How to express this strange impress of words?
Or, culled in the inbetween moments,
little impossibilities budding
perfectly strangely, becoming
possibilities which crowd a little closer,
seeking air, mewing, speaking
and robusing the hidden bud-bid for notice?
Notice me here in one green piece
of innocent horse-verse, nosing dry day.
By day an effort, by night white strikes of words,
struggling through to metaphoric sights,
suddenly, *****, span,
***** and fan this little stage
of mine, here, now lines
and lines of verse con-
spicuously present, myrrhing, purring,
pudding catty-watty to horsey hey-**-**.

Crystal drops falling
from grey sky.
Ticking dripping creating
circles in a pound.
The sky is crying.
My heart is feeling.
A little bit freezing.
A cold ice coating.
Let love floating.
Over rivers and
oceans flowing.
Be kind to the unknowing.
You never know how
the wind is blowing.
Always look straight ahead.
Let the good prevail over evil.
Feel the warmth of the sun
in your heart so appealing.

it seems we got it wrong
in reverse
man made god in his own image

Men of authority
Women of authority
I forgot there was no difference
But they made a new problem
From the ground under
Because their sexism wouldn't end
And the ladies are getting the short end
And guys harass them offering them their short end
Voices in their head
Make the nightmares drop dead
They saw them as nothing but baby machines and housekeepers
I would protest for them day in and day out
But i think my voice would be much more suppressed if i lived in the fifties
But it would be worth the punishment
The more women that become leaders
The better if you ask me
The gender should never get in the way of the mission or task at hand
**Stop Creating Problems

An iconoclast.
Destroyer of images.
Executioner

of text worshipers.
Without a star to guide us,
drifting aimlessly.

The unworthy gone,
and banished from existence.
Crushed into splinters

under the pressure
of their reflections, much too
heavy to carry.

I saw heaven once.
I clawed at an angel's wings.
Almost beautiful.

An artist’s greatest gift
is solitude they say,
but I see nothing springing forth
from these lonely hands of mine...

nothing but a longing for you.
A longing void that no fancy words
can fill...

In need to feel
more than mere
words poets press
continue reading...

My Poems here
are a common
red blood bind
horizon heeding
from blank to grey.

Tips are starlit as
the most bold ink-lined
beautiful formation
of space & time.
   Seems
bizzare, un-limited
falsificated classical
old blue ink evaporated
with digital evolution.

 Not aware of its-elf ~ existence
is sinking deep into my
tactile fingerprint cushions
    Once I see guidelines  
there's no hook to be
made out of necessity.
I add and add ad
infinutum and all
I see is Home.

So much of me is him.
I tell people that endlessly,
Until the words lose meaning,
Until I lose myself.
So much of me is her.
I tell that to anyone who will listen
To my sad, sad story.
But when does that end?
When do I stop being with someone
Without morphing into them?
Without giving them the freedom
To dig up what is there, and to replant
The garden that I have grown for twenty years?
Before I met you, I was me. I walked, and I talked,
And I thought. I thought, and I felt, and I loved.
I loved before you. And now I hurt. I hurt beyond
The usual sting of disappointment because
So much of me is you.
I see you in me daily, like a drop of red wine
In a glass of crystal water.  Spiraling, spinning,
Twisting until it contaminates the whole thing.
You color my habits, my actions,
My words, my thoughts, my emotions.
I tug at the thread, and it unravels into you.
You think you’ve cut the tie?
You will never severe this bond
Which I labored so hard to build up.
I am not a loose string to pluck, and
You were never that for me.
I cannot shake you; I cannot free myself.
How could you wind around me so tightly,
Cut into my bones and leave your mark
Like the aftermath of some beast’s jaws?
I cannot separate me from you. This is
What you’ve done to me. This is
Whom you’ve made me.
This is me.

We exist
As a reflection of the creative force
That drives the universe.
It imbues our cells,
Our molecules,
Our spirits.

As children, we did not hesitate
To pretend,
To imagine,
To make up songs and stories,
To paint and draw,
To dance and sing -

Another joyful voice in the choir of the universe.

So tell me why
Do you hesitate now?
Why do you hide behind self made limitations and fears -
Excuses that become the walls of your cage,
Your prison cell -
Your tomb.

Why do you say
that you are not one of THEM -
The gifted, the talented, the artistic -
(As if we were not all made from the same stardust)
Repeating it over and over like a mantra-
that could absolve you of your responsibilities,
Your role,
Your unique harmony in the song of creation.
Oh, what arrogance!
What hubris!