She has a head, which floats
Above her body. Large eyes
Open wide. Picasso,
He could very well have made her.

Analytical-
Here is my blessing and my curse

A female is very different than a male
In human physical makeup.
There is no shame in that.
It does not need to be defended,
But it does call for an explanation.

Compare: Can the rugged bear or stallion
Sprout wings and fly?
They were made to plod the terrestrial,
Earthbound;
Their brutish power, ever recognized.

Throw a stone and you get a mere snort
As they decide if you should live or die.
But here is where the weaker sings.
The bird, that lilting tiny powerhouse,
With its fragile hollow bones was made to fly.

My heart is ashes
Now, the light winds start to blow
Bit by bit I go

Love chooses you
She does not care for sensibilities
But sneaks up from behind
And places hands over your eyes
Then leads you with a smile
To where she wills you

Sherlock  ̶
the search for home
brings mysteries

The clouds are thick
and fast-moving tonight.
It makes it look as though
the full round-faced moon is winking.
Quite suddenly it opens wide
its eye then slowly closes it.
Open and shut, open and shut,
winking then blinking,
A flutter of white light
cycling behind the heavy lids
of clouds.

Glorious dots swirl above our heads like millions of
glowing bees as we spin arms outstretched.

The air is warm while the earth is cool beneath bare feet
And a light mist rises among the pecan orchard trees.

I want to keep this place living in our minds.  We can
Never grow old in this childish embrace of memory.

It is often the only way to clear out non-transient thoughts.  
The eviction makes room for the fugacious pleasures of life.  
Not easily applied with ink to paper.

It's the final leg of the journey . . .

Let's do it again!

there is wonder of all kinds
never boring

beating my wings
moon over life

It is here that I feel!

Life can be so silly
In all its absurdities;
And the strangest of things
Can bring us to our knees.

Yes, I am strange, unusual see?
But quite happy in my deformity.
I love this solitude of mine and me,
And life's absurdities.

love doesn’t care ̶
I turn
and look at you

Waiting for Spring, lovely, tall ladies hold their breath and eye one another.
"Do we dare to open to the season?  Catch a breath?"

The dry leaves will soon crumble in the warm sun
And crunch under our feet; just so much fodder for chic maidens.

Inhale deeply Sol's rays.  Breathe!  Open to the season
And don your Spring bonnets, full-petaled.

My trust is left as fragile as a spider web,
Yet, my love was as strong as a single thread,
As strong as a steel girder in one of your buildings.
When you hurt me, it seemed that the dark night
Would never stop trembling within me.
I was left to sleep outdoors with our children.

My heart lay in my chest bruised and wounded.
For a while it was black and putrid with hatred.
This was not the man that I knew so well,
Fell in love with, happily married.  No, some
Evil "other" put poison into the vein to overpower.
As the fang bites deeper and they secure the grip.

The bite perfected with each attempt, at first
That which was only a snag of a fang held until
Both fangs could drip a poisonous brew into you.
Threads of the web slowly broken by her design
To envenomate and poison a "forever-bound" love.
She said, "Let me free you from the web.  

Here, taste this."

This room
red-velvety light
shine through
like a womb
I hold on tight
    to you

I just cannot see
Why you won't open to me?
Why put up that wall
When you know that I'm not tall?
Yet, though I am just small
Still, I can see it all
When I get a glimpse
into your wounded heart.

You have taken the sleep from my eyes
And the comfort from my chest.

I have great pain, but there is no medicine.
You have taken the payment and fled,

A ruby-red dries
Crusting under your fingernails, as you do.

You seek to go,
up and up.
So, I let you decide.

You go your way,
up and up,
I just watch you,

And enjoy the ride.
Up and up
You strive to new heights.

There is a place

Where moons remember
Romantic evenings shared between us two,
Their passion bed blue with fever.

The Sun is only heated by the thought
      of you and I,

And Stars cry out with desire to wish upon us.

At the edge of faltering light I meet the eyes that see
      me as only Beauty.

The lonely pines and the sandy soil are warmed by
      the heat of a day now gone.  

Come in now, Honey, sit with me.  
      We are the Youth of dreams.

The thirsty bulbs in jars on the windowsill greedily stretch for water;
The little avocado tree, from last season that I potted, droops next to them.

Like me it too is tired of the cold.  I have an aching in my bones.
For spring?  For change?  For what?

The small sounds of the house, the rock of a cradle of trees nearby
Blend with the cold patter of raindrops which, on the roof evaporate

Into steamy dreams and into the night.

I cannot express the elusive feeling
that flits across the branches of this memory;
A brief song of just a few notes twitter.

Suddenly, I am in a grassy field or I am sitting high
on tree limbs in the pecan orchards of my youth;
I feel the sun's warmth filter down, moist air softly on skin.

I search the recesses of the grey matter in my head
to find the exact expression for the fleeting memory
I want it to come back to me so that I can come back to it.

Em-dash
I look for you.
I cannot find you

Winter brings sights that warm the heart,

As we observe with wit and patience,
Among its seasonal growing population
It is as if winter brings forth an entire nation
Of many species and their relations.

Take for example our feathered friends
Who busy themselves amidst their clans.
Bright feeders that are placed about extend
Needed food and give the birds a helping hand.

But, by their work, they retain their dignity;
As they go about their important activities.
Yes, among our lovely birds we see
Their busy lives, filled with such industry.

And, by these things we see their poetry.

Fling back your sling-backs
To me!  Ain't nothing gonna bar
Your unbridled joy of runnin'
Through that cool grass.

As drops of blood color water
That certain shade.  Pink?  Rose?
Lovely in themselves.  Coral?  

While the starfish slowly crawl
Across the mighty ocean floors,
The stars in heaven swirl overhead.

And we all continue to die each day.

Soft gentle breezes
Rain paints color on petals
Green smells the grasses
Drifting across many meadows
Your hand has the sweetest touch

Blindingly bright lights pin-point;
And then you touch.

Experiencing love for the 1st time;
Throbbing heart constricting.
A lump in the throat
Caught in a dry strangle, one gasp,
Lightheaded.  Breathe!  
Thick, dense air.
Full sensory at capacity;

And you touch, again.
Then we fall and fall and fall.

I grew and it made more room for me
But it also made more room for you.

Did you actually think you found love
After me? You left for her, after all.

If I could I would tell you what I know:
Love expands, it lifts up, it wants the best,

It guides our paths through darkness.
Love illuminates the way as it opens up.

It does not implode after you have died.
True love never dies no matter how one tried.

stop pouring
the glass is empty
it is too much

Somewhere, I may never have traveled,
Haunts my memory in foggy dreams

I smell the fire in the fireplace burning
I see the cabin door swinging

Outside the snow that had fallen
Lies melting, hardening to ice

Mountain air fills my lungs and exhilarates
With the smell of pine and of juniper and cedar

A distant crow's caw brings me back to reality
And I am suddenly in the snow at the door of a cabin

Somewhere I may never have traveled to

slip sweetly  ̶
I hear your silver
feet on rocks

In the garden of delight
At the eve of dusky-night
-Twilight holds no grudge

The brush had been light
You had seen him in his flight
-Lights dimmed, everything buzzed

Hoping that he'd soon light
You hoped he'd light on you
-Before a shark bite you get a nudge

Ah, tender kisses on the skin
Are just a prelude to the sting.
-Blood smudged

Stay-

Your hate throws large rocks
My hope is greater than fear
I go for a hug

We never know where to draw the line.  Do we?
Nor do we know when to expunge the mark.

And, when do we stick a foot into that closing opened door
Or withdraw it to allow its closing?

I say that lines are actually made of dots and dashes.  
Make your mark boldly, underline the stroke.

Grab the handle of the door
And pull it open with all of your might!

A watchful cat sleeps
The small mouse skitters forward
The sly cat smiles knowingly
He soon will have his dinner

If you are down and feeling blue,
Then this thought is meant for you.
Always remember . . .

Love can mend the broken

So...

Now we are old.
Our girths are a bit wider.
Skin, in places, a little tighter,
In others it hangs too loose.

And yet, you say I am just as beautiful
As when you first knew.
Yes, I think you are still handsome, too.

Oh!  Are we not a pair?
Your hair is gone,
There's grey in my hair.
So, now we are old...

What of that, Love?

He was 3; issued a blanket,
It too was part of the property.
As I move into this thought
Africa becomes a coast.
I do not know it. Sandy or rock?
My mind moves into the forest,
My heart, into a village.
A toddler clings to the robe covering
The dark skin of her mother.
“Africa” the word is read,
“Place of birth: Africa”.

the truth is a modest little flower

- be not content with one flower of truth
- had one been sufficient there would have been no more

gather each with all earnest effort
gather, ever seek for more

until every nook and cranny overflows
within your strong mind’s vessels

We deserve an answer,
We are not just prancers

In your dance.
We have the right

To have a chance,
And equal might.

No, we are not the dancers
For perverted glancers.

We too have free-will
Not solely for your thrill.

We too are people
And our pains are real.

We hurt, we cry, we feel.
So I am fighting with the quill!

We are all your equals!
Listen up you creep-os!

Stop strangling me
With marionette strings!

It's hard to imagine a world without you in it.
The sun still rises.  The day is still filled with seconds, minutes.

Should I not have reprieve rather than be sentenced to grieve?
Why don't I have to tell myself to breathe?

The sun still rises.  I still **** breath.  And, grieve.
There is nothing left but this chiseled granite.

I wish that it were I there decomposing in it, death sublime.
Or perhaps we both could lie there, intertwined

Forever;
Together
Enshrined.

The world in a cup-
So eager am I to sup
That I bring two straws

Yes, this is true of aging,
That as we get older
We become more of ourselves,
A refined reduction
Down to the essence
Of what it is that we are,
The true self like cream rising.
A sliver of optimism becomes a slice
And it is delicious in its simplicity.

He had been a philosopher
A bard of sorts
Debonair in his quietude

And the sweetest rogue

When maidens aplenty were near
As they were wont to do
They swooned

When pressed he was chivalric

Yet, not a dragon-slaughter
O he kept them in his dungeon
To limit their harm

Along with his other guests

You, a watermark
just beneath my skin;

A page of text in
my mind, which

I choose to read
over and over, again.

Eons and generations
Come and go.  You remained,
Standing in freezing cold,
Through withering heat.
Sunrises and sunsets
Marked the days and nights.
Comets streamed past,
You, looking skyward to witness.
You became a beautiful green meteor
Falling to earth.

Your eyes, a cloudy blue,
Set the pace and the mood.

We took this long drive
Hoping to help a relationship survive.

The many years of hours spent in pleasures
Are so filled with the things that we have treasured.

Yet, you say that you are tired of trying.  Why?
Don't you know?  Sometimes success happens on the last try.