there are the times
when clouds obscure our view
of blue ethereal skies
and our world grows dark and desolate

days are monotonous and gray
nothing can put a smile into our face
we see the whole confounded human race
doomed to pernicion and without God’s grace

this is the time when it is useful to remember
that it is YOU who calls the shots
YOU who decides what road to follow
YOU who determines where to go
rest, linger, or proceed

so you can truly say
these are the actions of yourself
for which you need

nobody else

you work hard
   to do things right
and get kicked in the teeth
   ever so often
by people who cannot see
   beyond their pug-nosed selves

yet you continue
secretly hoping that
   somehow  sometime
someone will recognize
   your efforts

one day
   after yet another kick in the teeth
you decide you have had it

you do not stop trying

you just know
that you do

   not

   really

   need

their recognition

         * *

You are the
         liquid sugar
I rub into
       my skin
soaked
through to my
pores so
deep within
on a cellular
level as I
gulp it down
swish in saliva
in liquid love
          sounds
washed through
my system
in textured
              spin    
you balance
out the thickness
of my insulin
           you
pique
          hot
energies
into blush-fused
                crush
swirling
endorphins
and hormones
in maelstrom rush
my cheeks
on fire,
ripe fruits
drip
          juice
I must
    breathe  
in staccato
to control
         this
  sluice  
But when I
get peak-high
and then
            *****
      so
           low
you harmonize
the taut,
        slick pull
of my
       undertow flow
It's just a matter
of a few
words, syll-a-
bles spoken
velvet-voiced
             cool
smooths
the rough      
of my
     broken
So please
        inject it,
fresh
into the river
of my blood
     Bring it over,
   hot sugar,
before  I
surge
   into
        flood

Today warblers race with yellow butterflies
Shiny Pin Oak leaves reflect skyward , puffy -
clouds shaped like a dragon , an Indian Chief ,
a diving dolphin , songbirds in melodious -
conversation , Fall puffs of air bring the smell -
of barbecue and burning leaves , Apple Cider -
memories and nut laden Pecan Trees
Where clothes are still hung out to dry , where old -
movies still make the ladies cry , where men are -
'occupied with their occupation' , where farmers are -
in tune with their beloved nation* ..

There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When all artistic, damaged or insomniatic souls
Feel like they're completely alone
Even though we're all awake and feeling the same thing.
12am is still too loud, still too car engines and shouting,
And 6am is too light, too exposing and awake, aware.
It's blackness but for the starlight puncturing holes in the sky,
That's when the magic arises and enchants us.
The way the moon looks at us and begs us to untrouble our weary hearts,
So we do it, and we do it willingly.
She is the most unfaithful lover, and it is beautiful.
How she cherishes each whispered secret so deeply
That it leaves a crater on her being.
How she takes on our pain unflinchingly,
And only needs 28 days to feel whole again.
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When the most trapped souls can feel such freedom.

I wonder
Why a clover
Is inferior
Of a red tulip

A little hope
Is needed
Like a ray
Of sun shining

panorama spits
daintily, hard puddles howl
peacefully sluggish

Blessed is the architect
Who designed
This fine building