She is different she was chosen the first thing you noticed was her
Countenance soft it exuded intangible qualities her soul touched revered space and place because she
Would begin these discussions and you would be flabbergasted it would be like the day was not
Anything to brag about and then her voice brought as a breeze clothed in fragrances like how Lilac used
To waft across the grounds at San Antonio mission before you were in this zone and then you started to
Notice the natural beauty a softness grew deeper and deeper did she evoke a dreaminess it was evident
You were possessed of a rich glory that took surroundings that were burned by the Sun and all was just
This lifeless stubble but in your mind and thoughts spring grasses were bountiful it worked the same
With people they were in different stages of brokenness need and want did she literally carry this green
Plant that possessed healing in its leaves she looked into the unseen she called demanding answers it
Was as her power created instant orchids that grew not fruit in the excepted sense but this productive
Stand of trees again intangibles hung in ripeness that the softest word would cause them to drop from
A realm that pleasantly abides just slightly over head the needy can and has the ability to receive but
Their results are unattainable because they enter lost and troubled areas and they shut down instead of
Steadily seeking they give into problems making the prepared natural provision go into lock down but
She was given an antidote a gifted promise that the poisoned earth almost sulfur like in taste and ability
In her voice she could turn basic elements from their cursed harm riddled properties into logical forms
These were found in pages of a book loosely bound not between single covers but in the multiple layers
Of lives she associated with giving of herself was the key that opened in her a tender harvest they were
Fed by her words this was lessons she prepared the cost walking not around but in the midst of others
Pain making it her own not because she had to but because her heart spoke to her of their troubles she
Modified them to be her troubles because she realized early on that she was different and by being
Different she could make a difference it notes her as a poet your heart has to be broken so that you are
No longer the same person you once were you look on the lives of others an intensity is engaged
You see with clarity their hurts are magnified now comes the new breaking of your heart many tears are
Wrenched from your heart and soul you are unable to turn away you have a secret life that hears the
Dark tolling it speaks in the way there is no escape and its weight passes only when tears with many
Pangs do their work this will pure your heart and only then does the free flowing wash over you with
Wisdom you are able to mentally remove the inner mass that trouble brings with its very nature your
Gift allows you to know the perfection that alone can neutralize the very toxins laden in these
Hardships and problems you are birthed by spirit to absolve these natural difficulties this is only a small
Description of what she is and the Cost it takes to face abhorrent behavior on a large scale bare its
Assaults through love and the great Need to make a difference there is no better life than to look with
Deep knowing and see suffering in its True proportions and how it affects those that you know and love
It truly is a brotherhood not of words where you’re trying to work an advantage to use others but true
Brother and sisterhood that cost you greatly your only gain is the peace that it allows others to receive
And the enrichment it affords their Lives

it is intangible...

how I have tried
with high-falutin,
poetic words....
to describe
how I miss you..

but I never get it right...

I just miss,
the warp and weft,
we weaved between us,
those links of the fabric
of our lives.

small threads and large,
words and silences,
smiles and tears
oh how I miss, I miss...
simple touches, shared laughter,
a cup of tea and a seat in the
evening sun...

I miss, I miss, I miss...

I am not alone or lonely.
I am loved and love.

but... I have not become
reconciled to the absence
of you..... I don't think
I ever will...

I am resigned,
but oh how
I miss.....

~for better days for the poet betterdays~

mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible

tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation

mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered

recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy

Priceless unrecognized art in our midst
What this is about will fail from my part but along the way hopefully it will be worth the read I don’t know why unless her lost
Love is trying to channel feeling through me all I know when something grips touches moves you and won’t let go you must
Give it the fullest expression of your ability so it is a great endeavor we reserve Lincoln and Jefferson as great topics of dissimilation
In my case Mulholland Drive it speaks of place and immediate recognition of a greater place as a whole the same here I will be
Speaking of a single person but as in Matisse’s art you will find yourself in the overall theme and parts will speak of you then end
Modernism cubism Jackson *******’s power art fracture they said it’s not getting there that’s important but what you end up with
Jack the dripper was what he was called but they said mathematicians can tell his work by the amount of paint that he places in
Mathematical perfection in each section of the canvas this beautiful young woman can only be summed up that way she starts and
Flows on the canvas I have it easy sort of I’m not making a life I’m only revealing one even so following God pointing out his handy
Work his ability to reach forth and actually handle and hold intangibles this girl this woman God desires light moods he reaches out
Picks out laughter and merriment where and on whatever shelf it rest on he places this in the heart it outwardly produces tender
Moments that reflect and hold desired effects of casual looseness that brims with joy the filling of human kindness it ebbs and flows
Like a musical downbeat that impresses and gives enduring pleasure somber can accentuate deepen as it has done her personality
So God just picks up a frown with a deft hand he puts it in place at the precise right moment into the fabric of her life gold is laced
Among the hidden divined parts this glows mysteriously in her personality so the greatest artisan of all worked this master piece on
Living loving canvas of sweetest soft flesh the smiles and playful way are evident in all of her outward show of giving and being
Emotional stirring anchored in loves unmovable depths her heart was perfected by the man He gave her to love great years followed
She grew from girlhood into womanhood her countenance and face her glorious hair the true nobility of her quiet way is not easy to
To capture in words but it takes you to another place it gives evidence of the finest quality that is set in stillness a true master piece
Of art in her presence richness invades your soul you are set forth to discover masterful wonder gleaming in a living dream it stands all
Scrutiny her being holds mystery undivided attention to detail will enthrall move carry you to a place of appreciation and thankfulness
And some have the greatest blessing of being her friend thank you for this art treasure if you look at it as a portrait its name would be
Iva he calls her my beloved wife for then and forever

Selected


She is different she was chosen the first thing you noticed was her
Countenance soft it exuded intangible qualities her soul touched revered space and place because she
Would begin these discussions and you would be flabbergasted it would be like the day was not
Anything to brag about and then her voice brought as a breeze clothed in fragrances like how Lilac used
To waft across the grounds at San Antonio mission before you were in this zone and then you started to
Notice the natural beauty a softness grew deeper and deeper did she evoke a dreaminess it was evident
You were possessed of a rich glory that took surroundings that were burned by the Sun and all was just
This lifeless stubble but in your mind and thoughts spring grasses were bountiful it worked the same
With people they were in different stages of brokenness need and want did she literally carry this green
Plant that possessed healing in its leaves she looked into the unseen she called demanding answers it
Was as her power created instant orchids that grew not fruit in the excepted sense but this productive
Stand of trees again intangibles hung in ripeness that the softest word would cause them to drop from
A realm that pleasantly abides just slightly over head the needy can and has the ability to receive but
Their results are unattainable because they enter lost and troubled areas and they shut down instead of
Steadily seeking they give into problems making the prepared natural provision go into lock down but
She was given an antidote a gifted promise that the poisoned earth almost sulfur like in taste and ability
In her voice she could turn basic elements from their cursed harm riddled properties into logical forms
These were found in pages of a book loosely bound not between single covers but in the multiple layers
Of lives she associated with giving of herself was the key that opened in her a tender harvest they were
Fed by her words this was lessons she prepared the cost walking not around but in the midst of others
Pain making it her own not because she had to but because her heart spoke to her of their troubles she
Modified them to be her troubles because she realized early on that she was different and by being
Different she could make a difference it notes her as a poet your heart has to be broken so that you are
No longer the same person you once were you look on the lives of others an intensity is engaged
You see with clarity their hurts are magnified now comes the new breaking of your heart many tears are
Wrenched from your heart and soul you are unable to turn away you have a secret life that hears the
Dark tolling it speaks in the way there is no escape and its weight passes only when tears with many
Pangs do their work this will pure your heart and only then does the free flowing wash over you with
Wisdom you are able to mentally remove the inner mass that trouble brings with its very nature your
Gift allows you to know the perfection that alone can neutralize the very toxins laden in these
Hardships and problems you are birthed by spirit to absolve these natural difficulties this is only a small
Description of what she is and the Cost it takes to face abhorrent behavior on a large scale bare its
Assaults through love and the great Need to make a difference there is no better life than to look with
Deep knowing and see suffering in its True proportions and how it affects those that you know and love
It truly is a brotherhood not of words where you’re trying to work an advantage to use others but true
Brother and sisterhood that cost you greatly your only gain is the peace that it allows others to receive
And the enrichment it affords their Lives

Sands traverse oceans to envelop me
within the coercion of a dream of Egypt
as I search the turquoise of the medallion in my hands
to match the gray-blue of his eyes.

Too long have I willed for him
to sail the Atlantic,
stride through the door,
and sweep me from haunting this view of London.
But for now I am left
to my own image and a pane,
so I muster the meat of my palm
within this sleeve of lace
to brush it across the glass for a clearer look,
yet my efforts have revealed
no more than engorged eyelids reflected…
manacles of me.

Behest of self,
maniacal I am slated
to perform involuntary tedium,
hopeful to unlock deeper meaning
within each hieroglyph,
once so purposefully etched in a semblance of bronze.

I long to surrender
to the warmth of the taste of iron
caught in his sights over a tomb blanketed in gold.

I will come for you, Daughter of Heaven and Earth.

Spontaneous peristalsis of phrase
connects with the drop
gurgling through the candid quiet
and I wonder
if the image that now reflects would indulge him,
or if he might ****** the lock of dark hair
that he cropped from my neck with the skill of an assassin
when our paths first crossed in Cairo.

Time has softened the image I hold of him;
his eyes are satin,
burning like a flag still waving
as his army advances over our forbidden dig.

There is something
sensation-like in downfall…
copious saline embodies the fractal curve.

I found no scrolls of the Book of the Dead.

Here in my olive skin I rot like a peach
that’s been left in a satchel
forgotten to dust of the ages
disturbed by picks and axes
that strike with the determination of discovery.
A peach, never to be savored;
never to nourish or to pleasure,
or be trampled by insects
and carried off in pieces
to the hollow of the ant queen.

My eyelids are hard to turn like wet pages
forced to envision a river that is not the Nile
where I am held within the binds of propriety,
corsetted, bustled, and locked out of Egypt
dammed from the salvation
of even an intermittent Dutchman’s finger
by dunes and shores and footfalls
to find words that stream in liquid resonance
where firm succumbs to self and
I can feel passion writhing through my intangibles.

Thusly, clouds form over a city that blackens and distorts
the way a river's reflection of my face
would ripple from the plunging body of a dove,
belly-up, encased in wings,
and two thousand miles from him.

Arousal is a moccasin seethed in spasms
of peristalsis and musculature
toward the beckoning pulse of breast.

Any hope for contact collapses into flesh,
venom sheathes each corpuscle,
and a woken neck flails in judgment
before the truth in his eyes
under the shadow of the Great Pyramid
where Ramses II lies supine
across the Turin Papyrus.

I imagine the other side of me
and where she might reflect when
all that there is in such a study
contributes to my wanting
to wreak my bellied freedom
beneath crevices that sink as crevices do
in downward angled layers
to withstand the ages.

Dark hair gleams in contrast,
more for strip of scalp
than the trickle of red down my back.

Breached like sugar that candid—
starburst wings of Monarchs dripping ancient like sunsets
over magenta and milky mauve in the reeds—
my ankles revealed and inverted to the sky they glean, yet...

his arrival is delayed
when the pistol ***** three times.
The still of my breast compounds
with the steady union of the dark, and
somewhere denial flows with the sands.

So cycles change, like a fable for Eternal.

“Daughter of Heaven and Earth,” written by Dionne Charlet, appears in print in Cairo by Gaslight, the second anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books.  Books in the series include New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528).  Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie. Look for the upcoming anthology Paris by Gaslight, which will feature a poem of the same title by Dionne.

Selected


She is different she was chosen the first thing you noticed was her
Countenance soft it exuded intangible qualities her soul touched revered space and place because she
Would begin these discussions and you would be flabbergasted it would be like the day was not
Anything to brag about and then her voice brought as a breeze clothed in fragrances like how Lilac used
To waft across the grounds at San Antonio mission before you were in this zone and then you started to
Notice the natural beauty a softness grew deeper and deeper did she evoke a dreaminess it was evident
You were possessed of a rich glory that took surroundings that were burned by the Sun and all was just
This lifeless stubble but in your mind and thoughts spring grasses were bountiful it worked the same
With people they were in different stages of brokenness need and want did she literally carry this green
Plant that possessed healing in its leaves she looked into the unseen she called demanding answers it
Was as her power created instant orchids that grew not fruit in the excepted sense but this productive
Stand of trees again intangibles hung in ripeness that the softest word would cause them to drop from
A realm that pleasantly abides just slightly over head the needy can and has the ability to receive but
Their results are unattainable because they enter lost and troubled areas and they shut down instead of
Steadily seeking they give into problems making the prepared natural provision go into lock down but
She was given an antidote a gifted promise that the poisoned earth almost sulfur like in taste and ability
In her voice she could turn basic elements from their cursed harm riddled properties into logical forms
These were found in pages of a book loosely bound not between single covers but in the multiple layers
Of lives she associated with giving of herself was the key that opened in her a tender harvest they were
Fed by her words this was lessons she prepared the cost walking not around but in the midst of others
Pain making it her own not because she had to but because her heart spoke to her of their troubles she
Modified them to be her troubles because she realized early on that she was different and by being
Different she could make a difference it notes her as a poet your heart has to be broken so that you are
No longer the same person you once were you look on the lives of others an intensity is engaged
You see with clarity their hurts are magnified now comes the new breaking of your heart many tears are
Wrenched from your heart and soul you are unable to turn away you have a secret life that hears the
Dark tolling it speaks in the way there is no escape and its weight passes only when tears with many
Pangs do their work this will pure your heart and only then does the free flowing wash over you with
Wisdom you are able to mentally remove the inner mass that trouble brings with its very nature your
Gift allows you to know the perfection that alone can neutralize the very toxins laden in these
Hardships and problems you are birthed by spirit to absolve these natural difficulties this is only a small
Description of what she is and the Cost it takes to face abhorrent behavior on a large scale bare its
Assaults through love and the great Need to make a difference there is no better life than to look with
Deep knowing and see suffering in its True proportions and how it affects those that you know and love
It truly is a brotherhood not of words where you’re trying to work an advantage to use others but true
Brother and sisterhood that cost you greatly your only gain is the peace that it allows others to receive
And the enrichment it affords their Lives

how do I fall in love with pieces of myself
that died many years ago?
emptiness hangs in my mouth
like some fickle aftertaste.
and deep down, my thoughts are like
frightened fish.  
i cut the world out of a magazine and
held it in my hands. . . how easy it seemed;
to crush it.  to crumple it.
turn it into heartache origami.
i suppose i'm possessed;
a mourning era––a morning light,
a bowl full of teeth.
i have laid myself to rest so many times that it seems i celebrate my funeral more often than my birthday.

I agree, my life will not affect the outcome of history.
I agree, my death will not affect international relations.
My job, they can replace me in a relative short time.
My family, will do fine without me, as I would want them to.

However, seeing is not always believing, an old cliché,
I can't see what I feel inside me.
Love, hate, loneliness, happiness.
These are all very real.
Although, they are intangibles.

Even more,
What of the wind, and the heat from the sun.
What of the coldness on a clear winter night.

The Tree-of-Life must be what manages all this.
It is Mother Nature, at its best and its worst.
Even the planets and stars are subject to its rule.
The cycle of life & death.

Some unknown event created this amazing cycle
The source of the Mother Nature, the Tree-of-Life
The source of all the various forms of existence.

All that exists of nature comes from God.
It matters not how God is perceived.

He wore a wide brim hat

That and his other clothes dated him a character was crisscrossing our land was he human or angelic he
Seemed to be changeless it easy to trust someone who remains steady no matter what he will still say
The same thing it is called truth he even wrote it down in his travels he carries a flat leather case he
Hangs it down with a long ******* his side I was honored to read some of what he wrote the title on the
Page it said                                                       I Shall Not Want

He chose here to shift time and place but with the greatest regard and respect he wanted to speak to all
Americans and within the frame work of a people they could identify with and respect in the time of
John Wesley and George Whitfield there were a certain group of people here they are called miners
There they called them colliers of necessity John and George starting preaching in the open fields out in
The country side as George started preaching to a group that was gathered his booming voice carried
Undoubtedly close enough to the open holes that it was easily carried to those laboring below well it
Wasn’t long until the field was full of these blacked faced men and as this firebrand for God poured out
His soul revival fire leapt on all present but this was the sight hard working God fearing men stood
Before this preacher and as he expounded the love of the lamb butchered at Calvary rivulets of tears
made their way down those black faces and made the heart break to see the white tracks left as these
Honorable men found more than just back breaking work and toil with small rewards they found a love
That gave them equality peace a sense of being of unfathomable worth it all so was the greatest need
Of England she was coming apart at the seams because of the curse of Gin it had made its way into the
Church with the priest found lying drunk within its walls the scourge reached this level of contemptible
Behavior a young mother slays her child throws it in a ditch and then went and sold the clothes for Gin
What did righteous loving God do he sent his love into this cesspool it was heavy with his tears it was
Capable because of His awesome power it saved a nation tottering on the brink well what does that
Have to do with America we are not lost in that manner of madness he answers this way drugs alcohol
Deviant behavior in all of our history there hasn’t been such violence against women and children no one
Seems able to stem this tide and then we are financial slaves to a debt that staggers the mind this was in
The near political past but that can be like a soap opera stop watching for weeks and it’s still just the
Next Day and one time when politicians were baring their souls for the better of the country they said it
Takes a spiritual answer the intangibles these powerful entities will laugh and destroy as they were in
England it would have been a reordered world if it weren’t for God’s move in that country we need him
We have dirt and grime on our faces honest hard work but we find ourselves undercut by so much that
Is a travesty to decency it’s not slowing down it only picking up speed read history Rome fell and so many
Other powerful nations as well they perished from immoralities rot our soldiers and military wins
Because of a rear guard of praying people you want a future worth living for your selves your children
And your grand children this nation’s history has been built and succeeded on this bedrock and no other
Family altars at home and in the local church a man or a woman can attain no higher beauty than to
Bow in surrender to majestic love that makes them free and in turn it will free this nation from every
Chain that now has it bound the greatest power is love and you are its radiant recipient go in love and
Be victories the rest of this man’s journal will be decided by you individually that’s what America is
All about anyway what a privilege we have exorcise it!

Ha! and I had hopes
for a better ending.

Placing my hand on the window pane, I felt it knocking
outside, as the rain ****** buckets and washed my car.
Every few seconds, the sky was talking,
but I would never let it in.

I stepped down into a dour acceptance
and bought a moderately-priced raincoat.
The spitting sky would never cease
And I began to imagine which items I owned could float.

I wished I chose swimming lessons over piano,
but at least because of it I had one.
I figured it might become a useful raft
if indeed no one ever again sees the sun.

How much water can fit under the sky? I wondered,
and at what depth will my body finally rest?
I realized I hadn't the time to consider intangibles
or to issue to God any vague, indirect requests.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, just stop!
There was a moat between houses now,
with pets and telephone poles and trees as islands.
The chill of cataclysm began to freeze my brow.

Later on my roof wearing my raincoat I daydreamed
about the things I loved underneath the silvery-grey.
I waved to my neighbor and he sadly waved back,
and I held up my glass of wine and watched the world wash away.

I am history
A history of a man
A history of anguish
A history of trial
A history of ecstasy
A history of education
I am Me

As a man:

I am a crying babe,
Learning to be spoiled from the start
Always with family and fantasy so loving
Never understanding the little tastes of something ****

I’m a rampaging toddler,
Playing with everything
And destroying it too,
Demanding more attention than exists
Learning from The Magic School Bus

I’m a shy yet straight forward child,
Shunned by peers for excessive knowledge
Yet little skill in its application
In love with a girl who I ask,
“Will you marry me?”

I’m a conflicted pre-teen,
Caught between my knowledge,
Feelings,
And religion
I seek to satisfy everyone and everything
Yet nothing I do is right to anyone

I’m a typical teen,
I’ve more confidence in myself than ever
From my religion telling me what to think
To my friends and family telling me what to do
All of which I say, “I know better than you”
I follow my heart and comes the true killer

I’m a worn man.

As anguish:

A baby spends more time with relatives
Than mom and dad
And they have their faults
Mostly that I’m passed from one to the other
As they don’t want to take the primary care

A toddler finally is with mom,
But dad’s still distant
Dad’s smart, so maybe he’ll stay if I am too
Little sister gets all the attention I wanted

The dream filled child knows so much
But can’t know why
He strays from fact to fiction
And believes he’s a prince
Like Aladdin

Chemically tortured pre-teen can’t think straight
Love is too strong for me,
Yet it makes of him a victim
Or is it lust?
I feel nothing I can trust…

A scarred teen lashes back
At a philosophy called religion,
Abandoning it ‘cause he’s been brain washed,
At people who were friends and family,
They’ve let me down so often,
At intangibles, love and hate and intelligence,
Emotions and notions of torture.

The worn man reflects the past.

As trails:

As a babe, I know not
For memory cannot serve

As a toddler, I know not
For recollection fails

As a child, testing love
Romantic thoughts are planted
Watered thoroughly by the similarly plagued
I loved a Summer, for her I longed
Yet for all my knowledge and all my skill
What little there was,
‘Twas to fail.

As a pre-teen, testing religion
Chemicals called hormones challenge my teachings
I love another,
She is a religious Brit.
Her father a Baptist Deacon,
Pressures me to brag when I become one for the Latter-Day Saints

As a teen, testing thought
Friends and family tell me how to think and act
I think through things with logic and emotion,
However ill it may be,
And ignore all I’m told
I’ve pain to gain.

As man, recovery.

As ecstasy:

I, a newborn, know nothing else

I, a toddler, know little else

I, a child, know some
But it’s confusing,
When happiness comes,
Sorrow must follow

I, a pre-teen, know some
But it’s fleeting
It comes only when things
Are beyond saving

I, a teen, know much
I feel it in every girls’ touch
It’s in my laughter and torture…
I’m a *******?
I find a false happiness in breaking the rules
Set by every, and any, one.

I, a man, hope and seek much

As education:

The baby cares little for knowledge,
Lest I lose attention

The toddler begins the search
Learning all I can and using it
That’s what gets Dad home from work

The child fears himself
I know too much without knowing enough
I can state a fact, but don’t know why it’s true
I can’t tell you how and realize
I’m dumb

The pre-teen learns to learn
I can break down facts
Relate them together
Learn from the book
I can now impress
Though still, I’m teased

The teen is an unscholarly scholar
Learning anything and everything
Applying it everywhere
Drawing definite lines into niches
Unable to contain, and losing the ability to add more
Drawing closer to a heavy door
I use knowledge to disprove everything
I don’t approve

The man is learning
But much slower.

As a man, I’ve seen pain
I’ve made remarkable gain
The person I am today
Is not what’s left of what’s gone away
In the AM, I learned from my own mistakes
That the future may never take

I’m a believer,
Of what I’m uncertain…

Memories of depression
Memories of suicide attempts
Memories of finding nothing left to live for,
Nothing good in my memory outweighs the bad,
So my thoughts turn inward

Why do I continue?
Why do I try?
Why when all hope is lost do I not die?
Because I believe.

But in what?
I believe in Me.
I’m recovery, life, and hope.

The ten commandments say nothing,
in the translations I’ve read,
against coveting my neighbor’s good
fortune,
timing,
intentions,
sense of style,
or the countless other intangibles
gifted by Nature
and our DNA's mischievous inventions.

I’m a strict constructionist,
when it suits me, and especially so
with documents carved in stone
by invisible hands
having no recorded fondness for the market.

I’d trade places with any nameless witch
caught cavorting in her coven’s canopied oases,
their cauldron-ringing capers
and care-free cackles cheered
by owl hoots and cricket song;

Or the smallish, self-sacrificing spider
who rather than a cigarette gets a close-up
view of his mate’s spinnerets dispensing
the silk sheets to wrap him
as a happy meal deferred.

I also envy their creepy hatchlings
who weeks later will climb to the tip-tops
of firry fingers, cast a single wistful thread
and wait for the wish-fulfilling wind
to carry them lifetimes away.

That’s how I could stiff this chill
that taps me on the shoulder, and chase
after a far-off warmth I’ve weened
since my weaning was done.

I count these covets no sins.

Endless Rails
This is written for the pain that can’t be dispelled or defeated the fight that has no end.
Endless Rails

Pick up the journey down in a dusty southern town to many days the familiar starts to grate the unknown whispers it tantalizing lure some never hear others live by its code moving on its central theme. Houses

and foundations a bane to those who’s feet must find the trackless lanes yet discovered a bend in the road. Like the kiss of a love long lost you are forever searching for its essence. Never mind the circles

grow wider the time not wasted to fail the wayward quest will not be there is promise in a multitude of voices you just have to narrow it down to that special someone its worth a life time. Barns and box cars

ditches make great beds the animals find the sweetest comfort in soft grasses. Never forgotten the vision sometimes wanes but never fades. Who walks and projects comfort a softness with each step framed by

homes and yarded Trees Mountain fresh breezes seem to stream through her hair. If the wild wind had a name it would surly come from your tresses and mane that holds the light like a long lazy sunset. I hear

clacking feel the rocking on these tracks maybe in the next town I will catch sight of her or a dozen or so pretenders for the crown. Patience is not wasted any more than the timeless waves at the sea side ever

rolling constant the same as Rachel Carson she left her prints in the Carolina sand they remain in her words about “The ribbon of sand” Waves that only heaven can inventory . She left that kind of imprint on

my heart durable to a fault. So the canopy of heaven shows the endless way never has it and end always a fresh new beginning. Years hold no dread by her lost love I’m led to follow on this land with lushes’

green ethier fields of crops or grass lands that tenderly roll from flat prairie or the rising hills that hold that undeniable promise of a bright tomorrow. Don’t feel sadness for the wayward soul he has kingdoms

in mind why settle for an acre when the whole earth you can claim. If they were paintings that could be
displayed vivid images translucent apparitions marching the byways at dusk. Spilling from pent up

emotions and memories that crowd in on one another demanding expression take a breath then catch this picture in the distance a mountain stands in dark silhouette the golden moon shines across the dark

landscape you are instantly enthralled your mind and soul feels soft waves that mellows even the hard
highway stretches quietly and peaceful into the distant night. There is the true place of the soul the secret

dwelling place of lost love. Texture is found there like no other place invading the deep recesses where inexhaustible intangibles can be weighed and measured. Welcome to infinity.

Endless Rails

This is written for the pain that can’t be dispelled or defeated the fight that has no end.
Endless Rails

Pick up the journey down in a dusty southern town to many days the familiar starts to grate the unknown whispers it tantalizing lure some never hear others live by its code moving on its central theme. Houses and foundations a bane to those who’s feet must find the trackless lanes yet discovered a bend in the road. Like the kiss of a love long lost you are forever searching for its essence. Never mind the circles grow wider the time not wasted to fail the wayward quest will not be there is promise in a multitude of voices you just have to narrow it down to that special someone its worth a life time. Barns and box cars ditches make great beds the animals find the sweetest comfort in soft grasses. Never forgotten the vision sometimes wanes but never fades. Who walks and projects comfort a softness with each step framed by homes and yarded Trees Mountain fresh breezes seem to stream through her hair. If the wild wind had a name it would surly come from your tresses and mane that holds the light like a long lazy sunset. I hear clacking feel the rocking on these tracks maybe in the next town I will catch sight of her or a dozen or so pretenders for the crown. Patience is not wasted any more than the timeless waves at the sea side ever rolling constant the same as Rachel Carson she left her prints in the Carolina sand they remain in her words about “The ribbon of sand” Waves that only heaven can inventory . She left that kind of imprint on my heart durable to a fault. So the canopy of heaven shows the endless way never has it and end always a fresh new beginning. Years hold no dread by her lost love I’m led to follow on this land with lushes’ green ethier fields of crops or grass lands that tenderly roll from flat prairie or the rising hills that hold that undeniable promise of a bright tomorrow. Don’t feel sadness for the wayward soul he has kingdoms in mind why settle for an acre when the whole earth you can claim. If they were paintings that could be displayed vivid images translucent apparitions marching the byways at dusk. Spilling from pent up emotions and memories that crowd in on one another demanding expression take a breath then catch this picture in the distance a mountain stands in dark silhouette the golden moon shines across the dark landscape you are instantly enthralled your mind and soul feels soft waves that mellows even the hard highway stretches quietly and peaceful into the distant night. There is the true place of the soul the secret dwelling place of lost love. Texture is found there like no other place invading the deep recesses where inexhaustible intangibles can be weighed and measured. Welcome to infinity.

It was never a case of one more or less
Intangibles don't weigh on her scale,
They rest, balanced and immovable

There was a case of right or wrong,
So I asked her to pick up the sword and pass judgement
She severed you and I, all involved were cut deep

Bleeding, everyone bled
Blinded, she separated both flesh and spirit
The rights and wrongs seem less important now

Its times like now,    Alone in the shade
All couth is feasting on my frowning and dismay
As I sit by my lonesome crowded mid-West
A heartbeat a smile a gentle caress,
Intangibles of acceptance of ease of rest
Longing for embrace I chase with the best


My heart is throbbing sometimes in sometimes out
You are fixed in site in distance in memory and distress
The surging of mood can cause me much bout
Knowing you are here though I’m thinking quite less

In the presence of resonance I vibrate in tune
My trunk is still leaning, she tutors my topiary
In lusting and thrusting she’s willing my harpoon
Limbs cast shadows over new found leaves of liberty
Soft bodies do justice and let evil eyes swoon
In the abyss of darkness she carries a light
I’m but a moth dismissing the night
For giving myself, for breathing another sight
Foreshadows of chaos only make sacred my plight


When I rise with haste and scurry away
My maiden is waiting and waiting to replay
The tune once heard before the nightingales’ call
Before the mocking birds reminded me from which heights I did fall

Proximity and temptation so conveniently placed
Would not I have been more True, more Loyal about-face
Let me wither in silence with the tapping of Ravens
If only Poe told me true meaning of dear Eleanor
Every breeze that blew by would not seem safe havens
I would have you by my side to ground me Evermore

True Sight
Where the rich waters of the Colorado can’t reach in the Sahara if the water disappears you move on
Or perish within days the desert will mummify your body. In the land of the southern Oleander the sun
Continues to break over the San Gabriel Mountains an old breed Cherokee walked into this Mecca the
Envy of the modern world he carried a treasure in a canvas bag written on the side 100 years of service.
Little attention was given one of the famous had written another tell all book. Big news about the news
One of the chosen had been singled out in a fury this wayward humble correspondent would be
Straightened out in quick order from death hunger and thirst they lay in great heaps. Not here among
Mansions Rolls Royse and Sade’s only the finest wheels in the world if you could only drive out of this
World in one how great that would be Elijah had the best fiery chariot horses and a band of angles what
Junkers they settled for. Go out with your heart broken you haven’t spoken to your child in years
Your steps from looking for a high building you will find empty headed over filled lives smothered in
Temporal goods that don’t satisfy then the final stroke of genius they set around and brag about nothing
Look deeper friend objects have no feelings when you hit one of life’s unexpected stone walls funny how
Empty your life really is if you would have bothered to listen it is already recorded life’s true measure
Found beyond the borders of what life consist of those intangibles of the spirit can’t be grasped held or
Displayed as trophies you and I friend are the trophies what a concept you are being fought for one is
A master thief the other died innocently between two thieves to make you truly free. You want to know
Who’s winning just start talking about real issues things that have eternal consequence see the cloud
That covers the otherwise bright and sunny face when eternal matters are discussed no time in a hurry
But then the long black hearse the blur of life has receded your family weeps your true friend who
Looked at you in the framework of earths timely clock always visible to him but made him distant and
Strange to you who was this guy he didn’t share your interest didn’t care about getting ahead he can’t
Be important. There was another who watched the clock the master thief he filled your every waking
Moment with thrills trivial whatever it took his wish just don’t look at the telling truth in the clock
As the tree falls so will it be judged if unrighteous then that is how it will be raised. There are friends and
Enemies in life friends can tread on the sacred part of your soul where no one should be allowed but all
Safe guards were removed by your own worst enemy self. Take this simple test who do you walk with
Are you going in the worn path of least resistance everyone truly speaking earthly sense but what about
That old Cherokee breed and that bag filled with treasure everything in the bag is hated spat upon cost
The life of an unspotted lamb and its contents will secure you a true mansion any takers?

Disturbance Twin Pines

The simple fact this revered and honored holding location is almost perfectly triangulated it also holds
Ed and Virgil but on the sixteenth of July faint as flecked gold or the most gentle mood like reading
Someone’s mind or trying to cause loose sand to hold a form without a mold the only possibility if it was
Laying on the ground and moisture had formed a crust but you still couldn’t lift or move it to handle
The tenderest expression has to be left to the angels they are capable of both worlds solid earthly form
And the intangibles just beyond your finger tips the hoary frost on glass it is an ancient mystery visible in
The present the mist moves stands without seeming properties to allow it to do so that’s the richness
The almost unspeakable there are times that you can speak of such hushed things and talk with loves
Intensity with such depths it all lost to most even the most discernible eyes you have crossed boundless
Borders truly the frontier of the unknown has been bridged this is what appears ever so briefly and
Wondrously on marble cut to make the statement in its self this stands for permanent observation the
Parlance of deliberate and lasting meaning so how treasured that these words would appear you read
Them between the lines that say with heartfelt truth forever together so you have all of the above
Working and the truth invades your mind these words written on sacred stone can only be dreams that
Flow without end though the body hesitates and turns to immortal strands together formed by spirit
And Glory but in dreams these facts coalesce like on the deepest sea and from the depths a ship
Resurfaces two walk its deck receive structure get fluid motion unspeakable lucidity dancing in the mind
Leaps from the tongue steps that jumbled together some growing faint now sharp and keen the
Pleasure shared in mental stimulation exhilarating an all consuming flourish of peace holds you like the
Sweetest caress words spilling scrolling down hardest stone it is read and shared by the departed this
Connection is the result of celebration and the marking of another birth year has arrived on the calendar
What better time to stir the deepest emotions that you have shared Happy birthday I. M. I know you
won’t but just the same never fail to believe and know this writing was viewed on beloved stone.

You've changed something inside of me,
it came about as a swelling tide of intangibles
peeking just over the horizon.

A silence of the mind
vainly bracing for the impact.
The under current,
the rip tide,
will surely pull me under.

I just go,
I let it carry me
to where I need to be.

I just go,
let it wash away my sins
to be left
at the bottom of the sea.

I just go,
I give in to the everything
that I cannot see.

and I'm swept away
to another world...
hopefully you'll catch up with me.

I must've heard the phrase
hundreds of times by now.
"My life's going to hell
in a handbasket."
Or some such variance.
Only recently have I become able
to tell you what that actually looks like.
See
you start with a cute wicker basket.
The kind grandma might give you muffins in.
Then you place all the things you've managed to hold onto
inside of it.
Your friends, your family, your job.
Next goes in all those possessions you hold dear.
Your car, your house, your dog.
Lastly
in go the intangibles.
Your hope.
Your dreams.
All your positive feelings.
Then you set the ******* on fire
and watch it all burn away.

Love From Above

Every day the sun shines into our lives accomplishing its life giving work fulfilling joyfully its dutiful work
But it waits with great anticipation for the shining it will do on Easter because that day is when Christ
Sets on His throne and from His being light goes forth in all direction the source of heaven’s illumination
Is truly love ablaze this dazzling empowered energy contains the fount of serenity tranquility bliss in
Portion to all of earths seas settled over all of it is mist filled with mystery the intrigue that bounds
The mind heart and soul in a drift that flows with golden ships that are filled with gifts for peoples all
Over the world babies new found love for those who are falling in love the first time and the glow that
Parents and grandparents show when they look on the new faces of bundles of joy that just created a
Lifetime tidal wave of pleasure joy thrills interest wonder that flows out into basins of generations I
Could go on but Jesus’ has arisen with His hands he takes theses intangibles as they stream in lines and
He bends them toward the sun the sun flushes with joy as these rays join his and race toward earth to
Bathe every living one with a portion of what heaven owns if you like this piece say thank you Roberta
Merrifield this is what flowed from my heart in answer to her wishing me a happy Easter

Where the first candle was lit
At midnight mass,
You greaved forward the light
And blessed the joint,
Took a puff and inevitable
Like the cries of the kids
Chasing the raspa man,
Said puff puff pass.

Over summer 95 with
An eternal cusp of weathered
Youth we drove the neighborhood
In the Accord I was given,
At times I believe for graduating Jr High, your unbeatable design
To get us laid was never like the fated quartet moon
That you held in respect almost
Soldier like.

   Remembered C-5 Galaxy and the base we could never get into,
    A roar of sunset glow and the
Colors we flew for our street
Wer more than the rainbow
Could bear,
   A spectrum of a place and
Time that only
A whispered gallantry when
    You took that knife for me,
Always the duo,
Once alone,
Taken with the ways of men.

    I did nothing  with my
Pano, the red handkerchief
That all the homiez through
In a sea of red,
I swear I heard the Taps
Being played by Carlos Santana,
I took a breath and lay
Out a cry,
     One that still runs the barrio,
Mi amigo,
Once the road in a present dream
Taken like the winds
And a memory's glance,
    You are there
And I still,
My Friend,
      Westside intangibles.

Linguistics for the intangibles -
would that be manageable?
: For one person to sit and create
some words that none can negate
fully explain all which we feel,
those words and verbs
we know to be real.
- To further iterate
our experience had;
words bigger than “happy and sad”

Remove me from existence, please.
I no longer wish to be.
There is a pleading melody.
That I would like to flee.

And as the buzz of people,
Draw so near and far.
I putter down the county road,
In my little car.

I gaze upon the cattle,
The sparkling city lights.
I ponder upon sleeping pills,
I begin to see blank white.

Perhaps I may have overdosed,
A mistake I should not make.
I cannot hear his mutterings,
And I do not partake.

Like stepping on intangibles,
Or eating blanketed air,
I cannot hear the inaudible,
love what is not there.

And as I creep into a room,
Filled with dust and fear,
A bit of nostalgia,
Falls into my ear.

It dances to my brain, you see.
And then into my heart.
It is a terrible sin,
missing such a part.

Like a robot armless,
Or a flightless dove,
I want simplicity and untruth,
Human and God above.

I know what it is like to be a survivor. I know what means to be redeemed. I have fallen down with a hard crash, but I can walk, today.   I've experienced hate, but also love. Indifference has gained plenty of territory in this age, and fatigue is no stranger. I've grown weary of the daily grind and sometimes feel like a pretender. Nevertheless, I have found much to be passionate about, and I'm glad to be a part of the Beating Heart Association-also known as "alive".

We are warriors in a battlefield, because there is a war going on out there. I've wanted to shake hands and call a truce, for I've needed the peace and quiet. I needed to take hold of my thinking, for I think my punches were landing back onto me. I'm often guilty of self-deprecation, so don't look for lemonade from me. I'd just as well hand out lemons.

Sure, I love happy endings, for it is a distraction from many harsh realities.  This planet surely contains conundrums.  There are many amazing things in the world as well as there are many things that are far too perplexing. I have had plenty of doubts in God, others and myself, but still manage to maintain a flicker of faith. How it gets rekindled is what makes it divine. Everything else in this world will end up old, useless and discarded, but such intangibles have staying power.

Visions of hope make this world possible.  An existence without flux is an existence most stagnant. To conclude, throwing in the towel just cannot be an option. So take note: You can still see me walking down that Yellow Brick Road, experiencing the journey that is full of bumps, twists, turns and surprises.

If you go and try your hardest to figure me out, you will fail.  All the intangibles are in place as you will see, but you will die from complete exhaustion with your first attempt. I do wish you the best of luck for trying. So seize that moment and let me hear your silent screams!!

Overwhelming sense of death.
Consumed my thoughts, my actions.
I grabbed onto anything
and held as The Fall began.

Sudden jolt and I am aware
Soft cries come from downstairs
it is too early, something is instantly
wrong.

The drive to my house is long
the last moments of being blissfully ignorant.

Pull up
the driveway is filled with
cars, I don’t understand.
The front door, rushed,
People everywhere
demeanor drops
My mind races with the Intangibles.

Led away, muffled cries
then panic,
Hysteria, disbelief, dreaming right?

Little brother sits softly on my mother’s bed
he doesn’t understand, I don’t understand
as she tells us about
a heart that failed
a heart that stopped
a heart that was too large, too generous
to handle.

Crying. Stop. Shower
Naked, yelling to a god
that no longer exists
coughing as steam rises
apologizing for nothing.

It was the last sentence
I spoke
It was the last time I couldn’t
bear to look.

Screaming episodes
an ambulance
blood in his mouth
the phone and anticipation
screaming from the top to emergency workers
“Hurry the **** up”

I sat crying on two small steps
trying to accept this desperate shell,
this blind man was my dad.

Two months later, a room full of people
where my friends saw me cry for the first time
trying to accept that some solemn heavy casket
was the same man.