the ancient elder
softly dawn came
mother cried
her gentle autumnal dreams
squandered

bare branch bird
the bell of november
Fathers spent silence


Loves lost chance  
the proximity of ancient sadness
Heads bowed
the moon crumbled

Evenings
we hear the chirp of the blackbird
Our bent shadows
appear

We thirst for the knowledge
of the pool

We the Autumn  people
lay by the elms

once slender hands
eyes aloft

the dark aggrieves our souls
the mutuality of a friend's hand
transgresses the gloom

My voice never seems to be loud enough

To break through storm in your mind

I can never seem to get through to you

No matter how hard I try

Your breathing is sometimes so shaky

Like you're trying not to cry

Why don't you give me your burdens?

I'm here til the day you die

When the carrion calls
this is your  destruction
you are drunk with distain

Your body is a yew tree
into which a maiden
dips her momentary fingers

You are  now a  snake
which slithers 
towards the black cave


together your
dreams are stillborn
the  still night interlopes
with your deft piety
disheartened

You grab my hands in yours

Reminding me I'm special

You slip bracelets on my wrists

Reminding me you're here

You paint my nails black

Reminding me that you care

You spray me with your cologne

A good luck charm for my test

I pass with flying colors

And love you more than the rest

My friend, you are so special

I want to keep you close

If I lost you as well

It would hurt more than most

Please stay my friend forever

Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

my poetry has gone south
like a unrepentant priest
I am unawakened
I am stuck in a purgatory
All I observe is politics
but that's an obvious target
I feel lacking inspiration
Where is nature
the yarn of a kelp
a mud baked hippopotamus in Safari
or an ominous looming seagull
cresting for a flake 99