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I have a memory of your smile…
so warm and inviting.

I have a memory of your eyes...
pools of blue deep as forever.

I have a memory of your sway...
the way you glanced over your shoulder.

I have a memory of you...
ageless that time will not erase.
She was never a lover but a delightful friend.
For sale...
one bouquet of roses,
never given.
The poem is not about me or a relationship. I came across a photo of a bouquet of roses on the ground and this immediately came to mind.
I would have loved you
until the end of days...
now there's a whole world missing
without you.
Forward eludes me.
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.
Another thing I have learned with age is how harrowing the opening of one's heart is to another. This poem expresses that...and the fragile nature of just being...how easy it is to just slip away if you are not careful. A theme I return to every now and then.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
There is but one God
the paths to Its door are many.
There is but one people...
one race...the human race.
There is but one planet
we all share.
Nations are a lie...
there are no borders
seen from space.
These are fundamental realities.

We spread hate...
its what we receive.
Pollute our home...
and we poison ourselves.
Dividing the world
into ever smaller pieces
does nothing but impoverish
us all.
The night sky
belongs to no one.

The seas are not mine
nor the Earth a possession.
Life and love we all share.
God is infinite,
no religion can claim.
Division is a lie.
There is a oneness
at the heart of creation,
so profound no words
can express.
The ghosts of dearly loved,
long dead pets
scurry about my feet.
She has a body
I could worship,
an *** I'd sacrifice to.
Go deep.
Dig deeper.
Deeper still.
In the low evening light
I reach for a bud
laying on my desk...
it flew away.
Gently, slowly
fingers trace the spine.
Soft hair drapes down...
goosebumps.
- From Songs for my Lovers
Had
Had
Somewhere is the future
we would have had,
had...
She said she had the hand print
of every man
who'd ever loved her
tattooed on her body.
She was covered in hands...
I added mine.
Haunted by haiku;
I can never get the syllables right,
or the pattern dreamy.
Heaven smells like a hospital
Clean and sterile like Sunday morning.
Hell reeks like a bar
after a sweaty Saturday night.
Her *** was made for regrets,
the way it wiggles
as she walks away.
Pique my Interest.
Tickle my fancy. Lead me astray...
And, if you don't know how to do that,
here let me show you.
My lust for you is chronic,
a deep ache I cannot resist.
No ******* can express
What its like between your thighs.
The look, the feel, the smell, the taste...
Words fail me.
Here there be dragons.
I feel old sometimes.
My bones are falling apart,
and I am in chronic pain.
Some days even thinking about moving
is a struggle.
I'm so poor
If I ever reach poverty level
I'll be doing good.
Still life is precious.
I am not done yet.
I still want to see
how my story ends.
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
Silence is a poem unspoken,
a song unsung.
Like a passionate groping
with the inexpressible.
Like a lover not taken when offered,
preferring to hold instead.
Let’s not tease the moth
with flame tonight;
but in your arms hold me,
my head resting on your breast.
Let our unacted passion
like a poem unspoken
speak for us until the dawn.
- From Songs for my Lovers
I am man,
you should be afraid.
Think nature is red
of tooth and claw?
Try me.
I drive whole species to extinction
for food and pleasure,
or just because they annoy me.
For long I considered war a sport...
and still my remorse is false.
I have slaughtered whole races,
and enslaved others
for being somehow different.
I shamelessly wade in gore
and make the demons blush.
I poison rivers;
and lay waste to land,
I'm crass enough to make life a commodity.
I will be the death of this world yet,
if I don't do myself in first.
Fear me,
I am man.

I am man...
an angel fell because of me.
Made in God's image they say
all His traits are found in me.
Half way to angels,
near relative of demons.
I have crafted art so beautiful
it will make you weep.
I can be grace and kindness,
mercy and compassion.
The angels hymns to Heaven
are pale reflections of the songs I sing.
I love deeply
and have great strength of mind.
My meditations on the Divine
are the music of spheres...
my science examines,
the world in depth.
Heaven and Hell merge within me
and wage their war for my soul...
but its up to me who wins.
This is the balance,
I am man.
The truth of this is man's most profound paradox.
I believe in a universe where a sleepy eye opens existence...
a slowly drooping eyelid ushers it away.
I believe in a universe where Indra and the other Gods
churn the cosmic milk...
where Shiva does the eternal dance.
I believe in a universe where light is separate from darkness
and mankind is molded from a ball of divine ****...
a breath, Be and it is.
I believe in a universe where Gaia watches as Cronus
devours her children until she gives him a stone...
and hides Zeus away.
I believe in a universe that expands
from a singularity of infinitely dense potentiality
less than a speck,
to our cosmos immeasurable in scale.
I believe in a universe where Lao Tuz hands a guard
a little book of wisdom
before disappearing into the mountains
where the sages go.
I believe in a universe where Siddhartha contemplates emptiness
and feels the winds of eternity
whistling through his soul.
I believe in a universe where E=Mc2.
I believe in a universe where an old man lights the first holy fire
and describes the war between light and goodness
vs darkness and evil.
I believe in a universe where the earth and moon,
and all the planets go round the sun...
in a galaxy carrying us
dancing a waltz
we can only catch glimpses of.
I believe in a universe where "Know Thyself"
is revered as a deep truth.
I believe in a universe where
an unexamined life is not worth living.
I believe in a universe where the words of a carpenter
are a true path.
I believe in a universe where an illiterate man is commanded
Read!... a burning coal upon the lips.
I believe in a universe where every God and Goddess
exist, each in their own heaven...
each in their own hell.
I believe in a universe where there are no gods or goddesses
only the relentless laws of matter, energy and gravity.
I believe in a universe where everything is mathematics.
I believe in a universe where everything is holy
I believe in a universe where everything in profane.
I believe in a universe where everything is a simulation.
I believe in a universe where everything is ****** in nature.
I believe in a universe where everything is stimulation.
I believe in a universe where the hoochie *******
is what its all about.
I believe in the universe.
If we imagine the world
then make it so...
We need a new imagining.
Woman in all her glory...
after loving;
legs spread,
slowly dripping me.
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.
- From Songs for my Lovers
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
There is a squeaky floorboard right by my bed near where I lay my head. One night recently I was suffering a bout of insomnia...I had fallen asleep but then woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I was laying there in the cold when I heard the cat walk by and the floorboard squeaked...the line...in the cold squeaky morning came to mind and the rest cascaded from there.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
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.
This is one of several pieces that came out of New England Love Song and it is really just a statement of fact.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
Already darkness comes sooner,
and the days pass so quickly.
Nights last forever
in the coming winter, yet my own.

Old friends and acquaintances fall behind me
to disappear in fading dreams.
Others will long endure this journey
towards the westering sun.

I feel the approaching winter,
in the biting wind,
the taste of snow
bitter on the tongue.

Passages and transitions;
the seeds of tomorrow
lay deep in summer's ruin,
while New Years day may find me...

...soaring in the sun.
Maybe New Years day will find me
waiting for the dawn
maybe, maybe not... in winter, yet my own.
She was a delightful mix
of sweetness and insanity.
I'm not saying she was crazy,
rather
her acquaintance with reality
was a passing one.
She lived in her own little world
and if she liked you
she'd invite you in.
Her heart was pure,
her body less so.
She embraces the world...
and would you too
should she take
the fancy.
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.
Written during the breakup of my marriage so this makes it one of the oldest poems here. I had asked my now late wife (we never divorced) if she had ever loved me and she gave a mealy mouthed answer...I was really hurt and told her to leave. The poem came out of that pain.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
It's there.
Right underneath your feet.
Between the cells of your body
indeed between your atoms as well.
The Universe.
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.
I want to immerse myself in you.
The fragrance of your hair,
breath upon my lips...
your *** scent,
the odor of sweat
and the deep musk of your ***.
I want to roll in your stench,
bathe myself in your smell,
wear you proudly
as my perfume
for all to inhale.
I hesitate
to wash you off of me.
I will follow my own muse...
and dance to the music in my head.
I'll wander down the garden path
to find where it leads.

You are welcome to join me
if you wish,
but make your own footsteps,
do not follow mine.
Every time we argue

you're wrong...

and I'm always right.

You don't cook like mama did,

and you can’t keep house.

As for ***,
you can't ****
 worth ****.



I never do anything wrong...

and I know what I'm talking about.

I don't need to know how to cook or clean

that's what women are for.

And as for ***...I'm the best you ever had.

Don't give me that hurt look,

or threaten to leave.



Its so quiet around here

these days...

I'm getting hungry

and the house is *****.

I've got to ******* to get off

but hey...

I won.
But did he?

This poem is based on an over heard conversation on the bus. This guy was bragging about keeping his woman in line.

The guy was an idiot.
We all bear witness to our times...
At its darkest,
Jesus too
latched the door
to the gas chambers shut.
In the lazy
late afternoon light
when everything seems dreamlike
she comes to me.
Smiling coyly she undoes a clasp,
her robe slips off the shoulder.
I watch the fabric water like
flow over her body.
Hanging on her *******;
heavy with the ripeness of youth,
it pauses
then slips over her ***** brown *******...
One bouncing, then the other.
Following her curves,
past the hollow of her navel...
exposing her crowning glory,
her woman's furry triangle
so warm and moist and welcoming.
Like an admiring hand,
the falling cloth
traces the wonderful curve of her ***,
and down her long, smooth legs
to pool languidly at her feet.
She undoes her dark hair
shakes her head and lets it fall.
In all her glory she stands before me
eyeing me hungrily...
No seducer but prey am I.
This is my take on Ovid's Amores 1.5
If there is a meeting later,
I want it to be
with you.
As we age,
and with distance...
Memories become dreams
and later myths.
This morning’s dawn
had a hint; a tease,
like barely touching lips
of autumn to the air.
It tickled the skin
like a cool breeze
on warm inner thighs;
or the goose bumps
on *******,
at first caress.
The grass was damp
like the commingled glistening dew
of lover’s passion spent.
I love the fall
from grace from summer
to the meditation
at season’s end.
I wait the blushing trees
like my lover’s first unveiling
before the bold nakedness
of November’s knowing wind.
I thought of you this morning
as I walked
into the day.
- From Songs for my Lovers
Heaven has been abandoned,
and hell is empty.
Only the universe and life herself
are worthy of our devotion.
Light never runs from the shadows...
its more a graceful retreat.
But shadows scurry away like cockroaches
when any old light switch is flipped.
Hearts like toys
on Christmas day,
such fragile things.
You treat mine,
I'll treat yours
like eggshell glass.
I am too old
for that again.
For if I
pass it on,
that hurts me
too.
I think we all know that feeling.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
Love like a ******,
its always the very first time.
Throw your soul into it
like you don't know...
like flowers in the snow.
Let my eye
linger on you...
taking in your beauty,
your form,
tracing every curve
peak and hollow.

Let my eye
linger on you...
the color and shape
of your eyes
and the moist curve
of your lips.

Let my eye
linger on you...
your turn, your glance
lingering on me
like a deer in a headlight
caught by your eye.
Love to the end.
Love to the
end.
Love...
to the end.
Love to
the end.
Love...
I will always love you and wish you all the best.
A great expanse of northern sky;
Cirrus clouds,
faux marble blue and white.
Late afternoon’s golden sun;
red autumn leaves,
fire on fire it seems to me.
Tall, silent, Mast Pine forests
haunted by Owls,
ancient Indian spirits
and dreams of sailing ships
on wild Gulf Stream rides
across the sea.
Waist high fields of Ragweed and Clover
rippling with the wind.
Clear, crisp days
geese in flight.
Iridescent dragonflies zigzagging overhead
like jet-fighters
hunting mosquitoes.
Noisy crows squawking the news,
people in the back forty.
A deep blue, Lapis sea
sparkling in the breeze
just beginning to chill.
Ohh…what a feeling;
these late summer
just a blush of autumn
cool New England days.
Mackworth island is right off the coast of Portland Maine and it is a park. Access is by a long causeway. When I was younger I used to bicycle out there as often as I could and I consider it one of my spiritual homes. I haunted that place and came to know it like the back of my hand.- From Poetry Jam (on Toast)
She was a universe all her own...
self contained, alone.
She needed no man (or woman)
to make her whole...
Then why does he make her cry?
I knead dough
like I need your body...
soft and pliable
beneath the hand,
like my flesh
to your touch.
- From Songs for my Lovers
Always with the barkers voice.
Don't take it personally kid,
that's just the way of the world.

Its a suckers game.
You'll never know all the rules
and Mephistopheles holds all the cards.

You're going to lose everything you love
and we're all going to die.
Step right up. Roll the dice.

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