seems I must write of star beams
and moon glow
when i want to write
of your elbow
your nails
how feminine and gorgeous
the turn of your thigh inward to
the place the space sacred
our place
shared alone
your neck arched
your earlobe in  my mouth
my chest on your breast my hand upon your sigh
our arches met
with cries

If you have ever written a poem you realize
i wrote this title before developing a poem
I had no theme or outline pre prepared
no grand vision just this
ditty running in and out my head
it sort of worried me until
I just had to chronicle her
type her out and email her
share her everywhere
so happy people the we'll
say well adjusted happy people
or just my partner in nether world
feels indebted enough
to plus
or ignore or propose
I give up poetry
for ever.
Anyhow any ways
the smile cannot
be erased from my face
the jiggle in my belly
goes on and on forever

we partied in a Chevrolet station wagon
the night we graduated went fast around the devil curves that
uphill gravel laiden course
to the top like we were the best
to the hill west of Rochester
where those acid drop rainfalls fell
into our open eyes
made rainbows kaleidoscopes
out of evergreens and
telephone poles
flashes shone in brief aware
and dreams they spoke out echoing
no one sane was here
found our way safely back
across the street from my house and parked behind the garage where
Hope came up in a tight dress
drunk and quite acting
nervy knowing she had
made all both our heads turn
or all ten of em
and only having one
Chevrolet
the backseat turned down
into almost a bed
we gave the pulsing energy
the flashes a go
a right groovy we
said at the time
one at the time impulse
the stars
the moon
the rocking
Chevrolet
all night
half the next day
I don't think it was
just my
imagination

the dynamical state of
a cluster is based on
and correlates to
the red shift
morphological
characteristics of equilibrium
in state,

or who collapsed
first

the Galaxy

in a reliable way
relating to us.

A background cosmology
study
of
me.

The matchmaker man left milk instead
of bread again and I fear
his mission ending on my porch
suggested remorse for his debt,
and his fear deep down of what's in my head.
Taking the milk jars inside, no bread
or way to light my fires,
of course,
a short brittle reprise from what i see is no surprise
the fire has been dead for me so long now
the matchboy has grown and possibly forgotten
his tired losses and ill-gotten
gains at my expense and detriment, yet I
have little sentiment and even less design
on his bread and matches for naught
of nightly cries and warehouse thoughts
in my rolling brain waves of reclusive nut grains
just bits of food to feed this lanky frame
is not enough for me
or eternal enough for us
his hunger impaling me, my whole, a game?
I consider it with a glass of milk for my kitty,
a ******* reminder of the world outside me,
a challenge to out-decide
a riddle or maybe a small coincidence
in a series of incidents
cascading in an order
of shorter and shorter endurance
and more disorder, first in betrayal
and ending in a chaotic hailstorm
of fear, dread, remorse and debt ...
I am saying that I am no matter
what begets at my front door, regret,,,,,?
Another telegram from a war torn hell?
and it might as well
come to me in that way
because the things my brain conjures
on silent Mondays, or will it be sympatico
that knocks on my door like a
redheaded woodpecker bangs?

I would a day of hardness cry
I did a night of dark  to die
I could survive the holocaust
I would like to be a knight on horseback
I need the strength of Hercules
it seems
only to survive
in a mind of doubt and weakness
so I will dream again rebirth myself
a better man not of this earthly plan
make me anew with  strength of will enduring pain
find again the righteousness men deserve
seek again a ****** will a strength of naivette
look at the sunrise as a chance to change be what I knew
I could

dreamed I was dreaming
of being in a dream,
Pinch me three times please

We were dust before dust
Eons in starlight
light years behind me.

We made the beginning
together. Forged in the beautiful stars.

Mystical. me.
Mystical. you.

We were there!
You were the major ingredient.
It just took a few billion years
for us to get here.

is significant
    a dandelion
is really pretty
         much more,
I think than a close cropped
        perfectly manicured
lawn.

I like the sight of a bit
    of wild, the variances
of color and genera
      the birds seem to , too.

My landlord though,
    keeps threatening me
as I sit with a kitty
     playfully in three foot tall
lawns and weeds.

      so, I says to him,
I will cut it down
                  if you trim your wild ***
nose hairs,
you know different things bother
     him and me.

with apology
a sonnet brave
I pretend to be
worthy
resending a message
meant to be slang
tongue-in-cheek
I speak
***** how
I smile happily, smirk.
Entrancing asking
no bitterness, I say,
Sorry. I do not repent!
As your servant I am seeking
no ill,
dirtily.

dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.

the mezcal incident, now
that was surely one doozy/
started out with a shot of Patrone
no lime or salt at ten in the morn'/
at this strip joint in Wicksburg
where they advertise
two hot babes three skinny one's
and one big mama,
on their marquee, which is one of
those lighted portable signs plastic letters things
the kids like to vandalize by
like on the Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle
I minister at occasionaly, we have one of those ,
had In God We Trust , lettered on it on saturday.
Sunday, at eleven, when we arrived for worship ,
it said in dogs  we gust,
limited letters to arrange so,
I got the teen hoodlum gyst/
I ramble on so much, wouldn't
blame you
if you lost interest,
but anyways/
this day, what I mentioned early in this,
started out fairly innocent, a drink
a gander at female utilitarianism,
and a shot,
thing about tequila
sitting down you don' t know how ****** up you are
get up, try to stand and wow!
I keep digressing,
that day
hell I ******* forgot/
Sorry to lead you on.

what don't you love, of
the piece of my heart you took?

ever is times go so fast
flies I swatted come back as mosquitos
Sly grins from cashiers. I think they shortchanged me.
All the small things live
in seconds of life
that add up to
picking the exact ***** out of the millions at
the hardware store.
Or the way I try to perfect a joint
like a diamond finish in sheetrock.
Or the way I get off hearing my saw buzz
through a two by four at dusk
on three hours sleep
with a hangover.

and I strive unsuccessfully , as you will see,
to write a romantic love poem,
you know the one , the kind that rhymes with the
moon and stars

hearts and tugging strings all those metaphors
for love safe and warm like a kitten
purr, all done up in honey, dripping
from my tongue

as words come more  true from experience
sadly,
tonight I must refrain

put my pen down my earmuffs on
my short pants  on
and once again

snuggle up to
my Labrador.

arises tones
of symphonies violins crying vapor rises
all around me in three dimensional
spaces up around and through me goes the
sound of fingers and bow on strings I taste
sweet bitter salt sugar in my  ears
cry with her
the violinist

I hear her there, alone, up above
A poem, a painting in the sky, a
Northern dream, an eye
Looking down,  lights phantasia
glow, to earth from above,  a fantasy spectacular,  her voice
Calming northern cool as mint and winter winds,  miles across this barren land lends hope to searches
I cannot give up.
Someday may the Norse gods and southern generals make peace and stop haunting my love and dreams,
might a line be crossed with will, determination,
my love and I united.

kitten of kittens
mittens for feet
    black and white
my purry sweet
    asleep
would you scratch
    me back
If I pet you
   or if you purrred
real nice could
    I give you a treat?

My soul
at unrest as
my heart and ***** need
suspense in your bare repose
first, touch me
in breath excess
unending prose.
I see my soul
collide with everlast
as I ever die
in your
touch!
touch!

Sunday morn' caffeine buzzed
rushing
around from chores to my computer screen
scrolling
for rhymes whilst silverware and glasses soak
knowing
nothing is really getting done
except maybe my blood pressure
and the cats
wriggling tale!

Did you see the dog dig
the bones he hides, he did?
Under the Wisteria shadow mysteriously
he knows....the dog does!
recalls remembers by scents.

enough would be for me to be
a dimple in the sand

or
a shell you put to your ears
then castaway

a rock resisting the crashing crest
a loam a bubble floating

up onto your rocky shores
bubbling and frothy

seeking all you are today.

Ebb and flowing to your rhythm
out and in flow gush and sing the seas song
harmonizing the vastness of the tides,

washing us into the sea.

Joni's " The Circle Game"

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game *

Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like when you're older must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game *

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him take your time it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

And go round and round and round
In the circle game。。。。。。

Gots.
We.
We gots
Like lots beautiful souls here mixed in with lots
are .
Bunches.
    High
        Troubled
             everything's.
Put on a cleft
Gonna be drawn out
Lots
Low ******* lower notes
Some fast fingered high
With sharp c
A few flat e
And a passe
In the mid
        .
        .
Rumble soft.

Half note high flute
           --

Tap snare drum where there a second later the orchestra begins all loud clamor building an immense rise you don't think it can get louder but it dies and roaring comes

Startling silence.
Amen.

I had a dream, but,
  awoke into half-conciousness and continued  on,      
           psychedelically candy visions,
where lemon trees grew apples,
            weeds were harvested to smoke:
the skies there, never black, were
                              blacklighted with Ultraviolet,
your face glowed with moonlight!
   eyes were shining bright with hope-
               televisions gave the news, that Peace
was sold on every corner.

            Then, I ran and leapt- like gravity had not been discovered yet!-
I guess, I had caught a vision of Heaven, then,
    woke up!

Lilly's
     roses
all blushing
      naked among the
Begonias and daffodills.
    As much I love the peeling
skin red and white
      of the neighbor's
Sycamore.

Are we genetic code
and components of the periodic table?

our evolutionary evolving
is surprising in it's rapidity:

let us blow the mass to bits today!

and see how long we wait...

for the next origin of consciousness
or the next analogy

of monkeys randomly
typing

a
Shakespearean
sonnet!

let us all recycle anger
and turn angst and hatred
into money
for more dope

the sun reaches down into my corner that I am hiding in
ruined as senseless can be trembling cold yet feeling warmth of
Light, hiding in the corner, not yet fully seeing
the brightness the sun is offering. A fire is burning yet it pales
to the dark, I am used to. My vision needs re-igniting into life and hope and dreams so long dark, here. The clouds always gathering a shadow into my being from long lost souls, grey seems the   brightest part of time ticking,
pastels and ochres blues cram inside my tendons live a life so intimate  from dread and where I see Love gone with damning habit. Into the dawn of dark I dared to tread. Left all good: spite and doubt became my bed. My head  lies on bedrock my back aches.My companion is constant. In this dark head. Yet, the sun reaches.

the songs have all been wrote before
the poems all laid down in history
every thought and dream seemingly
has been explored
to the depths
of the last word the last letter
into the bare necessities
into luxury
said  much better
sung like it was there
from the beginning
that is what intrigues me
how vast the world of song and art and words
can be
making lives better
better said
touching all is my goal
I fail
but I have to try
and I can't sing
either
on key

idealistic,I smile to be deluded
by realism as the windmill slaps my ***
again, romantic chivalry my duty
saving damsels righting wrongs

In La Mancha in the archives my story
resides , and i have not been sleeping much,
reading causing my brain to dry , as a result
excuse my being quick to anger,

whenever I feel Dulcinea is in danger.

and, it has been many an innkeeper
who has knighted me
and many a beating I have taken
left in the gutter

as the priest decides which of my
books to burn in an effort to dull
my ardor, ferocious giants loom
disparaging my squire

calling him unintelligent
and greedy, to them I shall draw
my sword, to the death

To my squire's defense, I ride!!
Sancho will be governor, and my

Dulcinea is crying.

When that blood flowed green
And trees were red
Skin was bark all hard
weathered showing
The marks of hurricanes
The dearths of rain
Skies glowed orange in night
And gray each day
The lakes all turned inside
Out where blues were down
And brown silt atop
The roots of things grew up
And flowers down
Bodies dead were above ground
People like moles once did
When the sun was yellow
And not her now deathly gray
People went underground
To live
Where dirt was white and grass
Was the ceiling
And not a day was recorded since
The day the
Colours
Turned around.

snakes eyes again
    god damm twelve times in row
can't ever lucky me
    get a seven eleven
I had all my rent money
     riding on that
how 'bout
          for what i lost
you give me a room
           to play this silicone
blonde up a bit
              before I give you the title
to my Benz
           Or, I see you a hard *** MF
how 'bout we play
    double for nothing?

I write with flowery sharpness
my pen and ink the stem and juice of natures
creativeness, the sugar flowing energy enriching
the light of millions of years of synergy
posting on the back of a root
the highest leaf
an expression felt
the veins of silken feelings waving in
the sun breeze the selections of
our creator.

No,
No ordinary cat
Was he,
No, fluffy ginger haired
Scruffy Maine **** uncut
Hitchhiking burrtailed
Loved to get cuddled
Disappear for two weeks
I almost give up
Always hungry
Purr at the drop
Of a hat
chase four legged
Females around
Call like his nuts
caught in a vise top
Of a cats lungs pierce
eardrums
Neighbors
Call 911
I told him to shut hell up
A thousand times
But he'd  'tween roaming
Eating calling
Climbing the oak for some
Winged thing or
Tormenting a ******
Helpless cricket
He'd  found on the weeds
Catch me asleep
On the couch passed
Totally out from
Drinking
And think
It's such a good night
What a great idea
Perfect time
To love on dad
All night.
Until my eyes opened
He'd lick my eyelids
Forehead
Ears my chin.
God ******* ****,
I miss him

the bad *** words we saw
  the visions oasis brought to us
the concerts the highs
   blowing kisses and lighting matches
young and innocent
   the chords that said our souls
were lifted the song that united
   us against waste against inhumanity
that made the cosmos feel  
   and reach down to us and stroke us
that fed us like Jesus did
   all of us from one loaf
or one fish
   or made us laugh and hold each other
while listening to heaven wings
and angels here
on earth.

the heat freezes
bearings seize heating up
until frozen
un-movable
against all
the wrong gets
un-bearable
then I shut down
go off far
away where gravity
and hopelessness
and physics
where energy is
no more hot.
Stop it all.
freeze time,
suspend gravity.
float back,
eventually?
cool down,
back to
Earth.

blue on these windows
   would be red
like a *****'s lips
    ebony would be
dark as night
   scary
pink is effeminate
    green is almost the right
girl
     where do I find green colored blinders to make
human women look as appealing as
make believe
like late at night on the internet

violet is purposed
purple is purposeful

magenta colored eyes with yellow pupils
are what I seek.

I was just wondering , tell me the truth,
if you were not a poet might you still love
as deep?
If you did not feel the words sworn by
Dylan Thomas , or slobber when
E. E. Cummings comes  (hey)
or wonder how Emily kept all those
words in her breast all those years-
might you just be another drone gathering
real estate or gold?
I ask you now, might
you have been happier then ,
with a Mercedes Benz, as Janis,
tongue in cheek, asked God for?
and not feel just a little bit for Woodstock playing
memories on Youtube at six in the morning
drinking your last beer?

Compare the Atom
   with the apple
drop it from
   missiles
paint all of us
   with Uranium
terminally impose
   because of
bad communication
   may it be
the purpose of
    this short
spasm, I see,
    The End.

Scribble letters on *****
mail, the back of which
empty, lets us broke
*** poets leave our
scent.

Advertisements, notices
of foreclosure, a
Sheriff's warrant
for thine arrest,
does it matter?

Envelopes correspondence
from those we no longer
want around us
scribble words we somehow see
as more important.

Then throw them all
into the pile of refuse,
and garbage spoiled
like we do our life.

Poets in motion
Guitar Lord s Loud
Jimi at the Red House
riffin' proud

Sing Janis "Ball and chain"
John McLaughlin's twelve string
Edgar Johnny white as snow
broke all hearts on "Tobacco Road"

Can never forget Jimmy Page
"Highway to Heaven" is center stage
Eric "The God" "tears in heaven" played
as Santana "Abraxas" displayed
raw emotion skill complex
enough  to make one's soul reflect

And an Allman Brother, Dickie Betts
surely we shall not forget
Tom Petty learned to fly
and listening I thought
"Why can't I?"

Almond colored
   not really
light, not really dark
salty slightly sweet.

sharp, cheddar
  soft, edible
pliant forgiving

Day into
  years

Tears remembered
shed
when you are far
away.

Snell's law in life a medium
of a mind prism, as sure as ,
the wavelenths have varying temperatures:
Wide open aperature of high
the slitted view of depressions,
purpish absorbing the green, yellow
echoes, yellow absorbing the hot red rays.
If only I saw what was absorbed, the waves that came I ignored.
Blue with depressions, colder than all the feel of ultraviolets.
Or intense as the white paper absorbing the infrared rays.
I pass , like a prism, the negative refractive indexes.

wandering in the west wonderland of the east
coast of  psychedelia along the northern coast
of a southern island
I came to  the perception
of me as a scorpion
tail held high prancing venomously
striking the hand  that fed me
along the willowing trails of honey nectar
the rainbow sailing sailboats in sun
colors glistening
the breathing cloud skies of blue gold
right next to a godlike creature sat I
tail up telling tales
with poison assed consequences,
making promises like a politician
was a bad trip then , until,
I saw  bodhisattva sipping brandy and being just him
along side a unicorn on a hill
outside Hollywood
I took his hand
his discipline his calm
his realm now mine. He gratefully shared.
Now this was my kind of dude.
I waited around and he melted away
and ten vestile virgins appeared in his wake.
Each more beautiful than I can say.
And we ate strawberries and flew in the sky wingless
partied on shortcake and cream and I was happy once.
A beautiful dream a memorable trip.
It opened my eyes. My senses cleansed.
I  try to live just like that.
Imaging Nirvana again, every day

burn brightly  depth  invites you into
a place you are entranced frightened enough
to visit and not stay

a staircase to a soul of wondrous
things or torments await, you don't know
what might be there

warmest  with the fire
inside them  pools so calm
cold you might freeze
and never escape

eyes  
the macabre windows
we dare to
look into

share the genius'
of
the depth
the green vast

unknown for a second

does the prettiest flower light a horizon
prettier than her?
Can any martingale sing a melody
with her perfection?
Heaven is on the horizon,
a glow of earthly crimson,
An orchard of apple trees,
set on a hill
in dimming backlight.
Blossoms glow from her limbs.
Seasons work magic,
Calm is all a glow,
distance is relative,
when seeing life
renewed.
Life is a circle,
of red glimmers
and yellow hues.

Ring chimed paper voices penned word
choices of centering glades,
elm candled flickering
fog lifted distances ,
whisper
amazed,
light bathes the dove shelter,
in vespers,
of nested pieces and fat flies
fed for the eating,
o' who forgets the
ultimate
destination
awaiting..

just visiting
   every once in the while
                this exotic place
where dreams take shape
again

along treelines
   very near the coastal plains
                a time once where ships
had sails and lives were
placed

by visionaires
   painting psalms as true stories
               and dreams as real life
morals with plans to make
more

in the future
    as sticks and sands and
             and waders in the blue surf
lapping at ankles call the
shore

home as the sailor seeks
      his love when the sails have folded
              the salt washed in fresh waters
again a sip of barley
seek

amore'