where it should not be
or false memories
just fog closing around me dense
all contrast lost in senselessness

can we all hunker down
under the Magnolias
in the sand of the Plantation
driveway under
a confederate flag anymore?

draw our plans like Lee
would have, with a saber
a picture of lines
scribbled in the sand-
our carbine- loaded by our side
at the ready
our heritage the old war
or states rights
or slavery

when so much time and  lives
have passed
and people oughta know more
about peoples,
about history,
about struggling

which all races do.
It wasn't pretty then.
Not the least bit.
And cotton , high or otherwise,
needs no slavery,
and bigotry is
ancient as
sorghum and
horse meat.

And man is man, proven to depend on a
falsity or hate  to
defend his ancestry, his teachings,
instead of the question.

Here, with a stick
I scribble, while
down hunkering,
the least threatening position,
to ask of myself,
have I done what
I could. And the answer
of course,
the black man and the Mexican,
the Redman, the sensible ,
might answer, is
it will take time.
Do we have enough?

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.

face down
       in the drain
my diary i write
       drops
in my brain
       soot
clings
       to my creosote
never burnt off
resolute
       chimney
unwept memory polluted
of days
past
clinging.

Night, the sky is at times brightest.
Cries, the loudest.
Clowns can be funniest,
darkness may flourish,
unrestrained by sight.
in still, needs are fed
unseen, waterfalls
of poetic creativeness crash and flow between
streaming, down rocks, down dreams.
Plays, romances
are written.
Life, is renewing by rest. Or dark seeing.
Days are awaiting,
in the darkness

Joni sang:

Everything comes and goes
Marked by lovers and styles of clothes
Things that you held high
And told yourself were true
Lost or changing as the days come down to you
Down to you
Constant stranger
You're a kind person
You're a cold person too
It's down to you
You go down to the pick up station
Craving warmth and beauty
You settle for less than fascination
A few drinks later you're not so choosy
When the closing lights strip off the shadows
On this strange new flesh you've found
Clutching the night to you like a fig leaf
You hurry
To the blackness
And the blankets
To lay down an impression
And your loneliness
In the morning there are lovers in the street
They look so high
You brush against a stranger
And you both apologize
Old friends seem indifferent
You must…

on
  the
     river
where
  
a twig
  leaf
    a bit of
there

float
   down
       stream
aware

the tug
    tow
       drift
abounds

I feel
    almost
        calm
surrender

to life's
     magnets
         cores
electrons

all that's
      in me
          deeper
where

I feel
      that
            draw
that

picture
       of a curve
            an undertow
framed

in sudden
      cold a
           splash
wetter

than any
       euphism
            I spew
******

pull the moon's chain
lights out for
another day
make the stars quiet
the clouds stay
in place

Almost
There
But in between
A darker glow
Somewhere
meanings
Often show
The utter folly we
Bestow
On concrete things
That do not
Glow
At all
on walls
Or beings
As
rainbows
Glow all
In between
The rain
And sun
How bittersweet
Remembrance
Is still
In silence shows
That all
Is never what you
Mean
And what you see
Is not the
Thing
That echoes
Back the haunted
Ring
As my
Eyelids close
To dream
And dream
And dream....

misty haze awake the stars behind eyelids closed
asleep, you and I sleep...
and you and I are deep.

developing contrapuntal visions as you ride the wake
anon sounds deep sleep successively
around as entries echo repeat
astounding voice guide and ethereal choice
in three separate sections note

we awaken
the short main theme
the exposition is complete
and now we are as one.

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.

misty haze awake the stars behind eyelids closed
asleep, you and I sleep...
and you and I are deep.

developing contrapuntal visions as you ride the wake
anon sounds deep sleep successively
around as entries echo repeat
astounding voice guide and ethereal choice
in three separate sections note

we awaken
the short main theme
the exposition is complete
and now we are as one.

I sing a dreamland fugue
outside your  balcony,
call for you-Stella!!!
wait for you to come
into the night  make the glorious moon envy,
or, if in the morn, make the sun to set for your glory will
surely light all the skies.
I say, anon, and hark and woe, using every word in my
repertoire
singing below your balcony,
off key
a tad wobbly
Shakespeare
and Beethoven not my strong suits.
So I will instead,
play from my I-phone,
Led Zeppelin,
Over the Hills,
and sing ,
shyly off key,
Hey Lady!!

From the aura emanating
From the
Forest and grass and the sky
Swelling up
Black
With ominous clouds
A tear drop
Fell from my eye
And thunder rang out
The heavens burst
I was ready

Ready for the end
I didn't see how I
Could keep
Going on
The whole of the earth
Seemed to be agreeing
It was darkening
And I and the universe
Were alone

I slept

I walked the meadows
Sunshine lit wildflowers
Blooming and grass velvet
Animals came up to greet me
The buck I killed
Ten years ago,
My dog, who ran away
When I cursed God.
The kittens I couldnt keep
Alive and the images
Of carcasses on the packing
Room floor.

And I met a man. Weathered face so red. His hands leather like the sole
Of mocassins who said
"The mother earth has sent me, son.
To give you peace in your passages"
We walked together silent.
In his presence I felt the need for
Storms the very essence of the rain.

As I wiped my eyes.  I awoke.
Dazed but new I gathered
That dream as best I could.
I wish he had told me his name.
But. Names he taught me,
In the short time of my dream are not really real.

Dreams
Are

cosmetic, are the ways we decide
to be or not to be:
excuse that;
falsehood is realty, sales are all we seek.

democratic, economic senses
falsely impersonate with  store bought ****
lifted faces

money is enough when selling or buying
push it to get the best deal
it 's common sense

I see traces though, of
humility, when looking at faces.
Can't seem to play the game?

glowing, a dream
    of surreal heartbeats
incandescent omniscient eyes
    knowing it seems
what I am about to think
    hope is more fearing of
daylight as I long more
    with each night, every dream
hear the ghostly footsteps
    nearer when I wake,
then in any nightmare.

There the similarities of alive
     with death outpace
the differences, dreams knit
      more peace , hope than
awakening thought, they twine from the same ball
      unrolling vice versa

the fog gets a brighter green a glow
   days get so long and gray
and dreams tomorrow
     I may stay in.

There is no madness
Darker farther
Than the depths
Of losing a daughter
I sit now praying
Her soul is
In heaven
And everyday
Is peace and warmth
And how I mourn
Her memory
Study her every feature
And how I
Wish to be again
Her father
And kiss her forehead
Tell her I love her
But grace is fallow
And nature cruel
And bad things
Can happen I knew
But I was only
Thinking that
The very day
You skinned your
Knee biking
I never knew
I'd be forever
Cursed to dream
Without you

almost  this thirst
desire for a first time
which is gone
in reality
so long ago a dust covered memory
to uncover new
so
I convert
feelings into words memories
into letters
*** into objects
nouns and tense
adverbs into tall structures
living in my dream world

pounding working a sweet sweat up
toiling the ground of earths' belly
plunging as far in as possible
as deep as deeper going goes
as the pressure builds from down under
trying to stay aware of a gusher
or a pre-mature *******
the drill spinning the earth reeling making
groans that emanate from way down deep
the temperature with each ****** spin ******* rising,
higher louder from deeper from somewhere
hidden until now, then, releasing the earths' buried treasures
the earth filling the sky the horizon with releases.

bleed not out which is what many do
just trickle
down my leg my arm
i guess I have no courage left
to just say that's it
i bleed slow
in small rivulets
like asking for acceptance
for the small crowd the
hero
or heroine to fly in
and save what's left
but it isn't happening
I lick my wounds
and go back
to another
false hope another
dream
make my floor catch
the drips

At the 10 o'clock streetlight arc
glowing
sweet sweat our desires glistening
knowing
effervesce in the build ups

like dew on dry dead grass now
growing
a cigar split open green
burns
I lean in huskily mean
whisper
have a hit of this
you groan in answer
giggle
a lil' bit take me now you
said.

from the eaves
into warm puddles by my feet
always falling are meanings

each drop
    every one
from eye or sky
    on window,
cheek,
      crys

there she is the ideal the greatest creation ever
her womb just magical touching heaven
as no word from psalms or human designs ever could
and I worship her
her beauty and her brevity so fleeting
I sigh in awe
I cry when I am granted entrance
I feel as though
a kingdom has  been opened
a wish upon the first star has
been granted every time
the body woman
the perfect form
graces me eyes
with but a glimpse
and I have been granted
a few times
her majesty her warmth her charms
so how could I not praise or sing
about
how might I go without her
day to day
but hope and positive
thinking
or save enough memory
to get me
through any drought

My little English unstable friend,
Wobbling out of sidewalks onto streets, that lead to nevers
Alleyways and deadends
Along the wharf the parkway bends
The sailor has been thus way forever,
But you are but a drunken carpenter,
Your legs are accustomed to roofs and hallways, the legs get all wobbly on
This stream and even some astute drunken sailors have drowned, but keep up stumble on ways into the blackness become a floating warning
Come tomorrow morn, lad.
You know.
The faults of all are envy lust and too much broth at the bar,
The bar, the bar  down on
Wharf avenue.

I party Take
my ******* display
drunk
all it's one
inch glories
all the ones who
saw it did not laugh
they choked down and
said
(for five more bucks)
how big it was.

and drown in the desert
fall from eyes a dry tear and witness
the effects
that spoken words have
between mountains and winds that might be taken
in in sorrow but bless all
are not listened to
when all is golden
and so never
answered when you need help.
It is left to us
to resolve if hypocrisy
is to blame or
are acrid tears
always meant to fall
on deaf ears.
Tears are meant.

And deserts die.
The rain is wet.

once bitter I found sweets
hidden
in my own cookie jar

had to take the vinegar out
first, pour it in the
yard

as the wise palm reader
had proposed
and lend my

soul to the unforgiven
had to make a balm of
wild toad legs

and bat wings and geese eggs and
mayonnaise and vinegar...
**** I already poured it

out in the yard, so
a little red dirt and vinegar
and it seemed to work

quite nice, I had no more bitter
thoughts
just gagged

when I tried to drink it
I pretended  to swallow
and it ran down

my cheeks
haha memories there
*******

but things seemed
to lighten up
and the sun

seemed brighter and the
night
not as dark

and I went to the palm reader
again
the next week

she didn't remember me
said when she looked
at my palm

you need
to
get laid, dude

your palm
is raw

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.

a bit shocking to hear
how I look like I am dying
when I spent the last six nights awake
creating

I asked, seriously?
but I feel like I
have never been this alive,
I must have really

poured my heart out,
I feel refreshed
ready to spend
another fortnight or so

dying
on the blank page

in the week when I fell in love
once every night
I rolled sevens like eleven times

seemed like my luck
was rabbit's footed  
and four leaf clover abundant

seven years bad luck ended
with a breakfast of
hog jowls and black eyed peas

and the garden grew fine
untended tall corn turnips
sunflowers like

a Van Gogh painting
that suddenly had
a door to the church

open , and two white irises
in a field of  purple
amazed flowers

such was the week the
dalliance of harvest moon
early in November

once then a time been a morn' shine a day grown
into a full year it seems stunningly glare-ing
me into a sudden reality
it spoke commonly about
a heart and a wink a kiss a soft shoulder
pink
on a bank of a river flowed
small animals testaments
they gathered round
for this was magical
a story of  
many textual diddy contraptions and she
was sure
me was her one
and it hearted warmed calmed me
and felt me like I needed
all surety and  conceptions with dreams
all colliding
in stardust dreams and moonbeams
with moon pies and hot coffee
and confessions
penetrations are awaiting
ears are amazing

the seasonings in the meat and
simmering on the stove now
the oven pre-heating
it's taco night
I got quite the audience
3 kittens and Missy
all watching it so intently
I can read their eyes and minds
they are thinking
hot **** we gonna
eat good tonights

as we go surely confident through
the words coursing like platelets
filled with oxygen and iron
into the open turn red turn flowing
denying death with our tourniquets
of bandaged words our mangled verbs
stopping that flow flowing on
for one last second to call
out our virulence as the light dims
our strength ebbs
and our calls echo

capture wings of butterflies
sunsets roses, moons and stars,
resolve around elegant tapestry
woven white doilies.
Rearrange
the synaptic fireworks ,
compose Beethoven's next symphony
study Freud's last dream.
Echo, echo....
make the new love
an urgent poem,
play it from imagination
'til realization.
echo......
into eternity.......

I reduce to reality a flip side of ecstasy
expect and seek apathy from all i transpose
a portal of dress makeup

like a woman's false eyelashes fluttering
I look away to the Big Girl lonely
want to take her home
make someones day

nave I may be speaking psalms deaf
to the chancel fictionally impostering
a vital boundary approaching
plays the part of ecstasy knowingly
i am
apathetic.

Blind.

If I were  painted a long time ago
in say Renaissance times, two dimensions,
I might be a saint-
or a revolutionary-
I was stroked
of harsh defiant bold colors
when portraits were cast in canvas
bronze overtones of gesso and black only
washes of contrast
the tone built up
with layers of translucence
and bone colored washes
and hung on a wall and try though I might
the egg tempera
earth tones deeper than
olive oil on a live model
wore off
and  the canvas warped
the wood grew skewed
and the museum had me
cremated
along side
a dog and scattered in the
woods
just as I had hoped

eighth
month halo
of heat searing seeming
like it will never cease burning sun
riveting my sweat dripping to my forehead
delicious
devious
out of
the
shadows
burning!!

she said to me that warm July
as she put all the roses I
could find fully blooming that day
into a crystal vase and smiled

she then tasted the chocolates
which I had spent my last dime on
for her my sweetest gift deserved
and I saw her close her eyes like

she had me   in mind and heart but
then she said what else do you got?
I thought how could  I be so  blind
to think she might'a fell for me

she has  the entire countryside
trying to look up her long skirt
all the young lads flirting with her
why was I so naive and dumb

to think she could settle for me
so, in anger I stated , your
sister is too young for me ,but
fairer, so I guess I will have

a  lot of explaining to do,
which made her look, a bit too late
open her mouth in shock gasp
while I took the flowers chocolates
and my admiration to the girl
next door to hers.

alight a path of excited neurons
saved by corporeal fuses
sacrificed fried to save
my head from overloads all the
amperage storing up
Danger High Voltage!!!

flows inside from too much reality.

I need your alternating current
to mediate my DC.
To my Tesla, like, you are , Miss Whitman.
To your Edison I am but one spark of Voltaire.

You sing of electric bodies ten million volts.
I imitate Voltaire as he did Virgil.
If someday we should unite,
our sparks would alight on eternity.

elegy to the brief existence of my realizing others
never easy to confuse dizzy with an epiphany
feeling drunk with caring with being high on life
or caring for me as doing right for my neighbor
I fly now on drugs so much better
so much greater high I get wings are on my back,
or I try to, get them like an angel, or Jesus Christ.
Is it wrong to aspire to?

I wish I had was and were
in control
gained a power
over them
those wistful verbs
with too much
to do with my today
but if
and could are not very likely
to cause
my words to be
more impressively
effective
at changing
anything.

I, like a matrix...
transpose myself and my ability to feel
into a sentient being (quite
immense , a task)
If you ask?

Reflect the element A to the I
as A feels:
repeat the  processes
until we return...

with the feelings of the other,
intact;  sharing the burdens
emotions, the hard facts
felt not with tactile touch
but,

through compassion. It may
take triangulating or strangulating reason, departing
from the safe sanity (in);
It may take Egotism to think that way.

Use your imagination.

falling down the sandglass so
endlessly each grain second
so stopped a thought
stranded another grain of creative angst there
between the glasses skinny part
I sit whispering curses
I forget the
lines I had in memory when
I tried to write them down
turn that god ****** thing over
again
it is stuck

Sitting here
Figuratively  my finger up my ***
Powerless
A drop in the ocean
With dreams impassioned
Still, big ideas that rhyme on time
A flow of future a heart beats
Thus, glowing dumb
Numb stunned besmirked,
Overlooked in the stands of larger
Success
An old building, perhaps,
A facade of stone not bright
Shiny metals.
Or a tomb perchance
Noble and sainted,
The chapel of baptismal fonts
Where sinners are washed,
And saints walk out,
A field burnt in spring
Full of orchids arching
Long petals up in hope in summer,
Of reaching that one thing
We all live for, yet
Grounded
A metal jacket bound around our thinking
And hymns.
Someday to flower
In sunrises of knowledge all
Together in whatever
Our wildest visions
Enable.

Lanes
Alleys long paths.
Dreamscapes.  
Valleys of fallen rock,
A stream trickling through it.
Carving slowly to the bed
Rock beginning
Just south of the choctawahatchee
Where the Sand white as snow
Makes false santas,in fall
And there then
As bushes thorny grey
Close in
Encompass,it all
Then

The

Most kiss,often
Comes
Whilst

In a mirror
On a cold day in
December

From a moist breath
From the north pole

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.

I want to thank all who contributed, viewed, commented, shared.

Community poem

Every day I reveal
I give a little more
something special, so real to life
a different side of life
those pieces of me no one can steal
every night I'm where it takes me
to where I find that part of me
that needs no excuses
nothing to change
nothing to add to
But what if it isn't the truth? What if I am a product of fear? When I look at my keyboard, I remember things I cannot say aloud. That is the darkness.
nothing to subtract
the fairy of all things sharp and dangerous.
a day in the sun a light
That casts no shadow,
Pushing through all darkness
To reveal the only truth
a smackeral here,
a smidgen there
i stitch into the weave
as my truth
as i can bare,
leaving me naked
and bereft
but as a milliner of words
so fine
I stitch together a tapestry
of twine
upon a silken bed of shadow
the words, they matter
on the morrow
Twisted threads of golden thought
weaves crimson tears
that taught
the one that orates
as they weave
leaves a pattern
that can't deceive
cleft, my palette
of words, sacred,
alone but not forsaken-
created, awakened and tasted
and i stop for a while
to taste the silence between words
the echoes of my steps
roaming inside a dream
Chinese boxes with corners that
domino like the seals
of envelopes, they
stick to sticky
seals of words,
telling of straw earth.
sinkhole, the word frightened me as a child
even now I tread lightly
allaying the inevitable
i tread lightly, lightly... allaying
the inevitable
babble of...
"lustful gushing
of wordlove
that cascades
from my brain
enervated, regenerated
obligated
to explain
the gears
and cogs
of this
clockwork world
write....again
and again
the never ending
refrain
oh listen to the silence
listen
between the words
from
the death of one breath;
to
the birth of the next

I wish to make a poem  of community involvement. I have started it with the first four words. It is an experiment to see what may be created by many minds, many contributions. To add to this poem, place your words you wish to add in Quotations  in a comment . All contributions will be added in sequence. All will be added, nothing deleted. Help if you can. Let us see what many might create.

10/12/2014
Now I wish to acknowledge all who contributed in order:

I wish to acknowledge all the authors who contributed to Community poem. In order of contribution:

Ana Sophia
Venusoul 7
Vicki Bashor
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Aussi Air
robert martin
Cheryl love
aivustianumus
Tryst
lizany
betterdays
Helen
r
irinia
Courtne­y Pruitt
patty m
betterdays
robert martin
Derick Smith

I gave as the silver regal plate passed by me a nine
nine pieces of eight and a piece of hate
drank the wine ate the mundane chip chewed
swallowed waited thought thanked prayed
eschewed rallied on brought faith forward as far
as genius made magi out of a can of
broken twigs frogs legs a bat wing
a man in a black suit white-necked hate him he
that white I see today I focused
on it that square white bright hope I prayed to as
he
the church disgraced me the laws beseeched and the regalia the royal riches paid but
he went on that black man the white neck the touching in salient the remedy for my sanity was
hate distrust a blank slate
ruined

that certain decorum the chug of
progress down tracks leading
far off growing together perspectives
as if horizons have personality
persona decorative mustaches
on poster board canvases in chalk
scribbled concrete bridge abutments
how the man on the hill chants come here
a cloudy guru like quality you
want need to believe fall for
because the tobacco-stained sidewalks
no longer describe your path
so you take refuge in homeless shelters
eat sup in soup kitchens in torn jeans
long unkempt hair and a bath
might be nice
the lentil soup may smell better
how you know constantly there up high
behind the glass in the steel sky eye
a man sits knowingly
pulling strings
yanking the tongues
out of your independence
just playing
like god
you huff
puff
and stare
completely...