Peace flows into me
As the tide to the pool by the shore;
It is mine forevermore,
It ebbs not back like the sea.

I am the pool of blue
That worships the vivid sky;
My hopes were heaven-high,
They are all fulfilled in you.

I am the pool of gold
When sunset burns and dies, —
You are my deepening skies,
Give me your stars to hold.

It's called anxiety.
Sometimes, I can pay attention to you.
Sometimes, I can't.
Some days are better than other ones.
But the others,
Well, the other ones look a little like trains Going a little too fast for their tracks
Like clocks that break their glass fronts
And cartoon characters with smoke
Coming from their heels when they run
Running faster than the 60 seconds a minute allows
It is my body moving too fast for me to Catch my breath but I'm just sitting at my Desk tapping my pencil and I can feel the Teacher drilling holes into the back of my
Skull
I know the God-awful sound is killing her
But it is keeping me from going insane
It is chewing away the insides of my Cheeks
And scratching at my forehead
Looking for answers
But always coming up with hungry hands
It's hearing white noise
And glass shattering
And candles flickering
I know I should not be hearing a candle
Dance
But I do
It's just me spinning out of control
I know you've noticed I'm no longer using Punctuation but this is how I always feel
This is how my mind is
It is always racing
My foot swings back and forth like
Poe's Pit and the Pendulum swinging faster and faster towards my chest and it's Always on fire
My hands fumble with puzzle pieces
Because I identify with the one that's
Always missing
It is being lonely in the hands of someone
Who loves me
I feel his calloused hands hollowly like I
Don't have a right to them
It is wanting to scream to the hooded
Figure in the door "I'm scared" but it
Coming out as an inaudible crack in my
Voice
I find solace in the cracks between tile
I'm looking at my reflection in black Screens wishing I could just pick myself Up
From the bottom of orange bottles with
Safety-***** lids
A doctor once told me one day I would be
Okay
But one day seems to be miles and
Years away
I've shrunk to the size of a stick
My bones jutting out every which way
Paper-thin and too many words to fill the
Hole in my confidence a man once bore Into me
My hands shake when I step into a church
Like I've done something wrong
My mind goes over every event up until
Now wondering why my hands shake and
My chest drops below the floor
Grandmother tells me I will go to hell if I Do not act right and my mother tells me it Is
All in my head
But again a doctor gave me
An orange bottle with thirty tiny white pills And told me one day everything Would be
Okay.
I just want it to be okay.
My mind is always racing like the way "Normal"
Ones do before taking a test not studied for.
I'm sure you will consider this an episode
Of marked depression, but this monster is Anxiety.
Sometimes I can pay attention to you.
Other times I can't because of this
Infinitely.
Running.
Mind.

I.

Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ******, ******, ******,
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
   Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
    All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
  In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
  On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
    They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
         Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
    Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
  To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
  To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
  As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
  Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts,
Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring into cataracts,

Wander'd back to living boyhood while I heard the curlews call,
I myself so close on death, and death itself in Locksley Hall.

So--your happy suit was blasted--she the faultless, the divine;
And you liken--boyish babble--this boy-love of yours with mine.

I myself have often babbled doubtless of a foolish past;
Babble, babble; our old England may go down in babble at last.

'Curse him!' curse your fellow-victim? call him dotard in your rage?
Eyes that lured a doting boyhood well might fool a dotard's age.

Jilted for a wealthier! wealthier? yet perhaps she was not wise;
I remember how you kiss'd the miniature with those sweet eyes.

In the hall there hangs a painting--Amy's arms about my neck--
Happy children in a sunbeam sitting on the ribs of wreck.

In my life there was a picture, she that clasp'd my neck had flown;
I was left within the shadow sitting on the wreck alone.

Yours has been a slighter ailment, will you sicken for her sake?
You, not you! your modern amourist is of easier, earthlier make.

Amy loved me, Amy fail'd me, Amy was a timid child;
But your Judith--but your worldling--she had never driven me wild.

She that holds the diamond necklace dearer than the golden ring,
She that finds a winter sunset fairer than a morn of Spring.

She that in her heart is brooding on his briefer lease of life,
While she vows 'till death shall part us,' she the would-be-widow wife.

She the worldling born of worldlings--father, mother--be content,
Ev'n the homely farm can teach us there is something in descent.

Yonder in that chapel, slowly sinking now into the ground,
Lies the warrior, my forefather, with his feet upon the hound.

Cross'd! for once he sail'd the sea to crush the Moslem in his pride;
Dead the warrior, dead his glory, dead the cause in which he died.

Yet how often I and Amy in the mouldering aisle have stood,
Gazing for one pensive moment on that founder of our blood.

There again I stood to-day, and where of old we knelt in prayer,
Close beneath the casement crimson with the shield of Locksley--there,

All in white Italian marble, looking still as if she smiled,
Lies my Amy dead in child-birth, dead the mother, dead the child.

Dead--and sixty years ago, and dead her aged husband now--
I this old white-headed dreamer stoopt and kiss'd her marble brow.

Gone the fires of youth, the follies, furies, curses, passionate tears,
Gone like fires and floods and earthquakes of the planet's dawning years.

Fires that shook me once, but now to silent ashes fall'n away.
Cold upon the dead volcano sleeps the gleam of dying day.

Gone the tyrant of my youth, and mute below the chancel stones,
All his virtues--I forgive them--black in white above his bones.

Gone the comrades of my bivouac, some in fight against the foe,
Some thro' age and slow diseases, gone as all on earth will go.

Gone with whom for forty years my life in golden sequence ran,
She with all the charm of woman, she with all the breadth of man,

Strong in will and rich in wisdom, Edith, yet so lowly-sweet,
Woman to her inmost heart, and woman to her tender feet,

Very woman of very woman, nurse of ailing body and mind,
She that link'd again the broken chain that bound me to my kind.

Here to-day was Amy with me, while I wander'd down the coast,
Near us Edith's holy shadow, smiling at the slighter ghost.

Gone our sailor son thy father, Leonard early lost at sea;
Thou alone, my boy, of Amy's kin and mine art left to me.

Gone thy tender-natured mother, wearying to be left alone,
Pining for the stronger heart that once had beat beside her own.

Truth, for Truth is Truth, he worshipt, being true as he was brave;
Good, for Good is Good, he follow'd, yet he look'd beyond the grave,

Wiser there than you, that crowning barren Death as lord of all,
Deem this over-tragic drama's closing curtain is the pall!

Beautiful was death in him, who saw the death, but kept the deck,
Saving women and their babes, and sinking with the sinking wreck,

Gone for ever! Ever? no--for since our dying race began,
Ever, ever, and for ever was the leading light of man.

Those that in barbarian burials ****'d the slave, and slew the wife,
Felt within themselves the sacred passion of the second life.

Indian warriors dream of ampler hunting grounds beyond the night;
Ev'n the black Australian dying hopes he shall return, a white.

Truth for truth, and good for good! The Good, the True, the Pure, the Just--
Take the charm 'For ever' from them, and they crumble into dust.

Gone the cry of 'Forward, Forward,' lost within a growing gloom;
Lost, or only heard in silence from the silence of a tomb.

Half the marvels of my morning, triumphs over time and space,
Staled by frequence, shrunk by usage into commonest commonplace!

'Forward' rang the voices then, and of the many mine was one.
Let us hush this cry of 'Forward' till ten thousand years have gone.

Far among the vanish'd races, old Assyrian kings would flay
Captives whom they caught in battle--iron-hearted victors they.

Ages after, while in Asia, he that led the wild Moguls,
Timur built his ghastly tower of eighty thousand human skulls,

Then, and here in Edward's time, an age of noblest English names,
Christian conquerors took and flung the conquer'd Christian into flames.

Love your enemy, bless your haters, said the Greatest of the great;
Christian love among the Churches look'd the twin of heathen hate.

From the golden alms of Blessing man had coin'd himself a curse:
Rome of Caesar, Rome of Peter, which was crueller? which was worse?

France had shown a light to all men, preach'd a Gospel, all men's good;
Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.

Hope was ever on her mountain, watching till the day begun--
Crown'd with sunlight--over darkness--from the still unrisen sun.

Have we grown at last beyond the passions of the primal clan?
'**** your enemy, for you hate him,' still, 'your enemy' was a man.

Have we sunk below them? peasants maim the helpless horse, and drive
Innocent cattle under thatch, and burn the kindlier brutes alive.

Brutes, the brutes are not your wrongers--burnt at midnight, found at morn,
Twisted hard in mortal agony with their offspring, born-unborn,

Clinging to the silent mother! Are we devils? are we men?
Sweet St. Francis of Assisi, would that he were here again,

He that in his Catholic wholeness used to call the very flowers
Sisters, brothers--and the beasts--whose pains are hardly less than ours!

Chaos, Cosmos! Cosmos, Chaos! who can tell how all will end?
Read the wide world's annals, you, and take their wisdom for your friend.

Hope the best, but hold the Present fatal daughter of the Past,
Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hour will last.

Ay, if dynamite and revolver leave you courage to be wise:
When was age so cramm'd with menace? madness? written, spoken lies?

Envy wears the mask of Love, and, laughing sober fact to scorn,
Cries to Weakest as to Strongest, 'Ye are equals, equal-born.'

Equal-born? O yes, if yonder hill be level with the flat.
Charm us, Orator, till the Lion look no larger than the Cat,

Till the Cat thro' that mirage of overheated language loom
Larger than the Lion,--Demos end in working its own doom.

Russia bursts our Indian barrier, shall we fight her? shall we yield?
Pause! before you sound the trumpet, hear the voices from the field.

Those three hundred millions under one Imperial sceptre now,
Shall we hold them? shall we loose them? take the suffrage of the plow.

Nay, but these would feel and follow Truth if only you and you,
Rivals of realm-ruining party, when you speak were wholly true.

Plowmen, Shepherds, have I found, and more than once, and still could find,
Sons of God, and kings of men in utter nobleness of mind,

Truthful, trustful, looking upward to the practised hustings-liar;
So the Higher wields the Lower, while the Lower is the Higher.

Here and there a cotter's babe is royal-born by right divine;
Here and there my lord is lower than his oxen or his swine.

Chaos, Cosmos! Cosmos, Chaos! once again the sickening game;
Freedom, free to slay herself, and dying while they shout her name.

Step by step we gain'd a freedom known to Europe, known to all;
Step by step we rose to greatness,--thro' the tonguesters we may fall.

You that woo the Voices--tell them 'old experience is a fool,'
Teach your flatter'd kings that only those who cannot read can rule.

Pluck the mighty from their seat, but set no meek ones in their place;
Pillory Wisdom in your markets, pelt your offal at her face.

Tumble Nature heel o'er head, and, yelling with the yelling street,
Set the feet above the brain and swear the brain is in the feet.

Bring the old dark ages back without the faith, without the hope,
Break the State, the Church, the Throne, and roll their ruins down the *****.

Authors--essayist, atheist, novelist, realist, rhymester, play your part,
Paint the mortal shame of nature with the living hues of Art.

Rip your brothers' vices open, strip your own foul passions bare;
Down with Reticence, down with Reverence--forward--naked--let them stare.

Feed the budding rose of boyhood with the drainage of your sewer;
Send the drain into the fountain, lest the stream should issue pure.

Set the maiden fancies wallowing in the troughs of Zolaism,--
Forward, forward, ay and backward, downward too into the abysm.

Do your best to charm the worst, to lower the rising race of men;
Have we risen from out the beast, then back into the beast again?

Only 'dust to dust' for me that sicken at your lawless din,
Dust in wholesome old-world dust before the newer world begin.

Heated am I? you--you wonder--well, it scarce becomes mine age--
Patience! let the dying actor mouth his last upon the stage.

Cries of unprogressive dotage ere the dotard fall asleep?
Noises of a current narrowing, not the music of a deep?

Ay, for doubtless I am old, and think gray thoughts, for I am gray:
After all the stormy changes shall we find a changeless May?

After madness, after massacre, Jacobinism and Jacquerie,
Some diviner force to guide us thro' the days I shall not see?

When the schemes and all the systems, Kingdoms and Republics fall,
Something kindlier, higher, holier--all for each and each for all?

All the full-brain, half-brain races, led by Justice, Love, and Truth;
All the millions one at length with all the visions of my youth?

All diseases quench'd by Science, no man halt, or deaf or blind;
Stronger ever born of weaker, lustier body, larger mind?

Earth at last a warless world, a single race, a single tongue--
I have seen her far away--for is not Earth as yet so young?--

Every tiger madness muzzled, every serpent passion ****'d,
Every grim ravine a garden, every blazing desert till'd,

Robed in universal harvest up to either pole she smiles,
Universal ocean softly washing all her warless Isles.

Warless? when her tens are thousands, and her thousands millions, then--
All her harvest all too narrow--who can fancy warless men?

Warless? war will die out late then. Will it ever? late or soon?
Can it, till this outworn earth be dead as yon dead world the moon?

Dead the new astronomy calls her. . . . On this day and at this hour,
In this gap between the sandhills, whence you see the Locksley tower,

Here we met, our latest meeting--Amy--sixty years ago--
She and I--the moon was falling greenish thro' a rosy glow,

Just above the gateway tower, and even where you see her now--
Here we stood and claspt each other, swore the seeming-deathless vow. . . .

Dead, but how her living glory lights the hall, the dune, the grass!
Yet the moonlight is the sunlight, and the sun himself will pass.

Venus near her! smiling downward at this earthlier earth of ours,
Closer on the Sun, perhaps a world of never fading flowers.

Hesper, whom the poet call'd the Bringer home of all good things.
All good things may move in Hesper, perfect peoples, perfect kings.

Hesper--Venus--were we native to that splendour or in Mars,
We should see the Globe we groan in, fairest of their evening stars.

Could we dream of wars and carnage, craft and madness, lust and spite,
Roaring London, raving Paris, in that point of peaceful light?

Might we not in glancing heavenward on a star so silver-fair,
Yearn, and clasp the hands and murmur, 'Would to God that we were there'?

Forward, backward, backward, forward, in the immeasurable sea,
Sway'd by vaster ebbs and flows than can be known to you or me.

All the suns--are these but symbols of innumerable man,
Man or Mind that sees a shadow of the planner or the plan?

Is there evil but on earth? or pain in every peopled sphere?
Well be grateful for the sounding watchword, 'Evolution' here,

Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good,
And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.

What are men that He should heed us? cried the king of sacred song;
Insects of an hour, that hourly work their brother insect wrong,

While the silent Heavens roll, and Suns along their fiery way,
All their planets whirling round them, flash a million miles a day.

Many an aeon moulded earth before her highest, man, was born,
Many an aeon too may pass when earth is manless and forlorn,

Earth so huge, and yet so bounded--pools of salt, and plots of land--
Shallow skin of green and azure--chains of mountain, grains of sand!

Only That which made us, meant us to be mightier by and by,
Set the sphere of all the boundless Heavens within the human eye,

Sent the shadow of Himself, the boundless, thro' the human soul;
Boundless inward, in the atom, boundless outward, in the Whole.

                                                *

Here is Locksley Hall, my grandson, here the lion-guarded gate.
Not to-night in Locksley Hall--to-morrow--you, you come so late.

Wreck'd--your train--or all but wreck'd? a shatter'd wheel? a vicious boy!
Good, this forward, you that preach it, is it well to wish you joy?

Is it well that while we range with Science, glorying in the Time,
City children soak and blacken soul and sense in city slime?

There among the glooming alleys Progress halts on palsied feet,
Crime and hunger cast our maidens by the thousand on the street.

There the Master scrimps his haggard sempstress of her daily bread,
There a single sordid attic holds the living and the dead.

There the smouldering fire of fever creeps across the rotted floor,
And the crowded couch of ****** in the warrens of the poor.

Nay, your pardon, cry your 'forward,' yours are hope and youth, but I--
Eighty winters leave the dog too lame to follow with the cry,

Lame and old, and past his time, and passing now into the night;
Yet I would the rising race were half as eager for the light.

Light the fading gleam of Even? light the glimmer of the dawn?
Aged eyes may take the growing glimmer for the gleam withdrawn.

Far away beyond her myriad coming changes earth will be
Something other than the wildest modern guess of you and me.

Earth may reach her earthly-worst, or if she gain her earthly-best,
Would she find her human offspring this ideal man at rest?

Forward then, but still remember how the course of Time will swerve,
Crook and turn upon itself in many a backward streaming curve.

Not the Hall to-night, my grandson! Death and Silence hold their own.
Leave the Master in the first dark hour of his last sleep alone.

Worthier soul was he than I am, sound and honest, rustic Squire,
Kindly landlord, boon companion--youthful jealousy is a liar.

Cast the poison from your *****, oust the madness from your brain.
Let the trampled serpent show you that you have not lived in vain.

Youthful! youth and age are scholars yet but in the lower school,
Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.

Yonder lies our young sea-village--Art and Grace are less and less:
Science grows and Beauty dwindles--roofs of slated hideousness!

There is one old Hostel left us where they swing the Locksley shield,
Till the peasant cow shall **** the 'Lion passant' from his field.

Poo

The Rulers wield their silver shields,
             wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
             boast brazen bayonets
and unicorns flaunt ivory horns
             defending martinets.

While Bankers beam Their self-esteem
             (bailed out of broker's debts),
and Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
             in six-star luncheonettes,
the deep, devout and down and out
             survive as silhouettes.

The Press take pains to wash our brains,
             Their words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we fear to speak
             in worlds They’ve polarized,
and rush to war, through Satan's door,
             watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
             of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark
             and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
             in spectral disarray.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
             for all to live in bliss,
but in the wars on foreign shores
             the only rule is this:
“Yo! You and I must fight and die
             inside the black abyss!”

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
            on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
            to quell the dissidents,
while Partisans are posing plans
             to conquer continents.

And back at home, the rumors roam
             “Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
             in weathers wet and numb.”
When we’re in need, They’ll intercede
             with prayers if we succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
             to keep our minds at sea
and TV skews the evening news,
             ensures we all agree:
“With dynamite we fight for right
             and not for tyranny.”

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
               and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
              and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
             they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
             of droning drum tattoos
(the beat sustains the endless reigns
             which swamp the avenues)
souls, thin and worn, traipse by, forlorn,
             delayed by shackled shoes.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
            who watch us day and night
to track our trails and read our mails
             and say They have the right
to know our thoughts and thwart our plots
             to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
             the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal Their wiles -
             Their goals have never changed).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
             and common sense deranged.

Along the roads, the future bodes
             in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
             'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
             pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of humble bees,
             a ravaged hornets' hive,
rain forests, dales and minke whales
             soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
             as long as They survive.

As sunlight wanes in winter rains
             and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
             seem tattooed on the wall.
Upon the night the Masters write
             The Final Protocol.

stage life...
is so complicated
they'll confiscate it
your eyes will summit
their stocks will plummet

stage life...
is an oxymoron
you'll labor for em
your body's numb, once
stitched seams come undone

lick your finger.............
                     wine rims sing about it
lick your finger.............
                     counter to clockwise flow
lick your finger.............
                    add your liquidity
lick your finger.............
                    finer tuned frequencies
lick your finger.............
                   consume their recipe
lick your finger.............
                   won't find harmony
lick your finger.............
                   blood soaked oath's decrees

stage fright...
it comes in droves
watches all your moves
ebbs and flows

cautiously, write about it
cannot hide, darkest hours
insatiably, desired thirst
tie dye shirts, passion's curse
drink whiskey, pour a cup
no replies , it's all ****** up.

Twisted reeds sway gently in the wind as black seabirds slice the sky overhead.
Waves rolling one by one crash with increasing ferocity on to the rocky beach,
And I watch the red sun set fire to the spray while  the tide encircles me.
Tugging at my feet, pulling me forward, it beckons for my consent. I give in,
And all is quiet even in such chaos. All is nightmarish and beautiful all the more.

The blood red horizon seers my retinas; freshly unleashed tears take to the sea.
These waves, such enormous swells, crash in on me; an unseen war is waging.
They press  me down and back, and then drag me further into the endless blue.
Over and over again, repetition loses count, my outcries die prematurely.
Only seawater and air manage to sputter from my lips, cracked and worn.

Not a whisper can be heard out here in such a true state of despair, but not all
Castaways are without faith. The past I once cherished has been lost to the depths,
Yet a knowing tingle in my gut keeps me searching for a message hidden merely
'Neath the surface. Drifting deeper into my pain, I notice a curious thing:  
The force of the waves lessening as I gracelessly surrender to Sorrow and the sea.

My feet torn by jagged rocks no longer felt, my eyelids blistered by the red
Eternal sunset, a few waves push me under before the siege of the sea falters and
I learn to ride the surf, taking each afront as it comes, whether predicted or
Suddenly upon me. My pain ebbs away slowly with the passing of each episode,
And with each wave I acknowledge my loss, relinquishing my burden.

Like so many desparinging hearts before me shipwrecked in the sea of tears,
I forcefully remind myself that one day the lush, inviting green shores of the
Other side of the sea will appear in my line of vision. Yet, for now, I let myself
Drift through the grief of grieving you, often unsure of whether I'm meant to float
Or should let myself sink toward the blackest crags of my mind. Here alone.

sitting here but not
my insides
       in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
        light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
      and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
         aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
                 rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
                  our volcanic impulses
                          meet in steamy ebbs
                     and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
      wrapped in
           a tight little
              tourniquet
     blood pumping
through these veins
             my longing for
                 dark stretches
   of intimate caresses
to soothe
  the spikes
      of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within

and as I find myself
hanging off
my
      own
  edges
my many-braided loops
         in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
      DNA
helix swivel
     undulation
hips grinding into
                     soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk

I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
                             boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
                        and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
      my
new
sacred
      place

Feel the Force
Just Feel that Force.
No sign of divorce.
It’ll keep you on course.

It’s everywhere,
Not just a Star Wars fiction.
It may be God out there,
The cure for our affliction.

Whether The Force like us can think
Who knows?
Maybe we’re on the brink
Of its ebbs and flows.

All around there’s a Spiritual World,
Or so some say:
It’s yet unfurled
But we are on our way.

So Feel the Force
I say again.
Time runs its course,
Do ya ken?

As Yoda would say,
Your mind you open
And powerful you will become.

Paul Butters

In the heart, most people are temporary.
They roll off like tears shed and fall away,
Not forgotten, but finished.
But some people...
Some people have no horizon.
Some people are forever.

When I met you, you were vast.
I saw the ocean in your eyes.
I heard waves crash in your voice,
Rough and low and musical like the tide.
You're like a storm on the ocean,
And I drowned in loving you.

I didn't know what it was,
Didn't know what to do.
How could I?
You were the first.
Before I met you I'd never
Wondered if somebody's lips were soft to kiss
Wished I could reach out and touch anyone's cheek with my fingertips
Just to feel the warmth of life beneath their skin.
I never treasured the sound of anybody's pulse
As they hugged me
Until I met you.

I'm afraid I floundered,
Like a moth who had seen the moon in the waves
And tried to kiss its cheek
Only to stick to the mirror like water
And flutter madly, trying to stay afloat.

I learned, slow.
I grew.
I knew though, underneath I knew
I'd never get over you.

As the years blurred by
Like raindrops sliding down a windowpane
You were a constant in my heart,
Faint but vital.
As I shed my skin painfully and became...
Calmer, I suppose,
Less hopeful, less wildly passionate,
You lingered,
And the thought of you changed as I did,
But the love never left.

It's absurd, really, that I love so instantly
And so permanently.
But...
I saw your eyes four years ago
And my entire world changed.
I saw your eyes and I wanted to see only them
For the rest of time
The way I can stare at the path the moon makes along the sea
For hours and never tire of its subtle beauty.

I was afraid of you,
Of the power you had over me.
I just shrank back, stood aside and watched you be who you were,
Awed.
I quietly loved you like I'd never loved anyone,
And when you were gone I found that the thought of you
Was not.

And since then it has remained in my mind,
So constant and so quiet, like the white noise whisper of the surf on the sand at midnight,
That I hardly notice it anymore.

Back then, I could have fallen to my knees at your feet.
Back then, I couldn't help but be the fool
Who trailed at your heels
Because I was held there by gravity.
Back then, I couldn't hide a thing.
But now...
I've learned how to go under.

Many times since then, I've felt the fire of salt burn in my lungs,
I've lost my sight of the surface.
I've drowned in a love so deep
It soaks up all the light and consumes any heat,
Crushes the air from my lungs.
Many, many, many times I have felt death
Dashed upon the rocks by brutal storms and black waves.
And as I struggled
I saw your eyes in my head,
Grey and deep and beautiful
Like clouds finally breaking into soft rain,
Like a flower unfurling.
And I kept on.

And eventually, I learned to weather the storms and currents of my passions.

I learned.
To breath deep when my head breaks the surface,
Not to fight the undertow when it wraps its icy fingers around my ankles and yanks.
To show you what you can handle seeing from me,
And to accept that maybe I can't give you anything
But a reverence in my heart and a place in my mind
Where the thought of you will always be
Like a soft summer rain in the morning,
So light and fine that it hangs like mist for a moment before floating to the grass.

Some people are forever.
Some people never leave your heart, your mind, your soul.
Whenever I see you again,
It is like coming home.
It doesn't matter anymore that you don't love me.
I love to see your face,
Your eyes like a rainstorm,
Little lightning strikes of mischief or inspiration crackling within them.
Your little mannerisms and ways of standing that grab at my heart.
I love to hear you speak,
Notice the words you choose
That nobody else ever thinks to use,
And the rise and fall of your husky voice
With the rhythm of a tide against a shore.

I love to be near you
And appreciate every moment of you,
Here in my head.
I am good, now, at weathering the elements:
You see not the poetry that flows across my mind,
Words in a rush that break in swells over my head
And find a push and pull to sway me like a current.
You see not the magnetism, the urge to reach out to you,
Nor the tenderness that I've trained to lie still in my heart.

It only sleeps, you see, like a dog curled at the hearth:
My passion for you surrounds me when I see you,
In ebbs and flows and eddies,
But passively, dreamily.
It feels like standing at the bottom of the sea for a moment,
Anchored but suspended just barely
With my feet hovering on the sandy bottom,
Being tugged gently to and fro by the water.

I let it wash over me, my ardor, but I do nothing,
Only enjoy how soothing it feels, to know I can love so deeply.  
For I have learned that souls don't need air beneath the sea,
And so I have forgotten to struggle, struck motionless by silence and peace.
When I see you now, I treat you like the old friend you are,
Someone cherished, someone missed,
But calmly so.
And underneath loving you has become that.
I lived with my head above the water for so long,
Fighting, striving,
And now all it is is that I have realized
That that was only the surface,
And there is so much more.

I love you like the ocean.
Wild, desperate, powerful and chaotic
As the waves that dash themselves upon the cliffs, white and foamy and brutal,
But also silent, restful, calm and deep
As the underneath is, slow and blue and graceful.
The battle and the surrender,
That is how I love you.
Both at once, like the sea is.
Vast, like the sea is.
The fight hardly matters, the losing of it,
The nevermore-
I love you in a way that needs no possession, no validation.

Ever changing, but eternal nonetheless,
Like the sea is.

Some people have no horizon.
Some people are forever.

I'm all too used to the touch of your absence.  Your mother's wrath in that time can be a death sentence so tragic.  But when you come back, Demeter returns to her senses expressing light magic.   Life springs through the darkness, and flowers race to see who can reach the farthest.  Lovers emerge to nurture their gardens, and soak in sun to thaw out the hearts that hardened.  Birds sing songs highlighting your arrival.  Trees breathe easy seeing what their last set of leaves died for..
Yet when you retreat, mother again takes away her warmth.  The high-flyers no longer soar, and some paths feel too bitter to explore.  Bone-chill zones, a frozen reality stream.  I can't blame anyone for what's a part of me, as we fall into winter's annual dream.
Queen of the Underworld, I appreciate your harmony.  Thank you for teaching me to see the depths of my own duality.  Still, I can't help but wonder how existence would be had you not eaten those pomegranate seeds.  In the darkness of winter I want to curse Hades for his greedy need to leach on life through trickery.  Though to curse him I'd be cursing myself and ive had it with the blasphemy.  Besides I too know what it's like to rely on the dead as your only company.  I ride ebbs and flows of loss and hope, but I know your presence promotes healing.  So again I'll remain as the seasons change, taking layers and peeling.  I've found in light and dark we can succeed in setting our bound spirits free.  Communicator of both worlds, I want to Thank and honor you, Persephone~

The problem,
One that I keep coming back to,
In America,
Is one of Identity.

It's a thing that ebbs and flows,
With the coming and going,
Of whatever agenda is pushed.

Now, if I'm pulled over, or looked over by name, or dare I associate with color.

Then they'll **** me and my blackness.

Now, should I take it personally, or empathize within the box they put me.

Then they'll curse me for denying the whiteness.

In this tug of war, I write my own story.

Two races,
One mind,
But the spirit of millions.

I am my ancestors, black and white.
This is my perspective.
I'm taking it back.

Obsidian wind chimes
welcome the crashing waves
as another day exits, slowly
sinking beneath the bay.

Cool waters drenched in
an almost amethyst hue
offer mental reverberations
as I ponder what I am next to do.

Though the sea is but a tide
that ebbs & flows-
repletes & recedes-
her words of wisdom forgo
past the banks of her beaches
& spread a breeze to every corner
of night.

She beckons me within myself;
her deep abyss but a mirror.
Her waters shine in a glimmering splendor
as she makes the path ever clearer.

To leave this shore that raised me
is not a sign of disrespect, but a show
of honor. My broken levees have her
to thank & for that, I call her mother.

There was a sadness I revered
But never possessed,
Because there was youth
And hope to spare,

But as youth ebbs,
And hope recedes,
I know that sadness for real,
And how sad true sadness feels.

with well worked hands
he pulls on the sea
     like the hem of a pale skirt dancing 'round his lovers hips

it's what she loves about him most

the way that the tide ebbs and flows
     with the rise and fall of his sun-stained chest

seashells
and gull feathers
and bits of fishing net
     woven into his hair
like the threads of canvas sails

aqueous thunder-head eyes
look like they've seen the fall of every empire
      and soon
they'll witness the fall of ours

he smells of salt-cured wood and the sun
and it's the kind of smell you'll never forget
nor properly describe

he moves like magic

     like waves
          lapping at the shoreline in the calm of dusk

with an anxious tongue
and an appetite that's never satisfied
     he licks the wounds of any heart
he's strong enough to bare the weight of any burden
          of any trash barge or sea ferry

ear pressed to his chest
     like a conch-shaped vessle
          the labor of his heart valves plays like sailor songs
in an empty cabaret

     nerve-wrackingly beautiful

Written by: David & Sherri Phelps**

She was like the roses in the garden,
a timeless work of art in crimson shade.
But like each bud that opens up to wither,
her perfume ebbs away, her scarlet color fades.

He was like wildflowers in the springtime.
He never cared too much about where he grew,
his time was brief, but filled with vibrant passion.
Then he rode a breeze away,
as wild flowers often do.

And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.

She was like a daisy in the meadow,
a welcome smile that's shared between two friends.
Kisses hugs and laughter were her petals,
and she have them all away,
until her seasons end.

And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.

One day I will see, in that garden fair,
those who wait for me over there.

I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
Blooming on the other side.

291

How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
How the Hemlocks burn—
How the Dun Brake is draped in Cinder
By the Wizard Sun—

How the old Steeples hand the Scarlet
Till the Ball is full—
Have I the lip of the Flamingo
That I dare to tell?

Then, how the Fire ebbs like Billows—
Touching all the Grass
With a departing—Sapphire—feature—
As a Duchess passed—

How a small Dusk crawls on the Village
Till the Houses blot
And the odd Flambeau, no men carry
Glimmer on the Street—

How it is Night—in Nest and Kennel—
And where was the Wood—
Just a Dome of Abyss is Bowing
Into Solitude—

These are the Visions flitted *****—
Titian—never told—
Domenichino dropped his pencil—
Paralyzed, with Gold—

A soft word on parted lips
Gentle, warm and moist
Chocolate brown eyes that understand
Light kisses against my skin
that hint at something more.
I feel her laughter that bubbles forth
and we're both smiling,
it deepens and an unspoken tension
flits between us, luring and tempting.
begging to do more.
My lips part willingly for her
And I taste her on my tongue.
She is sweet and glowing against me.
The heat rises and ebbs,
touches become wanton and frantic
I plead with her to give me my desire.
wish granted
sleep stole over her after the deed,
but I am wrapped in her and awake.
My fingers slip through her hair,
at some attempt to tame it.
Giving up, I chuckle
and kiss her.
Just her.
Her forehead, her hair, her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.
And lastly her lips.
My love and my life
*how I love you.

and today
on this day of
your birth
I am ******
down into
the rhythms
of all that
we have been
until this moment
the biting rawness
             of new ebbs
the saddened veins
that vibrate
like used, worn
           guitar strings
the curve of
your fingers
that once played
            upon my skin
your weighted down aura
that I can no longer penetrate
and buoy up
and here I stand
all glowing light spirals
my head whirring
in mystic opulence
my gaze pulled to
the reverence of stars
my purity of river
in a swoosh
around my waist
that gurgling clarity
of liquid
pooling me in sacred
                            cleansing
that I must now take into
another rush
of estuary
and as I raise my arms
to the heavens
I almost fade
into the floodlights
                            of time
and my tears
push through
my skin
like the clear
jewels
of
salvation

Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye

Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).

Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross          EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose           W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates                    S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven                            A              
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened                              I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer                               F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides                                       B I           
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting                                              STAR'S  
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing                                                      W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering                                                      ­      I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's                                                         ­       N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost                                                             ­        'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils                                                                        O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had                                 ~/ E \~                               N  
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered                                 ~(:YES :)~                          G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward                                (:FORGIVEN:).                       'S

The sea is all flow with no ebb
As the moon hangs full in the sky
He pulls her to him on a breeze
Salty, heavenly, mesmerizing
She comes as he softly beckons
The magnet draws her in close
She inches toward his cool gaze
With the warm water he yearns to drink
For he is parched
And she is giving
Flowing in gentle waves
He calls and she slinks to him in shadows
Locked in the gaze of desire
A gaze broken only by the pleasure
of the deluge of their union
And in that union there is tranquility
His peace releases her
She ebbs, quietly lapping the shore
She turns to see him smile upon her
As she sparkles in the warmth of his glow

your body, the drain plug,
that climactic days of a day
murky sweet strawberry milk water
ebbs and sways
around, surrounds, and surmounts you

Your body the dumping ground
for pretty poppy seeds
seep, steep
seeded somewhere deep

as

synthetic stinging metaphor rain
pours on your mistreated singing skin
spotted, dotted, synaptic rule
akin to lemon poppy seed muffin tops
your head- a top
spins round
and mimics
never-ending bath drain whirlpool

ambulances and ambivalences soundtrack
this nocturne
night of a morning
mourning already
my poor lost sister
a little less than intact
lost in her head
I'm loosing her

and she's nodding

            and she's nodding

                          and she's nodding

                                    and she's nodding
and she nods
and grumbles,
fumbles for words that aren't there
four words that aren't there
forward isn't there

because what do you say
about matters
when your high
and breathing last breaths overlapping
in humble showers
in heart crumbling nakedness
your faithlessness trapping
murky sweet strawberry milk waters.

My phone drops from my hands,
All my body's strength ebbs away.
I have to lie down so I don't fall down
Because my legs can't support my body weight.
And then I'm staring
At the whitewashed walls and ceiling
Of my furniture-filled bedroom
And suddenly the panic sets in.
Everything is too tight, too close, too much.
I need to get out of here.
I need to breathe
But I can't because all I can think about
Is you.
Your words.
Your life.
Your choices.
And as I lay there sweating cold bullets of fear,
I wonder why I'm panicking.
It was just another email.
A general update to no one in particular.
One of the ones you always send out
To everyone because you still think we care.
You didn't say a single word about anyone else.
Four whole pages of you.
And I guess that's why I'm struggling to breathe.
It's like I never existed to you.
It's like you never cared about me.
And suddenly the need to see you
To talk to you
To hold you
To laugh, to cry, to just simply be
With you
Overwhelms me.
Not the you who wrote that email.
Not the you who you think you are now.
The you who doesn't even acknowledge her own offspring.
No, I'm desperate to touch the you
Who I know is locked away in a part
So deeply hidden in your soul
That you've forgotten about her.
The you who still knows a mother's love
For her daughter.
I want to see the unclouded eyes,
Hear the unselfish voice,
Touch the compassionate soul
Of the amazing woman who birthed me.
But I'm so afraid that you've finally done it.
That you've finally killed off
The last vestiges of her soul
With the darkness of your own.
I panic with the truth that faces me:
I'll really never be able to see her again.

the sea rises and falls
in rhythm with the moon

my soul ebbs and flows
in  rhythm of our love

A thin, red trail
slaps the pavement,
becomes so swollen,

strands trip around
the neck and cut
deep where there,

in the slick trickles
pulled to small floods,
sinking out, a tip

of the tongue cry
never quite confirmed,
stays strangled. Drips

and ebbs with bottle
in hand, a scarf
in the other. Like ribbon

it weaves into spaces,
drenches the ground
until everything is art.

True warmth runs deep,
in the web of your reds and your blues,
wrapping and running over every inch of you.
Ninety eight and a fraction of degrees
seeping hot through the intricate map of your bones and tissue.
Every inch bounded in webs and ebbs
of flowing colors,
an endless river to forever be submerged.
How strange is it that the heart resides in a cage?
Protected, beating, behind marrow bars.
Cells in its cell,
fighting and beating in protest to your gentle decay.
Such a display resides within us all,
all blood a testament to the sameness of us.
And if I've captivated you for a moment,
might I ask how different are we?
How my blood runs different than yours?
Though our bodies tell different stories,
the blood is no different.
When you slay them where they stand,
the blood that flows and the tears that fall have no title or rank.
We all bleed the same.

She bolts awake from nightmare’s fear
Her mind fumbles for the mask
Its visage calm, gaze cool and clear
Once in place no one will ask

Exhausted from her restless night
Escape routes all slammed shut
The knots already pulling tight
Deep down inside her gut

The enemy stand at their station
They circle round her bed
Anticipating her annihilation
The demons in her head

Her feet are not yet on the floor
But the battle has begun
Another endless day of war
She must fight, she cannot run

She glances quickly in the glass
Haunted eyes she cannot meet
The enemy charge takes the pass
Her soul in forced retreat

The mask will serve her well today
Its rigid smile conceals
The terror barely held at bay
The torment that she feels

She plants her banner on the mound
Though hopelessness holds sway
She grits her teeth and holds her ground
But the ******* make her pay

All day the battle rages on
But the mask remains in place
Though at her feet hell’s chasms yawn
The world sees not a trace

The conflict ebbs, her shoulders slump
No victory is claimed
She turns for home, trailing blood
Count her among the maimed

Return to camp yields no respite
Command’s duties have no end
Cares for her troops into the night
Strength's last measure she will spend

All her charges now in bed
Mask in hidden place she keeps
In resignation bows her head
And midst the dark, in silence weeps

Now when the camp lies silent
In night’s hush no pennant streams
She braces for coming violence
And girds for bloodshed in her dreams

Brazen rusted iron-scent of blood–
there, before him, a river of crimson and failed dreams.
No boat, no oars.
Just plain chivalry and bravery and yesteryears’ scars
that manifest all throughout and within him.

He dips his feet.

There were scattered skeletons
and crunched broken bones
basking under the dunes of the night.
There were ghosts clinging
unto his own ghosts;
creatures against creatures.
The tip of their swords
sinking down to his own tired flesh
in attempt to find refuge
in the treacherous wings of the forests.

He swims along.

And his shoulders were battered
and his mare was tainted–
with dirt and dust and ashes of the enemies;
with memories and silhouettes buried
sent flying along the caresses
of the north winds.

He gasps for air, and stills himself under the ebbs.

Under many moons and scarcity of life–
Scarcity of Life–
the recurring sight of the gaseous light
and the inconsistency of the breath-intervals,
he remains still and proud.
His soles burnt with pain and interminable suffering
as it crossed the stretches of the savanna.
This is his life,
dwelling on the dawn borealis
and stained with apparitions of the past
and demons and absurdity.

*He has crossed the river.

On the cold solstice
the velvet magnet
of Luna's magic
pulls

quietly urges

whispering
gentle spells
into dreamy ears

compelling
her lover
to rise
quixotically
coaxing
him from
the warm sleep
of winters
first night slumber

she summons
a willing lover
inviting him
to follow
her stark
alluring light
illuminating
the lonely blackness
of a bleak universe

her
seductive powers
transcends distances of
a thousand solstices

her
resounding light
a sure mark
braces any weakness
emboldens desire
guiding the bidden
to unforeseen
destinations

standing
in your presence
my face is flush
reflected by your
resplendent light

my heart
broiled
by your
vexing
radiance

the roiling tide
of a midnight reverie
ebbs
as my
earthen shadow
begins to pass
over your
indelible
whiteness

I witness
my dark countenance
eclipse your light

defiling you
fearing
to forever
mark your
effervescent silver
with the baseness of me

without shame
your smile
allays my fear

you understand
you anticipated
the expression
of my
coy reticence

a sweet chant
sings
unencumbered
reveries
gently
reassures
you've danced
through many
moonlit nights
with eager lovers
only to return again
in virginal whiteness
across the
endless cycles
of time

released
relieved
abandoning
all restraint
now
I
summon you

my blackness
your whiteness
breeds a
sensuous
orange
sweeter
then an
open mango

she rules the sky
a celestial monarch
forcing Mars into
a sheepish retreat
commanding
mighty Orion
to sheave his sword
while
Venus
seethes
with envy

my form
begins to swallow
your lines
and
soft curves

my blackness
disappears
into
inviting cracks

falling into
dark creases
the soft billows
sweet mounds
voluptuous craters
gay playgrounds
for my mouth
mysterious hillocks
eagerly explored
with hands and
limbered fingers

a quixotic Eros
the scent of spice
swells in my head

everything
enveloped
like a
holy ghost
playfully gaming
hide and seek
radiantly moving
through
darkened canopies
of a lush forest

nostrils fill
with
tang of spice
a scent
of Caribe

face buried
in thick tresses
of maddening blackness

becoming unhinged
by eyes speaking
a thousand languages
as lips whisper
joyous whimpers

a silent kiss
of an orange lit night
writhing bodies
splayed together

ravenous tendrils
shape sloping
cloud pillows

quivering lips
unveil smiles of
alabaster pearls

mocha darkness
sambas through
the night

she exhales
her lovers name

Luna bathes
her cinnamon curves
in delicious
mango light
offers generous
dollops
of ******

peeking
baying
drifting
I cast off
onto a sea
of lucid dreams

drinking from
a dark aureole
as the tresses
of her
sweetened nest
moistened my member
in a sacred communion
to a hungry lovers mouth

her dancers legs
slim, supple
unbounded
and open
sweet to taste
smooth
so soft
to touch

the fullness
of our rumba
se los tango
con cha cha cha

light steps
close caress
kinetic commotion
wild laughter
fills the sails
of bold schooners

Luna's smile
commands
the seas
to heave

un poco loco
ola de feliz
los hablamos
un contrara
la estas
la esta

the lavender sky
of the mornings
twilight
inspire
Meadowlarks
to herald
the emerging day

still
drunkenly swigging
loves nectar
sleep creeps closer

confessing
small regrets
she fell
victim
to passion again

Luna
comes back
to her lover
pets his chest
with delicate fingers

in a voice
as light as air
she sings
a poem
into his ear
of passionate nights
beauteous art
longing to express
heartfelt truths

The mango consumed
Luna's whiteness returns

my shadow recedes
into inconsequential
nothingness

naked
I stood
sadly witnessing
the dark horizon
overtaking
my fleeing lover
swallowing her
in tiny bits
as morning drops
a final veil
over the face
of a now
vanished love

Music Selection
Grant Green, Moon River

jbm
Oakland
1/19/11

Her life was run on the oil of synchronicity
planted in the seduction of abstract hypotheses.
The moons and ebbs of tides
Swoop in like thunderclaps
on wing'ed lightning bolts,
Capturing synergy
Wiping out energy
Till she huddles in a pile of her own failure
Tucking up her toes to avoid the floods
Admiring and condemning
The rain soaked
Howling at her gate.