like missing that other part of you
you knew was gone but could not
quite put a finger on
and left me alone?
Like me were you somehow not quite there
and saw you floating somewhere
above looking down
out on a cliff looking around
or above everything wondering if
me or you was really real?
Then I was me and you were too.

Three bars
                      of 10 chords
hum
                        with me
11
                      more
times
               vocally
slam
eternity

there of
course     is no
distess

just
songs sung
           in duress
of one
voice

hum

with


me.

know it or
not
are infinite
unseperable
unfathomable
from the stardust
like mass
energy gravity
can not be created
nor ever destroyed
just dust
next time
you might
be a star
or a tree
or the dirt
feeding
a beautiful
flower
it's
in you now,
look ,
look truly
around
you might
be a meteor
or part
of the backdrop
for the
greatest play
a mold spore
that might cure
pneumonia
in a gasping
child
or a cookie
a flea on back of a
galloping horse
in some future war
or a molecule
colliding with Hydrogen
to blow the world to hell
or what seems
insignificant
a dot a speck
in this grand
Universe.
But, you
are.

higher!!!! more
   in tune: more cognizant:
helpful,

instead of burying my head
   let me:
help an old lady,

feed a stray kitten,
     instead of grey
matter:  stacking in me.

self absorbed: get off
     my throne: say,
what might I do for you?

Can I wash your dishes?
        take out your garbage?
Buy you groceries.

Teach you two plus two?
           equals us and
the future.

Or assist a dog *******
              starving hungry,
with giving a bone?

Where is my happiness?
            is it in wobbly drunkenness?
I am asking,

All these questions;
      of me:
not of you.

sent
scents
cents spent
two sense
nonsense
borrowed meant
reminiscent
cognizant
irrelevant
a presence
or a present
presenting
my bent
sixth sense
sent

I strive to make a melody harmonic
out of all the various keys
and rhythms

no facts are sure no eminence is more gloried
no thoughts more pure
ten times the day is logged into
papers artifacts and journals
they say more than any book
real life the essences
of skin and flesh and bone
ten times the brain stems energy
into a theory a rainbow a painting a poem
written down under tears stains sobs
catching breaths
onto last months utility bill
or the latest eviction notice
a  masterpiece of hearted stone words lost
in the next day's trash pickup and the
***** stinking men sweating
running behind
the loud crushing metal truck the plastic
bins thrown casually into with
callous ignorance go the memories of lost souls
poets who might have made
Emerson cry choke
feel

me sweet
me breath me
breadth my depth
me baby my maybe?

My hope
my dope
me crack
I lack

you are
what I desire
my fire me star me
rage
my calm
me psalm
me tomorrow

My yesterday
my night
my awaking
my sight

I will
seek forever,
you.

I do,
will await

you,
tonight.

oh come  on !
who did this ?
a ten year old?
the font the spacing is all wrong:
it says on the title line Hello Poetry,
on one page then yrteoP olleH  
on another ;
is totally  not the HP I joined  or
would have had it looked this way.

Just there like a sparkle in her eye
I was,
a moist glow a tear about to fall
a shine,
She made me what I felt
a heart glow,
Most careful when viewed
in her eye,
incredible the feeling
beautiful,
poised on the precipice
of her,
time

we measure
weighted down by swollen *******
egos found
on doctor's tables
or bankbook treasures.

We never weigh the heart within
ignore the instincts
give in to pressures of being seen,
never weigh
the weights of being
or pleasuring.

Giving beneath my feet,
I am so immense,
I crumble rocks, I climb across
chasms, I fell into an avalanche,
was covered up. I was humbled.
I lied beneath, deprived of oxygen.

I clawed, a way out!

in the lawn just looking
a day the sky was blue
mostly cloudless
as I sat on the stoop
smoking a PallMall
around noon
it was
I happened to notice
in the midst of the green grass
hiding maybe
was a tiny clover
smaller than a blade of grass
a miniature of the normal
variety
I studied it and thought
how many things
have I missed
in this world

My fairy crack mother
    I hear her well,
tales of
    lil' Jack whorer
and wolfy men
    sellin' wares on the corner.

I stuck in me thumb
    a tooth under me pillo'
I pull out a plum-
     in the hood- you know,
smoked quite a few-

     Lil' red ridin' the hood
she was, so good!
     I knew-
So few, the fairy tales,
     ever came true!

.

prejudiced both against each other and , see
a red squirrel or fox the same, as a conveyer, of seeds.
The pine tree, or cedar, just as me, grows acidic
green year round, day and night, commenting little as
possible striving to get the sun and water,
not judging the broadleaf nor the four leaf clovers,
just rising above the reaches of it all.
Flora vs. Fauna,
aura in clorophyll, or flesh
the squirrels don't care what species,
color, race , gender, or whether you
like hims or hers,
just put in their pouch whatever, stand on back legs,
laughingly adorable, going their way.

even with misspeelings and quotational **** ups and missed
opportunities like our hearts are on fire
and burning with the spirit of Byron
or Browning, we write and I want to bow to all you ,
who like me have something to say,
whether you are reincarnated Bard,
or a hard working slob, like me,
at the end of the day,
if someone sees and relates that is all it means.
I would enjoy being Whitman,
but then, that would mean I was dead.
I am not Chilean, so I could not be Neruda.
I am not female but Sylvia relates to me.
And so, we write, on and on.
It may be a gift or a sickness.
We just have to.
I take a lack of talent
and make it useful.
It is to me.

the  best of melodies
with short rest -
the breathe of woodwinds
air;

conductor's
control of
movements
in  space and time

in love with
the color and smell of her

the every cymbal crashes;
the contrabass echoes
deep
the heart
       beats

heights reached
are  tender sighs
orchestral
*******

open  go
to then outside
where half a moon glows
into the grey blue sky

ghost as  the trees
dissolve in the grey
mysterious things
like elvish beings

cloaked in darkness
their limbs sway
creak, wave in the torrid breeze
to me

on a step forward
my foot touches a terrible
thing, creature from
my nether dream.

all the heartbeat stops
but the sound of an
echo of the
beat in my ears,

till I realize
that small unseen creatures
surely know
my weakness'

A curdling
of my remains
so drawn up,
into a knot

of white dots there
so aware in my eyes

a piano quartet
opposed an orchestra
on a stage
somewhere in
Prague
along the lines of a battle of the stars
I watched
glistening composed

as the pianos chorded on
the violas and flutes bass drums
clarinets
resounded back
their answers
as I heard the crescendos the tête–à–tête's
the bravados
the claims made by the piano strings
almost immediately
came a retort from the
bold deep cellos
on stage

and shrill the pianos all four resounded in
questioning and the orchestra
became all hinged in
higher and higher
spine tingling notes
and the bass resounded
deep within
and the conductor danced

the hall became a rave
the tuxedo'd dude
jumped headlong into the crowd
on arms was sent to the back of the crowd
and forward again
then silence as he mounted the stage in triumph
raised his arms

and the whole ****** stage enlivened
the audience cheered
lighters were lit
and champagne busted
everyone got wet
I experienced a glimpse
of
Symphonic gorgeousness
and piano men
conjoin
to
make heaven

I lost my faith
in horoscopes for so long.
Until this week.
When i read last week's
horoscope.
It stated it was  my week
to get rich, a bounty of happiness
if I just played a dollar on
19, 27, 28, 29, 33 and 53.
I had  no faith.
Until I read this week the Florida
winning numbers were
19, 27, 28, 29, 33 and 53.
Last week.
I am so not superstitious,
or pre-determined , until now.
And still broke!

the rose
are underground
but if I sent my baby some roots
she would not understand

The pine
her sap inside
gets so tall from way down under
the squirrels scurry not understanding

so us
so briefly inhabiting
growing so strong mentally
may need to remember stand under

a long
while to catch up to
a squirrel or flower or long leaf pine
to determine what the most
important parts are

and then go down deeper into
our mental soil to find the roots
of our subsisting our existence
the hidden meanings of all of us

consider building perhaps a glass encased farm
to study like ants: us.

Up, on the tip of the flame
  White dancing disappearing.
Buried in cellular flames deep
    Within embers embraced.
As fleeting as a flicker
       Becomes smoke the ashes waft
Dust into air into living and breath.
Stolen froth off the timeless beasts
     Mouth, the masters revoke your
Sentence, to become a mounted steed
      A father.
And they mate, not by threats
        But loyalty not by chance
But lusts analogy
   To love.
As therefore matters are made
       Your majesty, the creator,
Gaveth thy dagger
          And her sheath.
And fires dance to flicker
  Airs to breathe
       Like water
To quench thirst
         And matters
Of nature to worship.
Nothing less.
     Nothing more.
Noble as any kings conception.
      Yet, personal.
Appropriate by design,
     Thus dawns
             Origin.

I felt for the first time
when she left
by then way too late
alone in a motel room  at twelve  midnight
with the neon bar sign outside glowing
the traffic of the bypass
almost singing  a woeful tune a full
ashtray an ember burning my careless
fingertips
tomorrow
and hope so *******  long past
my beard growing  every second grayer
an inch
itching it's way through
like despair
on an express train
to nowhere
again

once absent of key
chords wound around
had we thought of this before
may we have been more profound
planned the soliloguy
stood more proud and determined
took more practice in plans
more days before we auditioned
had more deft a ******* more
understanding
a lighter touch a romantic
view
questions are so lingering
and time ticking on
I find time
four three cadence and harmony
hard to determine

when I looked up
over the hand I was dealt
I folded again
the Ace of spades
for me had  no value
and the ace of clubs
to me  was worthless
in my game
and I hid the ace of hearts
in my breast pocket
hoping to trump the queen
of my hearts desire
but once i  saw duces full
and treys four
of my  opponents
spread
I slyly said
look , the police
and grabbed the
till and ran
like hell/

O'fer stimulated master debated
hotly
whisteled
bottles o' beer
on the jukebox
burning suntans
watching
n'
naturally wondering what
occurred.

beautiful
unfolding              innumerable
            lain out virginal
before me               a veritable
               sated eternity
Were I                      but to
               choose
left              or                    right

Jerome
The gnome
And
Mary Gold
Just
Alone in the garden
Wishing
To recreate
Animate like
The bunnies
And squirrels
Its the same every day
Their shadows fall
The same
But never
Touch.
Jerome
And
Mary.
So close
And yet
So far
Away

enough money or beer or drugs to ever get
over the mountaintop not
enough sense left to see when
I am sinking

You gotta hate the aftermath , don't you?
of love, of  pain and suffering, or perhaps
the briefest of affairs

hard to see the top of the clouds
when earthbound,  or the darker
things lurking

in the brilliance
of a smile hiding
false things,

spoken words is all
I can  hear , not the
undertow of the sea
tides ebb flow,

so I go forth valiant
only to be struck in the
weakest spot
and lie bleeding,

not ever seeing
her meanings

Then I guessed right telling you
You could keep your hat on peeking
at you with that new found sexiness
A beret pulled down over your left eye
hands on your hips leaning left that right hip sharp as a knife
A sly smile the picture
Of total sexiness
On my king bed

seductive
A vision
You made me fall in love

for once I knew what it was all about
The release more than
Just *******
The talk the kissing the interest the contentment
The total need, the wanting to spend
Mornings naked cuddled in sheets
On the couch crying
Watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's"
Again.  Even "Forrest Gump"
Totally comfortable to let you see
Me vulnerable. More than naked.
See my soul.
I turned you on to grits.
Was happy to see you like your eggs
Sunny side up
And bacon crisp,
We are so much alike.

And that look in your eyes as I was pleasing you like a mirror
face to face connected in body in
Soul in space in time in eternity.

Nirvanna.
I now know what
Peace is.
Thank you my
Eternal.

is true
I want what all men want
surely

a princess
pure
virginal

She my Queen
my lady
her cheeks roses.

Glory I ask
that I may
dedicate my life

To privilege
to but hold
her hand,

to defend
her honor bold,
without question,

or fears, to
be her Knight,
were I but worthy.

To my queen,
I look at you
as my
Dulcinea.

Might I always
wake to
such a vision.

As my most obsession
    God's creation
floating on my shoulders
      adrift on my island
off a rocky coast
      the gulf widening
'tween the ears
      I float, look in, at what is left behind,
as I sink to find my oyster
      I find an empty shell;
shucked years ago, slurped the salty flesh,
so,
many years ago, washed down then, I thought,
in
Alcohol, my Life Vest-
      it all was dreams,
holding to one post remaining
from a queens bed-
thought, how it kept me afloat-
Oh, how wrong can one be?
the floating wood,
was my anchor,
I mis-thought.

top of the heap
you are King
and along comes someone to show you a thing
a new way of doing what you have done for years

at first, you judge him by his looks, only,
his long hair his ragged jeans
his sandals and ***** feet
his passivity his long beard

and he looks preoccupied
taken away by drugs or drink
his mind blown by crack
**** or LSD

he seems to hover so slow so deeply
occupied in a world he made for
himself burnt out we
used to call it

then when the day is over and you look
closer at the results and not the
scruffy exterior
you see he outdid you

and you have been the
King for thirty years
knew it all
you thought you were sure

and here this man rides in
on a stinking mule
in sandals looking like
a beggar

and changes every ******* thing?

someone done stole my baby
ran off with her in the night
updated her right out of my life
put her in some hideous makeup
made her a ****
a lowclass streetwalker
I search everywhere
can I get her back?

I am leaving.  Have to see if real life is reality.

the body knows
the outside
percepts of
hallucination direct
in realism
or skepticism.
the world
spins real
and in perception
and intuitions
luck plays its' part!

Used to be
Simply
Reading 'riting 'rithmetic
Little kids sat and dreamt
But seems now
Since Columbine
Those letters stand
For running 'rithing react
Quickly to loud bangs
Lock the doors
Hide under desks
Wait for swat
Pray you make it.
Let's thank all the drugs
Given to kids
Since birth when they
Cry too much
Or throw a fit
Thank the NRA
And your on the dole
Senators and representatives.
Thank the mental health cutbacks
In the budget
Thanks deadbeat parents.
Thanks to society for
Making life the things we
Value least.
But hero's and martyrs
Have been made too,
Along with all the dollars
For reelection campaigns.
So, next time your child heads off
For school
Hug the ******* hell
Out of them.
It just may be
The last chance
You ever get
To tell them
That you love them.

tense the leaves swing on
their tender stems displaying
the wind soft breezes

tender is abstract realism
that falls between those raw reds those
screaming yellows
calls out in blues
the nearest flesh color
the wildest neon signs on
the  parkway  between
two highways
overpassed

grass is greener,
I suppose I believe it.
The snow is fluffier
the way is easier walking
across the fence,
the roses redder
the sky =brighter
the night shorter
around the corner.
For you.

I remember you green  last September, moist proud glimmering
dew in the morning sun, you dressed beautiful in,
and the mockingbirds stutter from the electric lines
saying, Why?
Are you brown?

The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know:
I am too dumbly in my being pent.

The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.

The malady of the quotidian . . .
Perhaps if summer ever came to rest
And lengthened, deepened, comforted, caressed
Through days like oceans in obsidian

Horizons, full of night's midsummer blaze;
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze;

One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.

if anything like me
you tire of chasing your
tail around the table

if you are like me
at all you smell , occasionally
your own and bathe

or Febreeze, if
you are crazy, like me
in a good way

you write stupid ****
remove it when you
come down,

if you like just saying
hi, or smiling at every
passerby, you and me

can have a drink
together, I am buying.

naive naivette recent
realizing wet dew glistening foreheads seeing
pearlescent
                      visionary hallucinations
innocent shadows  purplish
                                     resolved by
misfires synapses coding
                                   reality into
past, futures, trying with all my endorphins,
the pipe or
                   organs
to make a sound which
              sounds like a riff,
or  
eternally
                  making
up the
    replaying
scents of childhood's
                          lost visions...

occupy the windows things
the  outside lights and fleeting visions
live like a reflection always looking out
and never in

stand in the sun and hide
from tangibles that glow in
the insides shine the
things you hide

that to everyone
are obvious like elephants
your signature your
dispositions I guess

convert and consecrations
your only sin
but you turn away when looking at the
colored glass

the cross a searing soldier told
to wipe your secondhand mind
clean and when you find
the answers I will speak in sentences

My dawn
That this vision
The one in which I'm
Seeing myself on a mountain
Evolved more  human feeling
Prouder and seasoned empathetic  and needy, a small part of the scenery
A drop of  drip a tiny thing a part
Of the whole picture an atom spinning equal to all others
Not superior or special.
In no way just relational
Seeing for once
The majesty of it all.
Hormones be ****** testimonial
I'm man because I am not
Emotional
Calm as the wind or just as
Unconditional. Then gust me down
To the valley in the
Vaginal calm the ****** of my birth
Seeking rebirth
I coiled up fetile

snuck up on me in my drunken sleep
saw me snoring and  stupored  decided to keep on going
saw the piles of  cans in the corner
and snorted what a slob
I won't  waste precious energy here
went down the street, once did,
around the corner to her house ,
I don't  blame him, I once went there,
with a cheap bottle of whiskey
and she was fair, if but too talkative

forever goes whether we know it if we
breathe or don't it goes
like a donkey
in a cart slow
or fast speeds on  highways
in  Ferrari's or on the lawn with
our kid's
or looking back at pictures
or boiling water,
if we don't look at it
while it happens.

recoil in agony
remembering seeing you
standing in the rain
cryingtearsstainedmascara
covering my world with anger
myfistsclenchedwantingtostrangle
him you black and so blue
you defending him
the rain fell for days
in stupid bursts of putrid

the curtains pulled
on all the world black
the heavens cried the grass leaned over in brown agony
the evergreen tree lost all it's needles
the squirrels stopped gathering
for you
give me
ten minutes
to talk
will you girl

have I heard a poem
as good as the trail nymph
recited,
speaking breathless of a soft pine needle
patch one might find near the peak of the hill
          where sun freckles alight playful
                 beds soft as a doe with fawn might desire?
Right up there, she silently said, past the curve of that creek
head up the root covered hill, just a few feet farther. I followed her gaze,
nearer than you imagine,
I did hear her,

saw her taut arm and lithe finger point me to there. Then she told me, you will find a poet there.

      in sunlight patches and growing lichen and moss covered wisdom
you will find him there.

He will bestow a poem to you, a wise and memorable poem, but, promise me to treasure it faithfully.
          
When I awoke,
there where I was led, on that peak of the hill
                  and the bed of needles amid
  many birds, scurrying animals, silent and speckled by daubs of sun and limb, I heard it.