My editor stopped by this morning
with my landlady,
a woman of epic proportions.
He gazed at me with a jaded eye;
poked me in the ribs and said,
“Is he ripe yet?”
“Still some meat on the bone
and his eyes aren’t glazed enough;
I need that haunted, hollow stare
buyers love so much.”
“A few more weeks and he’ll do us fine”.
The landlady nodded and took some money.
He never even looked at the manuscript.
How can I lay in my coffin and think
when they keep talking
about my future?

Southern summers are so ****** hot,
its sound is the drip, drip, drip
of condensation from the air conditioner,
and of sweat off the tip of your nose.
Each year I ask...
which is worse;
the long, cold, brutal Maine winters,
or the long, hot, humid Virginia summers?
The summers are worse.
You can always put on more clothes
but can only take off so many
before you’re arrested for indecent exposure;
or worse, nobody notices.
I’d rather be arrested.
There are days when flesh on the bone
is too much to wear.

Emotions wrack our bodies;
thunderstorms of feeling,
leaving us naked and breathless.

There are but two paths,
expose ourselves to that whirlwind
the other, close off our hearts.

One is the embrace of life,
the other its denial...
one living, the other a living death.

Which to chose is up to you
but me I'll accept the pain,
and joy of being alive.

Buck naked November,
cold, aloof and alone;
her seasons garments
in tatters at her feet.
The wind howls through
her empty limbs.
The southbound sun
no longer warms,
much like
a lost lovers stare.
There is a quality to this month
like no other,
an austerity of spirit
bitter yet stoic
as if to mourn
years end.

****** are the greedy,
for theirs is a paucity of spirit.

****** are the callous,
for their hearts lack empathy.

****** are the pompous,
for all they can see are themselves.

****** are the self-righteous,
for their faith is shallow.

****** are the merciless,
for they shall be denied mercy.

****** are the bigoted,
for they do not know love.

****** are the warmongers,
for they shall be called the children of hell.

****** are they who persecute those who are different,
for they shall never know peace.

I am thankful for the parents
who sparked my life...
and grateful they gave me up.
I'm happy for the people who adopted me,
and who they were.
I'm blessed that they taught me
a love for reading,
and encouraged my interests.
They never denied or belittled
a single one.

I am honored that the bullies at school
targeted me for their hostility.
They taught me
tolerance and compassion.
As for the teachers
who took me by the hand
and gave me the tools to think for myself...
thank you.
Now for the girl who took my virginity,
a smile and a kiss.

For the drill instructor
who yelled himself hoarse at me...
he gave me forbearance.
As for my shipmates,
they taught me how to work with others,
and made me strong.
Thanks to the girls
in the waterfront bars
who kept me warm at night,
they taught me passion.

To my late wife...what can I say?
You gave me the gift of your love
and the freedom to return it tenfold.
You made a man of me.
I'm proud I loved you
and that it was no other.
To my step kids...
to hell with the step;
I raised you as much as your dad did,
and I am honored to have done so.

To all of those who've touched my life
both good and bad;
you are part of me now...
until my life,
dissipates with a sigh.
Each one of you has shaped
and molded me into who I am.
I couldn't be me now
without every one of you...
thank you.

I love the sounds
we make.
The squeaking bed,
our gasps and moans,
the whimpers and sighs...
of grunts and growls
and skin slapping skin
or that wonderful
churning butter
slurp slurp slurp
of *** well done.

Ever walk a birch wood
at autumn's peak;
on a dark gray, overcast day?
Their leaves are so yellow,
gold and bright
it’s like walking through
captured sunlight.

Venus was shining
so bright and beautiful
this morning,
she reminded me of you.

With stars in your hair,
and moonlight on your face;
lady of the solstice,
cast your spell.

Neither a late autumn moon
Nor stars blazing winter bright...
Not even flowers in the snow
have anything on you.

Entranced
like a moth and its flame
I circle round…
you, Venus and I the moon.

Summer’s gone;
the leaves,
brown memories on the ground.
The southbound sun
cast shadows at mid-day,
later amber hues.
Winter Solstice, snow and pine
the ****** gives forth a child.
Air so crisp it bites
like an apple,
snow beneath the foot.
Orange light ascending off a building;
transfiguration,
day slipping into night.
A snow covered tree,
it’s Christmas lights
shedding pockets of color onto white.
Deep in the blanketed woods
the animals know nothing of Jesus
but feel the nadir of the year.
Our acts behind us
potential ahead;
so lovely this garden,
without apple
or eve.

19 Dec. 1989

Clouds snagged
on mountain peaks,
the air cool, and fresh.
Giving directions south
to passing Monarch butterflies.
Geese down the river...
hawks soar high.
Nothing much to say
seasons turning
summer into fall.
world spinning,
life changing.

I remember days;
colored by certain
delightful chemicals,
Curled up
in a light filled bay window
curtained with lace,
hanging plants and crystals.
Lying on cushions piled high...
with steaming peppermint tea,
watching through wisps of incense
large, slow snowflakes fall.
Examining an old book,
its texture, gravity, flexibility
and smell
seemed as much a living thing
to me
as the black cat slithering up
onto my lap,
or her human
nibbling gently on my neck.

More humid
than sin on a Saturday
night...
your loving.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
when she wants him;
longing for his touch,
her body
aching with desire.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
in her rapture;
lost in the moment,
her body filled,
her body surrounding.

There’s a look
a woman gives a man
full of regret and recrimination;
of dreams unfulfilled,
hopes aborted
never born.

There are looks
and there are looks
but no matter how hard we try;
how tight we press the flesh together,
two souls joining becoming one
is just a fleeting dream.

We are spirits
bound to this world,
its fate our own.
An encampment of lost souls;
banned from heaven,
with no chance to roam the spheres.
We etch out meager lives
a mere half shadow of angels,
an echo of demons lust.

Shuffling through the ground fog
like fallen leaves.
Beneath a rust orange dawn,
feet damp
from autumn’s morning dew.

I could never say I loved you,
we were too distant for that...
still, I did.
You weren't an easy man
to be close to...and I yearned
for that connection.

I saw you cry once,
out of illness and fear...
I went to hug you,
but you stiffened...
I could not comfort you,
that hurt yet I understood.

You were a hard man...
any illusions about that died long ago.
You were a bigot
and you cheated on my mother.
You were rarely there for me
except when you were.

Father...
I longed for something more...
a bonding man to man.
That never happened;
still I love you, I cannot help it,
you made me who I am.

A cloud of gulls passed over Back Bay
this morning.
Nothing unusual.
Riding the wind they resembled a tornado
the way they wheeled and spiraled;
out above the brown grass and driftwood
sticking out of the snow,
tidal flats
and shimmering pools.
               *
Sixteen Canadian Geese
stopped by for lunch today
on their way home from winter vacation.
Nothing much to say
but when they left,
Oh…my!
              *
The sun blasted my window this morning
at 6:30 am.
Zero to twenty the radio said.
Cold.
A fine day for walking and thinking;
waiting and hoping
for something to happen,
a reason to get excited.

Sometimes...
in the cold squeaky morning
while the heart's still naked from the night,
despair looks out from the mirror
and speaks of things
we fear or know
yet dare not admit.
And when she sings her siren song
with no mast to bind us
the void ever present
is just a misstep
away.

05 March 2010

The pride of the north
Yankee lasses;
Oh… those New England girls can love.
They’re not too prim and proper
for lust and lechery;
they learn their skills and ply them too
on dark, cold winter nights.
They’ll keep you going and keep you warm,
make coming in from the cold
all that much more...
delightful.

Oh God,
what have we done to this world
and our souls?
Show us your hand;
let your love,
your mercy
rain down upon us.
Please O Lord:
I beg you,
peace.

This is not a love poem.
I cannot say with honesty
that I love you.
Words of praise
fail on my lips,
no song fills my heart.
There is only dread...
a shadow over my soul.
That pall is you.
This is not a love poem...
I cannot say with honesty
that I love you.
Words fail me...
you move me so.

Your face reminds me of old wood.
Full of cracks and crevasses,
each one a memory.
Its your life story.
All your sins,
all your blessings.
Every laugh
every tear,
is carved upon it.
Ancient and ageless
you are beautiful.

I catch scent of you
on my pillows...
I taste you
on my fingers.
Your body
etched upon my body,
your sighs still
echo round the room.
It had been so long
I had forgotten how it felt
to be with another...
touching and touched.
Now I  hold you close
in future memories,
until we meet again
laying side by side.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the warm moist shadows
pungent, **** and sweet.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the curves, the openings and hollows
moaning come closer.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they swallow me
coaxing me out of me into you.

I love the dark places
of your body...
the way they let me play as I will
until the little death embraces us.

I and Thou
Eye to eye
I and eye
I to I.

There are no prayers
for the easy passage
of a life.

There is no sound as deafening
as the stillness
of a heart.

There's no spark
that can relight the fire
in your eyes.

She flows like a river when I love her,
a true Mississippi of passion.
She moans like the wind in her rapture,
and shudders like trees in a squall.
She flushes like the sky at sunrise,
and sighs like the moon as she sets.
I need no God in the heavens,
nor Goddess Mother Earth,
I have my lover and in her,
all the songs of creation are sung.

Does anyone know
where darkness goes
when light appears?
Or where love goes
when it ends?
What happens to hate
when forgiveness begins?
These are minor mysteries though
barely worth considering.

What I seek
are the deep mysteries...
the ones no science has answered,
no theology discussed.
Like where do all those
single socks go
when they disappear
in the wash,
never to be seen again?

You have branded my soul with kisses.
I could no more forget you
than I could to breathe.

Visible only to me,
I trace the tattoo of your lips
upon my skin.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your eyes...
pools of brown drawing me in.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your lips...
moist, hungry, demanding.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of your *******...
soft pillows comforting me.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of our ***...
how nice it feels inside you.

When I think of you
I'm reminded of home...
where I need to be.

In the park out walking
all alone,
some foggy night.
In the shadows,
movement.
Shared glances;
smile, Hi.
We touch.

Jan. 10, 2006

You have written your name
in the sands of my heart.
I could no more forget you
than I could to breathe.

I chisel words
from the spaces round my heart,
giving shape to longing and desire.
Touch me I whisper, then cringe
fearing, yet not afraid
of that exquisite torture,
merging into one.
Tell me who you are,
I will show you my wounds
if you’ll show me yours.
Stigmata,
the holy cross of love,
hanging on the crucible of self.
I’m tempted sometimes by the void,
to step off into the silence.
It doesn’t take much,
no angst, loneliness,
despair or pain,
just a good day to die.

I taste you with my eyes
savoring your curves.
I drink the scent of your hair
in deep draughts swallowing hard.
I breathe your breath
like a cool, refreshing breeze.
I sop up your sighs
with the bread of my body.
Carnivore,
I offer you my throat.
Devour my heart
pounding in your mouth.
Drink me
until I’m lost within you.
Eat my saltiness
rolling round the tip of your tongue.
My soul, my song, my feast, my desire;
I am yours,
stake your claim at my table.

Life this time around
has had more than its share of loneliness...
what love I've made I found.
Still; in my eyes,
there is nothing
more beautiful and warm
than the love that shines in yours.

That moment.
Opening a new book,
or a lovers first disrobing...
So like Christmas day.

No hell is needed above us
nor heaven far below.
No judgment day required,
to sort out right or wrong.
The earth and living
is far more precious
than any rumored divine.
The gods envy us our lives
and this joyous earth;
they long to join us,
just to wiggle their toes
in the sand.

Do you remember that hot summer night
we went out collecting
Fireflies by moonlight?
In a Mason jar, hundreds, maybe dozens
flashing, shining, searching for a mate.  
Afterward we made love
by their living candle light.
Even now, many years gone
I remember your body
like a long lost home.
The hotter our passion, the more they shined;
burning themselves out
in our rapture.
By morning they were dead;
a Mason jar of empty things,
like memories lesson for us now.

I want you in the morning,
I want you in the dark of night.
I want you in the afternoon...
I want you always.

I want you on top of me,
I want you underneath me.
I want you bent over...
I want you beside me.

I want to come in your mouth,
I want to come on your *******.
I want to come in your *****...
I want to come in your ***.

I want,
I want.
I want...
I need.

I need you in my life,
I need to give you all I have.
I need to drain myself dry... into
I need to lose myself in you.

Love
watch sunsets
have snowball fights
sleep in
be unproductive
curl up with tea and a good book
***** ***,
make love
savor a good meal
goof off
be kind
shuffle your feet in the leaves
to hell with diets
dance in the rain
howl at the moon
be grateful
pinch your partners ***
Life is short, kiss slowly
flirt
love your love handles
be compassionate
play with children
comfort the elderly
nurture the sick
hug bearly
be alive

After love
the only wet spot on the bed
is from my tears.

After love
there is an empty place
in my hand.

After love
there's a hole in the heart
my soul bleeds through.

After love
the ache,
the ache.

I dreamed last night
of ice cream.
The soft serve kind
chocolate and vanilla swirl.
Cool and sweet
melting in the sun;
running down the cone,
across my hand,
sticky and dripping.
Then I woke
and looked outside,
still winter.

There's an empty place at the table
in front of an vacant chair.
There's extra place on the couch
right beside mine.
There are plates and cups that have no use
and my closet has more room.
there are too many pillows
on the bed
and the house seems to echo
when I walk.
You are gone,
I'm missing you.

Dreams of you haunt my nights;
they seem more alive than I am.
I'm so lost and confused;
I feel something beside me,
it smells just like you.
Sleepy;
I put my arm around it,
ready for your loving.
I wake in tears though,
it's just your pillow.
You are gone,
I'm missing you.

There's a hollow place
inside me...
but I don't know where.
My hand is empty
when I walk,
and there is a space
in the crook of my arm
shaped just like you.
My life feels lifeless
with only me in it.
You are gone,
I'm missing you.

Women don't have straight lines.
Their ways are oblique...
they dance the paths that weave.

Never cared too much for fame...
my ego isn't that big.

The idea of wealth is okay...
but simple comfort will do.

I've had lots of partners but...
*** is nothing without love.

Power itself is meaningless...
peace matters more.

Things are nice but...
I have more than I need.

Success is in the living...
not in playing the game.

All I have ever wanted is you...
and I am already yours.

I feel you
laying close beside me;
flesh to flesh,
our heat like arms entwined.
I breath out
and you breath in.
You breath out
and I inhale.
Two hearts beating
beat to beat.
I in you
and you surrounding;
this is what
the living's for,
only love
and nothing more.

Your buns
so nice and firm
look good enough to eat.
You giggle.
I spread your cheeks
and admire the view.
You know what I want to do.
Gently;
you whisper,
gently.

16 March 2010

Scenes from a marriage
lay scattered on the cutting room floor
of memory.
Our passion,
your lies, my lies,
separate truths never one
mingle and moan
when just the right sore is touched.
Do you have any idea what we were looking for?
I don’t.
Why won’t you answer me?
Do you care?
You wiggled and squirmed
holding me tight
whispering “I love you” in my ear.
Now you claim nothing happened.
If this is true
then why the emptiness?
If you’re not going to respond then go,
close the door
and let in the cold.

You're not allowed to cross my mind,
I keep that door locked.
My heart is bolted down
like a ship in the storm.
No sailors with ears full of wax,
to the mast I am not bound.
I cannot allow it...
you're not allowed to cross my mind.