I listen

and let you take me along

always yearning, wishing

hoping that I might land, wondering why

I even need to find my footing.

I am a complex soul,

I keep telling myself that,

while around me,

in the active bustle of a sidewalk cafe,

I see faces,

so many lovely minds,

untapped but directed,

finding their own place,

their own quiet destiny.

~

I hear the winds of 'winter's

discontent.'

Remains in my mind,

always knocking in silence,

my pulse awaits a shift,

some opportunity to tick lasting effects,

define my confusion,

while you journey me on,

music, my violins,

I listen and feel pain,

then resonant delight.

I am alone,

inside a quiet dream of human interaction.

yet, where am I supposed to land.

I can at least, count on you,

the rhythms of my soul,

to take me along on a quiet journey.

Please remain discreet,

lest those around recognize

I may be incomplete.

When on a crisp morning, her blush in daylight

speaks to me in silence, suggestive sweep

of eyes scan notice looks, smiles, select

moments for admirer to choose chance.

~

First touch is hair, fingertips enter,

while soft languor covets skin,

just this, enough to arouse eyes,

hands feel blessed teasing love.

~

lips drawn toward a meet

of anticipation, smiles become

ready form to grace each other,

eager, anxious delight begins.

~

Your taste while I look inside

sultry eyes, saying go, go

draw my hips against yours

hands slide and shoulders …

~

While now tongues play

gasps and fever arise

my need to taste all of you

begins, soft lips, just love.

~

Our bodies now connect,

I feel your ******* as we

begin to breathe in one

another’s *** – *******.

~

a blouse began my passion

that now slides along my chest

feeling your ******* draw to

my waist, I’m eager, eyes close.

~

Will you please unlatch my …

yes, as zipper falls and finger-

tips touch inside sliding sweet

lips delve into a grasp of me …

~

I lean back against today’s wall.

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

listening to your story,

wondering how life could become

such a travesty of pain and confusion.

I felt fortunate to not struggle your loss,

that loss of confidence,

that departure of reasoning,

the ability to throw your life away

without a second's thought,

all for the mantra of a seething monster.

~

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

telling my story,

how life had dealt me difficult times,

how my chances were failing,

how suddenly I no longer knew what gambling meant.

I only knew despair, fear, and grandiose notions,

of survival, of playing the game, of beating the odds.

When before I judged the world around me,

today's court included me,

ownership and honesty knocked on my door.

~

Today, I do stand by your side,

and I am grateful,

but there is no credit in my arena,

that belongs to the power of giving,

all of you my recovering souls,

all of you that wake with every glorious day,

to proclaim to the listening voices,

'today, I didn't gamble, today I am clean!'

Today, I rise with each waking sun,

knowing I have been gifted with harmony.

~

Eight years ago, the urge to gamble, an insidious addiction,

suggested my life would be better if I stood next to all of you.

When walking
home from school,
when she let you hold her hand,
that first moment
the sky exploded with the beauty of her,
so scared,
you purposely avoided looking in her eyes,
those first few steps,
until head tucked,
a glance,
and she was smiling
knowing you were looking,
and her hand felt wonderful
with each of your fingertips
touching her, this first time,
walking home.

When while a day goes quietly the nigh

soft hearts may ponder a delicate noon-

time pleasure. That is the moment inside

a dream slow to respond, yet urgency

calls upon a name to satisfy sweet

melody, a caress, play, we digress.

For when might anyone ask forgiveness

upon simple words, golden, a sparkle

of intent defines passing encounters.

Each streaming ray of hope dances our brows

well toward jest’s enigmatic interlude.

-patience beckons a rare emotion served-

When then we bask in the moonlight of love

we know surely, our lives are drawn above.

When I drink

faded images appear,

silent, moving, attractive

filtered visions.

When I drink

that settled need,

gnawing reality

quiet departs

leaving little love.

When I drink,

you certainly cannot

know me the way,

I know I'm sick.

When I drink,

the fog I seek

envelops my soul,

blurs drawn energy

settles incessant.

When I drink

I will destroy

all that I love,

all that we believe

that new image of me.

When I drink,

I'll falter often,

while asking solace,

you'll hate me again.

When I drink ... I will die

We must recognize

this is not our home,

yet, their home is ours as well.

We must realize

our world is inter-connected

their pain lays dead in our street,

We must remind

ourselves that our freedom

was just desecrated by the strong arm

of evil, it lurks, around us, anywhere it chooses.

We are asked

to understand

Charlie Hebdo is satire,

in violent terms their point is made,

yet we cannot laugh,

only mourn,

for those souls that lay dead on the tiles,

are us, are you, are me, are human beings.

Tonight, the sun has set on Paris,

people will not sleep,

people will worry, hold one another, walk in confusion.

Tonight across the globe,

we know again,

the pen wields a powerful angst,

yet,

we must also respect,

human lives could not ever deserve,

their legacy to be defined by a bullet.

Let's pick up our pens and continue

to fight, to maim, to expose

evil.

Let's mute that voice of evil

while we pray,

while we wrap our heads around,

the unnamed victims,

that tomorrow will be identified,

sisters, brothers, mother's fathers, friends, cousins,

people, human beings with a passion for laughter,

with a desire only,

to suggest that life deserves laughter.

Let's drown out evil,

with the memory of sweet humor.

Let's chuckle,

a positive, horrific, peace!

The way she moves,

on a dime,

toe planted and swing

supine, slender, salacious

with a passion,

she'll steal the room

and I guess that's fine,,

oh how much I desire

to sip that ...

to desire a sweep

of only her eyes.

I want her to want me,

to let me drink her ...

I can feel my hands,

slide upon her curves,

thin fabric let's me know

she can feel my eyes,

tracing her,

damp, shine, a lustre

to that naked skin,

I will delight like

a fine ...

oh my sweet dance,

move through my mind,

and let me taste you,

taste her,

dance with me,

****** my wine.

I thought of you,

that night,

we were together,

with everyone,

watching,

I couldn’t move,

like a little kid,

I only watched your legs

move near mine,

my hand frozen,

wanting to touch you,

wanting to feel only your skin,

upon my urging fingertips.

That night,

I wanted to play with you

while everyone

discreetly knew …

I have to wonder

how many

really did realize

the many nights

we no longer thought about

our clothes,

an afterthought,

laying piled in a rush,

nearby, naked, nostalgia.

The killers deserve no name

let's forget about them,

let's not talk about them,

any more,

let's find them and forget about them.

forget about them, they don't exist.

~

Let's remember the writers,

the people with lives,

with families,

with beauty and grace and elegance

in their minds that allowed them to speak

freely, freedom, free-thinking

ideals that helped us to laugh through the pain

of our sick, evil society.

~

Let's remember Charlie Hebdo,

their ability to help us to laugh at the

ludicrous, ignorant pain of the human condition,

did not deserve,

to end with a bullet,

a massacre,

a cowardly outrage.

Let's remember the writers,

the human beings whose lives represent

the fear, that we simply have to continue to ignore.

In case you all forget, let's remember the

real victims.

her, him, anyone who believes they're not, yet hasn't any idea!

I told you the other day I wanted to make love

to you and only you,

I would never reveal to you the faces,

the many eyes, her bodice, the longing legs,

that passed through my mind,

while I ****** you,

I mean,

yes, you asked, I mean when I made love to you.

We were tested today, is word allowed

to speak in utterances, scream aloud

our freedoms, our ability to breathe

in energy evils presently seethe.

Remember as a child when first we learned

civic responsibilities, speech earned.

Tomorrow, next week, again, we honor

human lives. We must destroy dishonor.

‘War’ donned my Stop signs across the city

we wanted to speak out loud our pity.

In order to be heard we took a chance

some laughed, calling it spoken elegance.

12 dead, more wounded, violent release

the freedom of words, belittled, sweet peace

I really don't understand any of the trends here ... poetry yes, but ... anyone?

Well look at the sky in all Her wonder

Yes, it is She that speaks with brilliance

Send waves of warmth and peace to each other

Lightens the load of worry’s ignorance.

Pause, step away from society’s ills,

Caustic judgments that temper true our soul

Imagine skyrockets; creative thrills

To sweep away fears to which we enroll.

On the horizon’s violent challenge

Speak a dialogue, suggest a quiet

Respite to an insane world’s revenge;

That hindrance, humanity desperate.

Bask in Nature’s beauty so powerful

While blinds all mechanics artificial.

I hit her again last night, it just happened, I didn't think about it, I just did it,

I watched her body bounce off the stove and her head just missed the granite countertop,

she watched us from between the doorway and I didn't have a clue she was there

watching her mom crumple on the floor while blood streamed from her nose.

I looked at her lay on the ground out cold, and wondered if I'd really killed her this time.

I knew some part of her was dead, but that was a long time ago ....

I guess I had just regained physical control.

~

Is that all it really is when we think about the physical abuse of another,

are we fighting for control in the only sickest manner that we know?

Why else such evil outcome upon the one we love,

what makes it right to hurt the closest part of our lives

to strike down upon that soul that we seem to count upon.

Is that really using them for the support they were first meant to be?

What about them? In all the callous delivery of pain and suffering,

why do the victims have to remain the most confused,

or are they really, perhaps they're not, perhaps they are simply

the victims they are meant to be, and society clouds that reality

by placing labels upon reasons and judgments upon excuse.

~

Yet still all the advertisements plead for the protection of the abused,

they ask us to open our eyes, to think again, to seek help,

they plead for the end to ihe injustice, and suggest the conversation

begin, rather than the blank stare of rage without any rationale within.

How do we explain damaging the vulnerable nature of the one we love;

where do we depend upon the solace of beating up our children?

~

I was 18 the day I was struck down by my brother's fist

because I had openly verbally abused my parents and he chose

to put me on the ground in a lesson he would later admit to me.

I remember at the time being shocked but understanding

he was protecting my parents from my own ignorance,

but the difference in him and our abusive society,

the distinction of his actions that shocking afternoon,

is he had no other choice, I had removed all options.

I needed to be slapped down like the dog I was at that moment.

~

But we are not a society of dogs, animals of lower intelligence.

We are human children whose values are gained by the closed fist

we are the confused that are  drawn to believe we are wrong

for whatever other reason would we be so physically slammed

by the ones we love, or those that once loved us as they suggested.

Perhaps that is the real confusion when that love seems to be lost.

It is not the needed moment of physical authority, far different than

the veiled angry, usurped result of inner turmoil and hypocrisy.

~

The public service announcements asking us to listen are not enough

Instead we really need to breathe in the beauty and elegance of those

whose lives we choose to stunt based upon our own inability to reason,

for otherwise their rules are designed to be read aloud by our closed fists alone.

I've always wanted to be that guy that in the middle of being in the audience of a live theatrical performance, from my seat, just shout, 'that line ******' and not be noticed, but know everyone around me agreed.

A train,
symbolic in motion,
always moving forward,
cutting through the horizon,
occasional vanish in the wood,
then reappearing like clockwork,
we know we can wait on the other side,
the tracks indicate all possibility,
we wait in confidence,
we anticipate the beauty of the roaring maching
slicing through the forest,
designing an historic artistry
of our landscape,
how we exist,
we live and communicate together,
waiting for the trains to arrive.
I find the train's roar similar to my
human condition,
who I am and how I operate
depends upon an open field,
an opportunity to flourish amongst the
leaves and trees, the brick and mortar,
the common secrecies that lie beneath our eyes,
I can watch for my next move,
knowing there is always a possibility that
lies before my soul.
~
What happened that cool winter day,
when the caverns that support our travel,
when the gravel and strength, man-made,
began to crumble.
What happens when suddenly our lives,
become mortal.
Can we wait how long to see the train,
exit that mysterious tunnel,
or will it remain everlasting,
why do we have to imagine that motions
become dependent on life inside a
sudden stop.
~
keep searching for the light,
keep searching ... in the sudden stop
there always remains a light!

I remember that day,

it was 7th grade civics class

We had to draw the landscape

the colors turning. We could see.

When then we each with a notepad

began to venture into a faraway

retreat away, the sky brilliance

our guide toward a fantasy.

~

I was unable to recall later

that cold December morning

just how beautiful the leaves

were just weeks earlier, radiant

in the autumn sunlight.

Life was an easy walk

along pathways that

breathed the lovely

vestige of Nature’s remedy.

~

Winter skies are meant to

chill our heart and soul.

The trees hadn’t any designs

to seek desire’s passion.

Today the branches remained

stark and sleek, now barren,

holding only a key toward

sudden loss, the fallen summer.

~

A week earlier the branches held a fresh snow

At least he felt shelter in his new travel home.

When they were kids they threw ‘dirtballs’ in acts of war,

their way of showing the offensive and winning battles.

There was a visit that year from Northern Ireland. Belfast

was sending children to freedom’s roots, a symbolic gesture.

my the stories they told,

living in a war zone,

surviving while playing

with molotov cocktails.

we announced a dirtball fight at the construction yard

picked our teams and built our walls, stacking bundles

of clustered clay ***** nearby our home ground.

The Irish kids as we called them sort of stood nearby,

a little laughter, and perhaps

some polite mock surprise.

A reaction to the fear and cry

of one of our eyes being hit by

dirt

pain

limbs

blood

shattered glass that remained remnants

outside her bedroom window as she went

to sleep on any given day. She always

wondered whether this might be the day,

brother lost earlier,

parents always tired,

the streets a war zone

the streets a war zone.

Today, children in markets with suicide bombs,

young girls running frightened to their detonation,

This is a new generation of pain and fear,

Pakistan, Nigeria, and Paris, under the lights.

We are the reason for this,

our human personality,

we didn’t just suddenly

become a violent species.

We’ve spent centuries in vicious practice

learning just how far our evil can seek bliss.

I do imagine you,

soft, serene, an elegant air

of caprice

that plays with the eyes

those moments that are left to my creative mind.

Yet, the oils to arouse my notions

I know always

on hand,

in hand,

in your hands as tease and desire

respond together.

I wonder sometimes how many hours of the day

are left to pure seduction

without provocation,

only the beauty that is you

in that sweet state of mind that carries

my own fantasy far beyond the mundane reality

of my day.

I wonder about you, and wish to know your desire

like an aura of the purest sensuality

travels with you

remains inside of you,

always waiting.

For we haven't a clue

when out of the blue

our lives will be helpless

to the real world's address.

~

Each day that we live

we have to just give

life its due process

we must just confess.

~

In the morning he was ill

such a wild complaining pill

when the sun began to set,

well then we became upset.

~

Throughout our lives we care

about things others wouldn't dare

yet when the truth is told

nothing remains anything bold.

~

We will be strong today

our courage will not sway

The human condition speaks loud,

no indecision can be allowed.

~

Cancer *****, it certainly does

when it is why, because

we will all go forward

with no illusion toward.

~

Love life together and free

believe in always you and me.

we are given constant chance

to live a life of elegance.

We are

We want

We often need

We would rather be

We will always wish more

We are the same,

you and I,

though you are vastly different

with how you live inside the same world

I try to exist in with you by my side, or nearby,

or simply on my mind nowhere in sight.

I think its funny,

when I imagine

the person that you are,

standing next to me,

I often wonder,

if when you turn away,

your reaction might be the same for me,

if I were to turn away,

but I haven’t yet, well not really,

maybe in a physical way,

but the years have traveled quickly,

that being a memory,

today is wondrous

when earlier in our lives,

that same day might be

a regular day,

regular people,

in a way.

I am at battle,

have you noticed at all,

when walking down a hallway,

the barren expression that turns to a smile,

when interactions are needed.

It works for brief minutes,

like getaways,

a descending reality that never … lands,

keeps me suspended,

so I can survive,

so I can make it through the day.

Please don’t look for me alone,

let that peace remain a facade,

my marble castle,

my wax paper offering a translucent

image whom defines how I might need to appear;

satisfied,

content,

confident,

moving forward, always moving toward

the next goal,

that opportunity that allows my life

to have some identity.

Have I told anyone I am in a constant battle?

Shrouds veil our rise within the morning’s mist,

like pure raindrops suspended in cool air

we are reminded certain moments missed

will walk our day, must we believe it fair?

The mind, a wandering vessel of hope

battles sea worthy giants of despair

with each walk, we tangle a fierce strung rope

that clings to every fiber; hanging there.

We want to believe our hearts are so true

to love, to have compassion, a spirit

in happiness can achieve such sky blue

authority upon our angst’s regret.

With human dignity we walk in shrouds

of mediocrity whilst He sweeps clouds

Wake up to another morning in sunlight brilliance

look about a world of passion, beauty, resilience.

~

The news, what we read; our beautiful children too,

can we not forget the one hundred and thirty two,

~

kids, smiling faces with pure innocence abound,

they knew childlike pain, seeing upheaval all around,

~

their villages, their homeland, filled with a political strife,

suggested each one, each kind soul, compassion in life.

~

Yet, the saddest part of any mindless tragedy is the possibility,

the notion that what in future days held welcome opportunity

~

could be destroyed by the swift arm of pure evil mindset,

this hateful world must begin to leave us certainly upset,

~

Quell that apathy, and rise above our human monotony,

of believing the horrors are a globe apart, so far away.

~

In Pakistan, we stopped human life from exploring their dreams,

while across the bay in Cuba rhetoric said welcome to a regime,

~

In your home and ours, in everyone’s world the breathing slows,

in the elegance of natural cause, not striking down, insidious blows,

~

of torture … power is such a menacing tool so ill-met with malice,

we are all guilty of seeking ownership, claim of that sacred chalice.

_

Can we be a society, a nation, a planet of people perhaps that may cease,

to extinguish our hopes, our dreams, and wait, open our arms toward peace.

A deepening pain

Echoes inside my mind

In recognition

In realization

In reckoning.

That powerful syntax that moves

Beyond a notion

And completes its journey

Wild abandon

That interpretation that in my mind

Left itself reckless

Knowing it could resonate

And yet the paper cannot withstand

The mighty force of words

.

The human spirit

In all of its beauty

Soaring above clouds

Of discontent

Finds reason to balance

Nature’s course of mortality

We are frail souls

That when we hurt

We bleed

Our emotions we feel

Seeking a pendulum

To overcome

The error of our ways

.

And words again

Become my mentor

As I seek guidance

That forest

Of reasoning

Intertwining my path

With fallen branches, ruts,

Stones

Continue to assist my way

I stumble as often

As I may stammer in conversation

.

Yet in the end I am always resilient in hope

To recognize there are truths that allow me to grow.