like orphans at the curb
unemptied and humiliated

Wednesday, you're tricky
you always sneak up on me

you pretend that you are Tuesday
by seeming unremarkable

maybe the neighbors will think
I'm out of town so the cans were left out

no, that won't work
the lids are yawning full to overflowing

maybe the neighbors will think
I'm just very early for next Tuesday

who am I kidding?
oh, yeah . . . me

it's you, Wednesday
you're just sneaky

Snow whispers as it falls
gently filling mountain halls
Does it ever speak or see
as it crowns the autumn tree?

Snow whispers as it flies
when it dots the feathered skies
Can you hear its soulful cries?
for it weeps when spring arrives

the Puckrum-Buck clan lived down by the Keowee River
     in a tar-paper shack
their heads were either too big or too small
and their eyes were deep-set like in a cave -
     blackened teeth
          blotchy skin
               bald patches
                    and all disproportionate

old Garold was missing one eye, and his left leg
his eye patch was a piece of ***** handkerchief
stuffed right into the socket
he wore dirt-slicked overalls and a homemade pegleg -
Ma Puckum-Buck's filthy hair was ******* with a shoelace
her dresses were floursack rags
stretched over a bloated frame
                but when the Puckrum-Bucks got together
                they could sing like angels -
                a grimy sideshow
                                          of harmonic angels

Halloween costumes in the 70s were oversized homemade style-ups
of witches, princesses, cowboys, and greasepaint hobos
spoiled by coats and jackets worn over everything against the cold

List to the green light, little boat
Always toward my Starboard Home
Home in my fevered brain
Away from tomorrow's surgery
In this blue liquid dream of escape
Where the end of the story is many shiny days
And not possible death on a table
A table serving open hearts
And scalpels in gleaming chrome
    Sponges and stitches of blackened catgut
    That may or may not promise tomorrows

Float me to survival . . . my tiny green light of hope
Help me arrive at my Starboard Home

on the charted floor of souls
fire heats twelve iron bowls
rafters echo devil screams
arms and legs hang from the beams

roast the skin with castor seeds
hair of crone and spice of weeds
stir and mix the flesh and blood
till the supper looks like mud

splintered skulls of fresh-chopped heads
each laid out on nightshade beds
plates of bone and knives of steel
sharpened for the midnight meal

who will choose the honored seats?
who will serve the roasted meats?
who will **** the sockets dry?
who will live, and who will die?

if you serve the master's will
every wish of his fulfill
if you heed the master's call
he might eat you last of all

He wondered
Will Darcy be surprised by the flowers
and the beaded purse I'm giving her?

     I don't think so.
    
He wondered
Were the opera tickets or pearls
unexpected?

     I don't think so.

He wondered
Was Darcy ever caught off guard
at any of my efforts?

     I don't think so.

He speculated
Maybe she'll be surprised on Tuesday
when I leave her.

     I think so.

The sadness seemed genuine
but it was not
The soulful touch on the arm seemed sincere
but it was not
The apology sounded heartfelt
but it was not

Later, the boss looked into
the restroom mirror
after firing Meg
for no real reason
and the smiling lips silently repeated
the favorite phrase --
           "My hands are tied."

Meg's optimistic cheerfulness
had just become too much
for the boss

The thought was
that work should always be miserable
for people below the line

___________


The hand dryer roared
to cover the boss' laugh

'Take that, Miss Happy Pants,'
                          she said to herself
'Wipe that smile off your face
                                 and take that!'

I watched her carefully stepping
   across the top of the back fence
     avoiding the yard between
       my no-feline yard
        my yard where Chaos once patrolled
        my unsafe yard where Tallulah felt unwelcome

       Softly, silently, she steps with velvet soft paws    
      crossing all the way
     then leaps
    out
    of
    sight
     into the
      Watson's yard
         Watson's safe yard
              Watson's yard of welcome  

                          I wish she would stay
                                            long enough
                                                    to enjoy
                                                   the sun
                                               and finally
                                          be brave

                            Here, kitty
                        Here, Tallulah
                           Chaos has
                                   been dead
                                             for
                                                       two
                                                                ­   years
                                                        ­                         now --
                                                              ­     Give me another chance

I carry my feelings
on my face
and true loves on my arm
I spelled them out
without a doubt
because it does no harm

Do you suppose a ship or rose
is better off seen than read?
Written or not
their faces are caught
engraved with love
in my head

You always start with a 'hon'
and you always end with a 'yuk'
That's why you're such a honyok

Along the ancient pathways of time
through indigo space
the gigantic bejeweled tortoise plodded
his enormous shell laden with cabochons and faceted gems
of amethyst worlds and sapphire planets
on glistening topaz feet like orbiting moons.

"Isn't that ruby on his forehead
the gigantic planet Hybithia?"
asked the guardian questioners --
"And, those emeralds are surely
the tourmaline sister spheres
complete with their ropes of pearl comets."

All eyes turned to the spectacle
and marveled at the scintillating sight
of endless golden filigree trims
and silvery chains that shone
like fire-bright bezels
around each glorious gem.

"What could the meaning be
of such a lavish giant?
Could it be an anomaly of treasure
or an error in the charts
of eternity beyond forever?"
they questioned --

"No" came the reply
of the handmaiden Sylphs
spreading garnet nebulas
from their shimmering baskets
while tossing whirlpool constellations
before the encrusted beast.

"That is the brooch of time --
a birthday gift
en route to Aurilia, the mother goddess of galaxies --
This is her diamond jubilee --
Today she is
a trillion."

You say I don't care?
What do you know of caring?
I say you don't care.

When will that gallant gent
in hat and cape
cease to open doors for Gabrielle
and regard her
as a lady of worth?

When he catches her reflection
in a window or a mirror
revealing her secret disdain
at his back
hidden behind her painted mask --

that is when
and only then

The creak in the floor
just outside the door
makes sleeping alone very scary

You shake where you lay
you plead and you pray
just hoping it's not something hairy

-----  I regard the crescent moon
   wrapped in velvet night --
It is like a discarded
fingernail
of God
suspended
   above
       in
            midnight  
                           acrylic                            clipping
                    ­                  after a nonchalant

The manacles of time clank shut around self-betrayed necks
with merciless finality
as the corpses in unvomited graves
try to whisper their regrets
through lips sewn shut with mortician's twine
and sealed shut
with the flesh-colored wax
of guilt

Mirages of banquets are occasionally conjured
to make dead mouths water with dust
beneath the leafmold
of tortured eternity

Lavish illusions of light and air are offered
but only the humus soil
is spooned by time
into the nostrils
with the earthworms of
of resentment

Silence is breached in perfidy
and craving in lying visions
of bounteous tables teeming with life's roasted plenty
once spread before these bulging eyes
and withered tongues

Echoing chambers are filled
with mental cries of those souls
who are flayed, rolled, and crusted
in the offscourings
of their own ground-up contrition
like a coat of pumice and splintered glass of hate

The vile demons hear those imagined screams
and laugh tauntingly at the suffering
which is their own midnight meal

Lust feeds the brazen
as remorse devours the penitent
for a recalled kiss
or stolen touch of affection
is but provender
to those ravenous memories and illusions
of long-forgotten feasts of love
that flicker in the mind
as though reflected
in rainbow-colored mud puddles
distorted
by drifting slicks
of motor oil

The dreamer will never be aware
that his own summoned memories
are the filthy womb of his endless nightmares
that drag after-birth chains
through his every waking hour
and prevent even a moment
of healing slumber

No

The menaced head
never sleeps
and the feast of illusions
never ends

My brain and soul were cleft in two
when we were no more 'me and you'
I seemed to lose my voice and sight
when you went off into the night

The first breath of the morning
awakes the sleeping soul
The last breath of evening
rings out the death-knell toll

When the sigh of a breeze
in meadowed land
mimics the velvet-soft whisper
of the owl wing in flight
the evening spreads her indigo cloak
as does the night in her majesty -
for God's tender command of daily silence
soothes each weary heart
at the end of each garish day

The jagged sculpture you have made of me
comes by chipping away
bit by bit
with each slight rejection --
            I
              can
                    never                                can I?
                             be smooth again,

stillness . . .
              then    
                      it
                        falls
         ­                 like
                           a
                       gossamer  
                  feather
                 from
                     a
                        fairy
       ­                      tern
                               in
                              a
                         waking
                   dream
                 slowly
                  finding
                      its
                         grave
                              on
                                  the
                        ­               forest
                                               floor
                                                       next­ to
                                                              ­     its
                                                                ­      dead
                                                      ­                  brothers . . .
                                                                      this
                                                            ­   last
                                                         leaf
                                                         ­    of
                                                                   autumn . . .
                                                                ­                            alone
                         yet surroundedd with the corpsess of fallen comrads

.          .          .          It is all I ever recall
                            the flash of a face
                     a turn of the dial
             a road
     a dog
  a dead uncle
a birthday cake iced in blue
the last sentence of a conversation
   the last few moments of my dreams
     then
        upon
             waking . . .
                   they fade into my pillow
                           even when I try
                                    to grab
                                              them
                                                         back           .           .           .

While alone the midnight hour
in the upper abbey tower
when the air became much colder
I felt a hand upon my shoulder

Jumping to a panicked flight
never looking left or right
taking stairs four by four
racing for the bottom floor

I will never know what being
or what ghastly hollow thing
touched me in that darkened room
promising my dreadful doom

But, I know that I can tell
in this simple quatranelle
you can search but never find
horrors worst than in the mind

The morning that my true love died
there rose a concrete sun
The clouds were stones
as were my bones
and my heart
                     weighed a ton

Was that a soft step?
In the darkness, a creaking?
No,
         now it is still.

The sea
the bay
now thickened with gray
from the death of the northern wind
reveals his soul
with heartless roll
and the foam on his grizzled chin

When the rain decides to fall
it falls with abandon --
       never sorry
       never in hesitation
and it never slurps back a drop
like soup on a careless chin
                            The rain is never sorry

the sea
the bay
now thickened with gray
from the death of the northern wind
  reveals his soul
  with heartless roll
         and the foam
                    on his grizzled chin

Lonely comes in three sizes
The pint is light and floats near you
The quart you must hold in your lap
But, the gallon is unliftable
  and it blocks all sunny paths

In the midst of the Garden
  was the Tree of Knowledge
                                         of Good
                                               and Evil
                       and the fruit thereof
              was beauteous ---
                but it meant
                        Death                              ­  it
                               to all                      of
                                     ­ who partook

Only the pinwheel spiral shapes
of the fuchsia and heliotrope galaxies
tell us in what direction they spin
as they travel at thousands of miles per hour-
yet, in their vastness, they seem as immovable
as the patience of God

two giant heads that flank the gate
of Charnel House since ancient date
sit pocked and scared in ruined state
and bare the names of Death and Hate

within Death's skull, are nested crows
upon Hate's lips, a gray moss grows
and Death is carved in screaming pose
while from Hate's eyes, a black stain flows

the wrought iron words arched overhead
say this is where you bring your dead
so veil your face and bow your head
as they are lowered to their bed

a filmy ghost descends the stair
with sunken eyes, no nose, no hair
he holds his ghastly evil stare
to frighten souls who wander there

yet, one day, the dead shall rise
and wipe the tears from hopeful eyes
but, Hate has suffered his demise
for this is where all anger dies

If you please, go to your knees
and listen with your heart
In humble ways, review your days
and start to do your part

Do you know, just where to go
when you've reached the end?
If you do, it's up to you
to flex your soul and bend

The only pain, you will sustain
you should never hide
You'll find the pain, that you sustain
will be within your pride

When you arise, you will be wise
and changed inside and out
You'll see the light, and know you're right
and vanquish every doubt

Vlad's favorite soup
was such a treat
eyeballs and skin slabs
and fingers and feet

he loved to ****
on the sockets and bones
and chew on the ears
and noses of crones

eyelids were good
on bread made with blood
but only if pureed
to look just like mud

When blinks the sun out her eye
that last orange spot between mountain peaks -
and the sky and clouds ignite in flame,
the earth glows in her joy at being bathed
if only for a moment
in twilight's precious gold -

When entering a room
the conversation changes or stops

When making a joke
the laughter if forced

When you say "Hello" on the telephone
there is an awkward pause

When you make a suggestion
eyes dart judgementally around the room

When these things happen
you know the truth

You have been dealt out of the hand
of those around you

You are patiently, quietly
                                          tolerated

You are old now
                         and being filed away

When you love
divisions blur
night and day
what to say

When you love
decisions melt
should I go
yes or no?

When you love
You break a heart
It is your own
Right from the start

Winter bows his grisly head
when the trees bend low
Branches bear the heartless weight
of the ice and snow

Ponds turn into frosted glass
and diamond streams to jewels
Rivers turn to mirrored roads
and lakes to sapphire pools

Echoed cries of banished fowl
plead for hopeful spring
Not until the March wind blows
will the warbler sing

Winter's night of cold and dark
slowly turns to day
when the glaze and snowy drifts
gently melt away

New spring lifts her waking head
when the sun grows neigh
Buds and blooms unfurl with joy
reaching for the sky