I have so much more that I want to say,
to you.

Can I mute the world and share my words with a rose that is,
my favorite hue?

Your color,
it mimics an Aruban sky's
fantastic blue.

Allow me to speak and melt into one, and no longer two.



written by me... ..

My life's happiness is
what her
spiritual soul
monopolized.

Until one
summer's night,
I lost
them both to
negligent
homicide.

Lips that
are now a
smile's suicide.

And a heart
that now
drowns underneath
every
ocean's tide.


written by me... ..

If
i‘m
here?


We're


   not



guaranteed.



The Concrete Poet

a poet's
passion
is
never
in need
of an
invitation.

it
is
always
present.

That wicker furniture on the front porch,
it just silently sits there waiting to be sat in, to feel needed.

I gaze at it in passing with my German  Shepherd, and I picture things in my imagination, sights and sounds.
It squeaks and makes this crunching noise when someone does sit down into it.

Almost as if it were old and tired like the very idea of making wicker furniture is.
When it rains, it still sits there upon the porch.
It doesn't care if it gets wet.

It knows soon enough the sun will warm its brownish tan exterior, almost sun bathing and furthering it's golden shine.
Funny thing about this wicker furniture, well I think anyway.

It never makes a sound until you sit down in it.
When you do, it almost always has a story to tell.
Simply listen to it next time because perhaps, you haven't been listening closely or hard enough.



written by me... ..

The river
shimmering
before me
like billions
of unclaimed
diamonds.
A bountiful array of birds and
their morning
serenade.
Rain drops
cascading down
luscious leaf
after leaf
forming puddles
beneath
my feet.
The grey
skies don't seem
so grey with
all of this
green picture
framing it.
A boat sails
by and
disturbs the
glass top
water's surface.
The older man
just arrived
once again
with his young
prancy pup
driving from
garbage can
to garbage can
collecting
bottles.
With the rain,
I just called
my entire crew
and told them
to enjoy a
3 day weekend.
I can't pour
concrete in the rain but,
I can sure
sit at my
favorite spot
in this life
and write
with
no worries.




written by me... ..

Well - maybe I am not what you expected and or wanted

     Or -

        Maybe I am not the flower that you planted

            Life has a way of creating distortion, background noise

   I am me by choice - yes, that is me with the unsure, yet unwavering voice

      Thirty six years of concrete - sure they've made me tough and stoic

          Doesn't mean when you hurt me - my heart doesn't bleed historic

   I've done the best job that I know - though for some, I have apparently fallen short

        Feeling like a frog's relief, on your skin an unwanted wart

Alas I have been made to understand, I guess that..

     I'm the string that's all frayed

    I'm the blue sky that's greyed

    I'm the abortion okay'd

     I'm the gamble that never paid

          I'm a US Marine - Iraq Mosul midnight raid

   But -

I'm the one that's never betrayed

        The one that turns night into day

            But alas.....I still love you anyway !

Her body,
mind
and soul
in its entirety,
is like an N52.
The
world's strongest magnet that is 500,000 times stronger than the Earth's magnetic field.
Am I
attracted
to her?
You might
say.


written by me... ..

hard-
cold-
angry-
bi polar
has been
my
personality
for
years
now.

pick...
pick

pick...
pic­k.
­
it only
takes
one
memory
and,

i
arrive
OUTSIDE
myself
once
again,

always
knowing
how.

pick...
pick

pick....
pick,

ever­­yday
i
pick at
my
scabs
my
wounds
my
past.

i wait
for
loose
gravel
under
my feet
to
scuttle
at
long
last.

one
time
in life,

i
was a
child
that
saw
life
as an
everyday
playground.

now?

i
pick....
pick

pick....
pick.

i
wait
to discard
this
defeated
frown.

i
wait
for
my
life
to drown.

i
wait
for
them to
come
leave
tears
upon my
cemetary
mound.

i...

i wait
for
death-

and
my
childhood
to
once
again
be
found.

i...

i wait
for
MY
death-

to
no
longer
make
a sound.



written by me.. ..

To play the part of a marionette is forever;
manipulation strings long gone almost to walk on air.

Tied to wooden x's you dangle,
acting on impulse they divulge your feeling.

Frayed strings, shredded,  near broken,
this fantasy is free,  the cost a cut down tree.

In the distance a sunrise under the canopy of a clever smokescreen,
and I the smoke, I waft away.

she,

wrote her telephone number

in

heart red lipstick

on the windshield of my pickup truck

"for a good time"

"call me -
867-5309
Jenny"

there's only
one
love puppet
you see

the one
with BIG eyes
that looks
up to you
as she finalizes
her fantasy

a trifle bit confused
but once she met you,
her world
was just now
filled with
******

******... ..
a word that,
before you,

she had
never fathomed

I look around me and it looks like the world is melting.
Stars are breaking away from the sky and falling.
The clouds are grey and cry never ending tears, or so it seems.
The moon is rarely even whole, just a fraction of itself.
The sun even runs away from me after a little while.
The angry river's horizon swallow the day and bring yet more darkness.
Boats disappear upon those waters with nary a beacon heard.
Trees are ravaged by hurricane'd winds as they weep and wilt.
Roses and their bouquet are trampled and their thorns are all that's left behind.
Strangers walking under the street lights are just that, 'stranger' to me everyday.
What is this place?
What is this tortured existence?
I want to run away from it but I can't because,
this place is everywhere.
It's even in my dreams, my nightmares.
He never meant for the ground under my feet to always feel like it was opening up.
Or for me to keep pushing myself further and further away from a love for life.
My bed is my best friend.
My head is the only thing that exists that knows all of my secrets and feelings.
I keep a tiny light on in my bedroom so not to always be in 100% darkness.
What is this place?
I muse.
Even my muses feel my anxiety and pain.
What is this place?
Hope is my super blood moon smile and...
Smiles are hard to find on this face.

i awoke

     as always,

        poetically.

     words on my mind-

on my lips.

  nary a sheep ever counted.
  
         just words in cartoon balloons-

         from my mind,

from my lips,

      to paper they go

even before
            
             my first coffee sips.

    i'm a writer.

my subconscious mind even

   plays along-

even in deep sleep,

     there are no sheep-

just pulling words from

   cartoon balloons,

       i write .....

    Poetry....

         Prose....

                    Songs.

even in the shadows of my

   dreams -

       when I've put the world

to bed ....

            i still write...

        after i've turned off

all of this world's

lights....

   i have a quill

in my head....

        that always

has ink in...

    abundant supply.

numb,
eventually
we all become
numb of
life's subtractions

its vortex fails
to unsteady us,
its impact abates
to that of fractions

its aroma no longer
carries hints
of spice nor
offensive odor

to thine eyes
its once
brilliant hue is now
an ebon color

its touch
no longer unbearable
no longer a
raging fire

as years pass by
life's subtractions
just never appear
so dire

it feels cold
and then it
feels warm

but it always
feels warm
with the addition of
a new day's morn

numb as life's years
pass us by but
passionately alive
when we are born

Forgetting
the
unforgettable challenges
the mightiest
of souls

Aspired
together goals
replaced with
haunting
tear filled
holes

Their hair
their eyes
their hands
their lips.

You're trying
to forget them
but always
losing grip.

Unforgettable
will never be
a
forgotten song.

Impossible when
memories flood
your soul all
day long.

Days of what
was wrong felt so right and
the right
felt so
wrong.

Rain is fun.

My poetic longing is fun.

My poetic muse search is stimulating.

life is poetic!

poems are everywhere and,

a poem I am.

a poem you are.

poetry is my fuel.

fuel to burn my
poetic fire and desires.

islands of fantasy where
the ocean top shimmers like flawless diamonds and
my soulmate breaks its surface.

summertime
puddles are deeper than
most.

the swooshing from the traffic
along the rain soaked roadway behind me lets me know that I am alive.

and while I am alive... ..
a poem I am.

one day
you may be the paper/muse that i insert my ink
in to... ..

As I
tasted
and swallowed
the
unforgettable
moonlight
on your
lips.
The only
thing
that was
going to
cool us
down this night
was a
good
ol' fashion
rain storm
at 4am' ish.


And then
quite easily I...

I,

overdosed
on your kiss
and the
movement
of
your hips.

I would
love if,
you somehow
'happened'
again.

And...

You wowed me
once again
with your
gumdrop nips
and the
dynamite
that you
call lips.


written by me... ..

hello fear;
you have no power
over me

let me make
it clear,
death lost its sting
and
its frightening fee

satan is the coward
in the chair,
trembling and shaken
by God's might
is he

the holy spirit on
one July night
I did hear,
I received strength
unmatched to fight
the enemy

he never stood
a chance in that
hot and humid air,
since that July night
from fear.... I've been
set free

the power of Christ
is one not to
tempt nor dare,
I only asked for
serenity in my
hour of need.....

Jesus stood in front
of satan and
once again
defended me

fear of death
I had no longer
a care,
I once again watched
Jesus dispose of
the enemy....

now for Him,
for Jesus....
I fight for eternity

asea,
tangled web
of complexity

raging rapids
hasten
mortality

albatross
lingers
over me

stiffen bones
death's
rigidity

spare the
beacon's search
for me

alas
my life may
no longer be

battered and
bruised I
was left alee

If I could steal just one kiss from your lips?

I would no longer need to steal.



written  by me... ..

"Macabre
is
nothing more
than
maturation"


written by me... ..

Be the
ocean wave
that
in her mind
she systematically surfs over and over throughout the day

Be the
ocean wave that
brings her to shore out of breath and
all passionately crazy

Be the
ocean wave that
sweeps her out
into depths
she has never ventured

Be the
ocean wave


that's

always

her
one of a kind

adventure

I try to live like there's no tomorrow for me

    I can only enjoy friendships for what you think they may be

       Like Tim McGraw once sang

"Live like you are dying"

           Tomorrow is never a sure thang

          He also once sang about being "humble and kind"

                    Embrace the tranquility in that, the world's drama....hmmmmphf, just nevermind

   Never shy away from telling someone your feelings because...

       There may not  be a tomorrow....complete with no floors and no ceilings

               Living the rest of your life on what could have been...

  Is a slumber in a forever winter's den.

       On the line, go ahead and lay it

Once gone, don't regret the candle you never lit

if i live long enough to embrace Autumn once more.

     i will breathe in its air like it's my last inhale.

         i will not assume that i am entitled for an encore.

  if i make my 52'nd birthday this Autumn, in this life i will know,  i have not failed.

             the rusty reds, perfect peaches and October orange hues are a beauty that has no rival !

      Autumn is my mistress, she is a very special part of my own survival.

      Autumn like my 52'nd birthday is at my doorstep knocking.

            Autumn is the season that has kept this half century year old man young and rocking.

give me the cool nights by a crackling smokey fire.

      give me those colors Autumn that, only YOU can share and that I desire.

and take away the ***** sweaty feeling of summer.

    summer, the season that is always such a drag, to me, a ******.

           Autumn, bring me back to sunday sauce and long sleeves.

bring me back to trees full of unique hues and mesmerizing leaves.

     buh bye summer, i don't care if i were to ever see you again.

              52, with another Autumn under my belt makes me...indeed

one of the luckiest men.

Pure love
is the
simplest form
of love
which carries
no weight
no burden
no agenda
no judgement
and no
expectations
but to
love.

When love
is weightless,
natural and
void of
anxiety?

That is a
pure love.

That kind
of love is as
sweet as
pure cane
sugar.

A love that
you may
only find in
a dog and a
handful of
human beings
but,
a love that is
always present
with Jesus.

Loss.
Loss is not some figment of our imaginations.

Loss is waking up every morning and feeling that there is something very important that is missing.

In the pit of your stomach.
In the deepest recesses of your heart.

At the forefront of your mind.
Loss is an extreme emotion.

Because loss, is something that you know that you can never get back again.

Loss can leave you lost and nomadicly meandering unfamiliar paths most days and nights.

But,
but in those moments that the sun still shines,
shine....
shine brighter than it!

Make those around you always reach for their sunglasses.

The grey skies will always be there and during those, let those that we have lost, rain down on us so that for those moments, we may hide our tears.

Loss, is an emotion more extreme and intense than love.

Because, all that's left is to relive all of the memories of love without a further touch, but to look up into Heaven when we do and smile above.

Today is a
perfect
sunny and
75.

Today
was a
great day
to be
alive.

The river
sparkled like
sparklers
on a
4th of July
night.

Her on
my arm
that felt
oh so right.

Others
walk by
and admire
our love.

She is
perfection
sent from
Heaven above.

The soft
river's breeze
made love
to her hair.

I just stood
back and
took in the
beauty that
was standing
in front
of me
there.

Sunny
and 75.

I'm no good for any woman.
I'm no good for her open toed shoes,
....for her teasing see through sundress.
I'm no good for her mind,
for her ******* I must confess,
hardened gumdrop ******* ...
almost like a pacifier..
makes my own mind a mess,
I guess.

I'm no good for her nails.
Unpolished, no curves like the ones under her dress,
straight as rails.
Chewed up and forgotten,
hang nailed and almost rotten.

I'm no good for her makeup, her mascara.
Her eyes all swollen and streamed.
Black lines that run down her face,
i've ruined her favorite white teddy lace.

Her once watermelon  luscious lips ,
all frowned and wrinkled from worry.
That apple red lipstick
makes a sad face on my collar...
the frown turns to anger,
I ready for her to holler.

I'm no good for any woman,
cause they think I'm no good when I'm alone.
forgive me for being a man when I am free,
I'll be a man forever...with a lock in need of a key.
I may be no good
but only one key fits, and should.



written by me... ..

A pity
that,

love is
often coupled
with risk

The heart
was never
meant
to be
whisked

Divorces
brisk

I walk
through puddles
almost daily.

Please.
Please
be an ocean.

I can't walk
across
an ocean.

Depth
is everything
to me.



;)



written by me... ..

i sit
    and i
pray,

that-

       there is
a place
    away.

away from the
        chaos in this world,

somewhere-

      where my children,
     my grandchildren can
laugh
             and play
with no tears,

this is what-
        this daddy,
                 grandfather
cries.

           just to see
all of
     your smiles.....
         is all
             i ever need.

   someplace in the distance,
     where the wind  
goes  
          and knows.

  someplace where all of you,

    all of
your happiness
            and
         smiles grow.

    lives replanted
  as a seed once again,
        to bloom and
          sway beautifully
in the wind....

        once more.

A loud siren
breaks the
pre dawn
silence

Is that
emergency vehicle traveling
in your
direction this morning?

Be thankful