The dusk  a cloudy
sty
blackened to blight
the rays
of days
before the fruit lost the limbs
barren- now shake-and
above the **** soaked grass
sanitary
past,
swaying in the memory
of glamour days,
some happily forget.

no beginning
we all forget
to send
a forward
or regret
not saying
I apologize
like lemons or
lemmings we follow
to the cliff bitter
better yet we fall off
rather than
say
I am sorry,

oh victory
vivacious as a dandelion dispersed
on wind
air flight far wide high
as wings fly as words sing as minds think
high    get high buzz like a bee
flitter free to and fro
nothing compares   to this
to thy   to my free mind
free to fly and find
soft buttercups in the field a new day a new way
once a closed academy taught to decay
now the nature of a stream flowing
let it be
let me be
I care no more about archaic truisms or static
ways of looking I open
my eyes free trip on fantasims I fear not the
new idealism where truth is peace love and holiness
under these skies I see bluer than ever and newer and more virginal
more loving peaceful a sky
that glows for all
one day I thought of it
just why the **** not love
why strife why fight lets' love all night in the day
all days every night.
I love.
I'm not afraid of love.

on the moist spot the sheets curl around her
make for indentions in my head
memories unforgotten all these years hence
still I picture long legs
in the air
hear her crying my name
Geronimo be mine
I should have told her
my real name

instead of sinning there would be a recess
where people all over the world every three hours or so just stopped
and played kickball or  slid down the icy slide cataloguing how far
down the playground they slid
tied rubber bands together , thousands of them , attached a small
plastic airplane to it , stretched it far as it could go,
and flew it imaginatively, then went back to being grown up?

misty hazed
wakes the sleepy
eyelids closed
you and I sleep...
and you and I are deep.

developing contrapuntal visions
as the wake
we ride, anon,
sounds deep;
ebbs successively;
wounded echoes repeat: guides
ethereal choices
in three separate sections note

whence we awaken,
the tides in gone
the short main theme
the exposition, completes itself. As the
moon goes around again.
now, we are as one.

into fragments or memories pieces
of this
shards of that
Many broke
*******
yellow
yell
black

white
sight
blinded
sighted
in tiny remnants
on the floor.
It is a travesty
or comedy
trying
to puzzle
this interlocking
riddle, or
solve
and paint the whole
picture.

A poem
is quite like,
a life.

having to comment on the *******
who find faults like there
is a reward for it
while smoking a doobie
drinking a corona
watching a sun set
on a beach
in heaven
forget them

my pulchritude me
petrichor my visage
Of me in a puddle

felicitously adjectively
so not well drafted nor composed
my bald spot showing

in the mirror if I turn my head and look sideways
terse a wrong hair rightly covering a bald spot of imagery

like black paint on a pink scalp trying to be
visceral, I comb the ugly away,
I think.

The most pleasurable sound is
around when I  am surrounded
be pecan trees giving their leaves and seeds
to the breeze almost willing
the rain to drizzle down
on my metal roof
so bemusing a melody
somewhat made by god
for me and my dreams.

I  give me you my all
rock roll
  give gave to all
it gonna be all right
i feel it tonight   right in my bones
  what with whynever
falsetto high keys
vibrations  
come here pretty babay
   echooooooo so low in southern tones
get down with me
          feel warm
as long
as   the   hard times does.

style; perhaps my frenzy unedited
kind of poetry contrasts with
those whose whims are more whimsical
a four line acbd or my liberal taking of conjunctives
and splices my way
contrasts ;
tell a story is my parody
give a scene make it half real at least give character
with ambiguity, let the reader finish it:
prose a theory argue it halfheartedly
when the theme is never that ,
between lines is much of
the daily things, so in my poetry.

tree to tree limb to limb:
                                     would it be a sight to see?
leaves ruffled
             all entwined


the two pines
           in my front yard-
laying together,
                         in the grass


      making love.

for all his life he stood alone
observing
a sovereign being he felt uninvolved unmoved.
He had the intercourses in community college
humanities and social sciences, he still felt
separate.
He had a very neat flat, on the commons.
Kept it, oh, so neat. He kept on seeing all others as
being another course. Then when a day came he felt,
he saw a girl get hurt, I won't go into details, but,
his education did not help him.
He had to intervene. So he took his ball in his hand, bowed up
became a man.Was a hero for a moment, then.
He turned out dead with a hand full of nuts.
I am proud of him.

never a doubt my preference
for dreaming of a muse before paying the rent
or walking along the river and seeing
the nymphs I dream of playfully naked singing
a tune
instead of going to work
again
hiding in the bushes to watch
birds coo
or climbing the highest tree
to view an ocean in the middle of Alabama
I make up
several  mermaids populate this sea
along with serpents
vitriolic pirates sailing away to rob the
scalliwag English
in the Pub about midnight after visiting regions
of my mind
I take sense and remember last time
I had my last pint
too early,
Friday was a scant paycheck, so...

Let's write like water
prose a tome so vivid in its
clear and cool
make fluid words that flow drip
down from gashes mountains pure
from eyelashes say clouds gush
every grain of sand dirt clod
of clay may bow down glistening
pump its substance from wells
drilled deeply into our hearts core
lakes of poetry filled with crystal beauty blue
but that is the sky coloring
its clear
right there in front of you
tension keeping her
round
about
see that tear?
it is there
on a cheek
in an eye waiting
to flow

less love to suffer
I give you my all
the tragedies the utmost
for you I sit silent
listening
to the broken calls all the hurtful
triumphs the cat calls
the boastful
slaps in my face the rants the
insaneness
but stay
steadfast
in my hope for you
my love is like a dogs
no matter how far away you go
or to whom
I await
and when you return
I will leap up on you
lick your face race around \
wagging my tail for you came back and
I was worried

The ordinary air I take for granted,
clean clear water,
I drink
without thinking.
The Sun that rises in glory,
I often forget to admire.
Or, thank God, for.
My next breath,
a given, or is it?
I will take it deep,
pledge upon it,
I will rise in this dark,
get on my knees, tomorrow,
Thank Almighty for this!

where does this longing arise from?
I have a yearning
has everything to do with ***
and passion

it seems to evolve in the *****
the ***** hanging
and  has  a manly scent and a
obsession

I have seen my Labrador
get in season
and my black and white
cat, it's the reason

we all are bred and why we
have feelings

Brianna Love in Minnesota and I in Alabama wish to announce and share with all a new addition to our family.
So far one beautiful kitten has been born to babygirl, Brianna's cat, who for eight years lived in the wild. Last year when  temperatures reached 30 below zero babygirl decided to adopt Brianna and move inside. Today she is gifting us with beautiful babes!  Hope this link below shows off our newest pride and joy!

all I can do is weigh all the available inputs
on a scale of
hell i forgot to knock the **** off
and that white powder
it throws off any judgements

How well it seems
I get to know your scenes
in the tug of nights darkness
in the realms of touch

blind innocent still
along the edges of
shadows still peeked
and viewed of both sides
now and wondered aloud musical
how I might find
the right touch the soul
the very nature of calm
I have searched for
so long

and on that edge, I pose
balancing hope
and juggling desires
a heartfire
and a cold ice juggernaut
fiercely holding
hope's eternal flame
in hands of clay
of mind's worthless
qualms

worry no more my fruitless
search has ended
along the edge I
fell headfirst in;
in love in peace into eternity;
into a vast new you and me.
Into love forever....
I stake my claim.

I walk no more alone,
eternally.

were I to lose myself tonight
nowhere else could it possibly be
then in your fine skin your sweet smile
your embrace

were I to find heaven
I don't think of any afterlife
I would not see your smile your kind eyes
you and beauty

were I to die tonight
with your memory I would smile
brightly forever more like a sailor
welcomed home

after his long course  
his long time without love
his long journey without shore
be he parched and full of scurvy

the sustenance
without a kind
life without meaning
there on a shore

of little hope
just barren rocks
and harshness
sand piling up in heaps over
his head

so I said my piece
my welcoming
I await yours

***
I never thought of  
of status quo

I just went
crashing
against the walls

logical had
nothing to do with me
it was for real

abstinence
of every rule
out of eyesight

I caught afire
drew the fire on
drew me amidst

a flame
and went
completely

******* mad
like Syd did
sang on

shined as
long as I could

I breezed thru and coalesced in reality
reminding me that i said i did when
virtually I did not, I a stump over many months
like a hibernating bear(ish) bore
ask to  cleave unto your remaining wisdoms
and plus I love you more.
so, claim me, frisk me to see I am(mo)
unarmed,
play me tunes of desamor or elvis
I don't care which.
Watch at me whilst I peek you
say hello when you mean bless you
stray from your regular course
meet me on the 18th hole
of the country club after your other goes
homes.

sans elegance not trying for
just words told in the daily
senses a tale told when
tall trees make their escapes
and long faces

on the streets concrete
stealing the sun buildings blind
all shadows
hiding in alleyways and parks
not there

the greens taken westward
nothing left but fake plants
wild roses wild anythings
a **** growing is a
miracle

there in the neon blushing the
iron closed gates the broken windows the anythings
foisted down can be rusted old told
as  the factories old men
on the corner left
forlorn

***** stolen drifting as well as can be
as could be known or told told by the swollen
ankles unkempt sides of the boulevards
running

not to here
but through
and how did you expect it?

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.

Her blacks crackle and drag.


Sylvia Plath

the greater view is,
too long the disciple
of pessimism will live

Upon a dale of dandelions
running his tongue 'tween stems and leaves
to pluck the carpel
tunnel
syndrome of nectar.
Pollinating without any bird
or bee
paying the slightest
attention.

down on all fours
down a mountains
contours
across a cool creek
dog-paddling
with stickin' thickets
sharp mystery
as darkness approaches
I proceed down
and down
on all fours
searching a passionate
write is a mission
crawling down
down
like a Spring-rat of unknown
to the valley below.

a text to solitude-
    I send- over an  internet  un-wired
for a life I no longer
    can survive,

But survival is hard-wired
   within, it is why
my hands need to stay busy
   being

creating a floor or rebuild a vanity,
   make one real dollar.
peace, from what I truly need
   like human touch.

It follows, that I like
   the muscles I build doing real things,
between my ears seem to be
fulfilled
   when i create and build

just one dollar in reality.

my no faced poker playing partner
her hands held so close to her chest
I don't see a bluff don't know if
she has a flush or a king
in the hole

Can't even read her when she lays down
a straight to her king
or has two pairs
to my one queen.

She antes and bids so calm
always, I guess I sometimes win,
but I know,
the odds are stacked way so far
against, me.

Spheres and nuances seances discordant melodies
played in the atmosphere
hear chords that seemed wrong
without the balance he shared
Ludwig my long lost genius hero
I listen now

Do not stand at my grave and weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

data
all arranged collimated
in neat rows columns
speading sheets all laid out
on rooftops with SOS
written in red paint calling hecilopters
help us it says
water is good unless it inundates
and is ***** with sewage and the government flies by
looking but doesn't do it
before it ends there are accountants
adding tallies costs against lost lives on
a white sheet a
gamma line
going steadily up to the right corner
of a clean paper sheet maybe a posterboard for added
emphasis
etchy red line exponentially  rising up up away
in that line are lives against costs the government
sitting on markers
red crayons calculators
basing missions against costs like lives are expendable
how much can we spend for a bunch of creoles or  ****** in New Orleans,
someday white folks you gonna be the minority.
I'm
red
I'll rate in the minority
no matter what.

Ten years after or
ten minutes late
for my own funeral
and my wake;
ten too soons ago
and one sun too late
and ten to be a'comin'
and ten more
in a row I live
not ten seconds before
anticipating
or ten seconds afters
regret....
Just now and then
and ten more;
just like that.

suppose peace gonna overcome
someday?
I've tried to help old ladies
bums
been a **** drunk discovering
the bottom
my self
given my heart soul and money
to orphaned animals
try to give forward

draw peace signs
in hidden places
and all caps LOVE
I hide in library books about the
holocaust
at times

I've sat giving lectures to the birds
to ants to trees, leaving traces
of my heart at their
root
and they seemed to listen
be aware of man's atrocities
clap applaud at times

I've been a minstrel
self-ministered
drawn on theologies
and  pathology
drawn and painted every self-portrait
I could while seeing
nothing

deeper
or wiser than
a sunbeam through limbs on the green
soft grass  near a calm stream
hearing her flowing musics
and cried among the bird chirps
and watched for hours
ants toil

trying so hard
so hard
to recognize

Gonna
After a second
Examining the rise of her
Breast the darker
Pink of an ***** ******
Extending
The length of a second
The wealth of a lucky man.
Gonna
Just take a look slow all round the peak curvatures
Compare the pink
With the almonds the mauves
And cinnamons drink
Of  pallmall nicotinic
Sweats and long pauses
Now
I cull
Annihilate
The culinary incarnate
Etching with a
Claw on rock  her
Taste
Pawn her
Platinum diamond
For a soda and chips

note to me
limit the coffee
from now on to one
***
i've been hand shaking greeting everyone at wal-mart
all day
even the store manager and security
trying to shoo me away
but i am , doing I am , I AM
such a good job the people
are gathering around

just as if you were alive
I get at times just like in real life inspired by
immortal words strung like pearls on your pages
just like life get ashamed at how your
vision your virginal good intent gets *****
torn apart by those who feel the need to fight
you just don't have the choice but to
reflect real life.

I learned to sleep
   with the constant scratching
at my window pane-
   unnerving though, It got.

Tap, tap, tap
   the evergreen raps
its boughs on my glass
    rap sharp

almost breaking it
    I hide beneath my pillow.
I barricade under
    my blanket.

Screaming silent,
    imagining again,
your fingernails
     down  my back.

I burnt the bacon
and the grits have lumps
the biscuits are cold
broke the yokes
out of butter
and burnt my finger
and wasn't as hungry
as I remembered

on dreamy elves and better things
fortuitous it may be, lifesaving,
more constructive  in the scheme
of things, better suited to Knights
and Maidens so long ago may
be
things like dreams and visions
hopes and purpose,
love and romances, dances
under the arms of willow trees,
softly flowing brooks babbling, the calling
of a whippoorwill
the seance **** trance you put me in

I thunk or did or said or thought or knew is
in the middle of a guitar string chord plucked
with a background rich of bass drum
the ****** of a cymbal the beautiful
voice of a beautiful band where beautiful
girls dance sensually writhing in tune  to
my heart throbbing a voice singing
as no instrument ever can
trembling my
everything
crying
samba
me

and rustled the paper
and went straight to
the sports section and the
box scores where statistics can be
compared relative across generations
completely missed the obituaries
the Editorials
the Advertisements
because
Batting Averages Yards Gained
Touchdowns Home Runs
Saves
are comparative back through centuries,
Editorials and ads are slanted.

Eyes do see the mystery of stoic conceit
an acoustical noodling or youthful brooding
never given back to me,
my craggy voice
precocious rise,
never the less a leach upon the dead
I
sacrosanct lie,

decomposing words of dead poets
horrific:

an aura of
trance in elements of infantile exuberance
my lyric prose a protuberance,
an instrument
played at least as much
as i sought the rhymed.

In deep sleep forget
fall into
remembers
shimmer in repose
somehow see the known
like a minaret mimicking
a place
of prayer
a parakeet saying what
excavates our ministries
until a foundation is reached
a truth
build then upon the prayers.
Build then
a truth.

oh you
the you shining brighter
then any sun
you must take this day
in memory
recall it
one day
long hence
for you have innocence
it is  not so bright
come September
unless on a
whim you can call it up
with that snap
of your fingers
red  paint lasts
what a day or two --
even the sky
ages into
horizons--
without
chipping?

free thoughts on my day the universe
the guy with a sign on the corner a backpack  
his life on the side of a highway just wanting to go to
Dothan -his sign says

I turned the other way ,
I had my day all planned.
Two jobs to do make enough
dough for my weekend party.

I thought about him
for the next ten miles
heard his loneliness sing through
my tires

I turned around went back
glad I had found a care a heart
concern for someone other than I

And got back to that corner  
empty , it was. No man no sign no backpack no worldly belongings
alone on a corner of a highway in Alabama.

I rode my way back home. decided to take a day off
and think.

me, and all, covering up
the true essences
the real me, the real you,
the night's passionate
echoes the smell of Wisteria
left on sheets, there in the
soil, dark life giving moistness,
the furrows plowed,
the rows and rows tilled,
belongs me, belongs you,
emerging, sprouting,
beginning to love, and justness,
just as our roots push down, emerges,
from the loam, a new
song a, new me,
a new you.