what was  in the longest sleep I have ever had?
dreams of mistletoe or camels
the brunch with the Dalai Lama
or George Harrison's hair
in my hands,
and had I any dream?
I don't know....
just rest
for me,
a quiet peace.
a piece of God.

if I did have a large room of money
wwwwould that make me what,
ggggreedier
if I had ten thousand or
  ten million

would I be any richer
I would smoke most of it up
probably
but I promise

there would be
a few others
to get a piece of it

i promise....
every time I check
my lottery numbers....

a place in the past resting quiet
never forgotten
immortal immobile
glowing brightly
through all the years
through smiles and tears
now, through wrinkles
chapped lips
hurting knees
broken dreams
all seems
so innocently
perfect.
But, that I am looking
back, through
rose colored glasses.

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.

A drought in my state of being...
Every cloud, every storm deceiving
I prayed for the rain
Let it wash off the stain
Of my yesterday...

To the point of
Cursing everyone...
I found no comfort in the sun

One day... I awaken...
To the quiet of a thousand snowflakes
Forsaken...

****** for every flood
That drowned an eye...
Persecuted for her right
To ask
Why... it drowned them...

Gently beating on the pains
Of my window...
Soft and quiet, burying herself
Among the drifts...

And she asked this....

"Can I fall upon your earth?
Quench the soil and your thirst...
Give to you... a snow white dream...
Make the color fade away...
Black and white
Your everything..."

I wiped the frost from my eyes...

2016 copyright minedonttouch

Her arms so arabesque,
choreographed by Balanchine,
smoothly flow
raise and lower
in time to unheard melodies,
A Flamingo when this lady
dresses.
Bees and birds stop fluttering,
watch, as
she pulls those stockings
slow, so slowly
up her silky leg
to heaven.

Her arms so arabesque,
choreographed by Balanchine,
smoothly flow
raise and lower
in time to unheard melodies,
A Flamingo when this lady
dresses.
Bees and birds stop fluttering,
watch, as
she pulls those stockings
slow, so slowly
up her silky leg
to heaven.

When I was young I had a net,
caught Monarchs in it, fevers.
     lemonade smiles
swang up to the winged tops
       of those tall trees on it
ran around, topsy curvy chasing falling
     making green knees,
mom didn't  like me
       all brown and green
all hot and fevered.

sit beside my lonely ***
keep me cool on a hot day
make me appear as not affected
or anything is real
just an outlet letting the steam out
all the frustrations
of being just mortal
and    urinating is
natural
gets the poisons out

HP is flexible elastic rubbered band like
thought of it as home
static
I think I am getting old
the clouds match my mustache now
grey blue black strands
along the highway out to
the most popular band
we now got bell  bells
the whistle is a coming soon
and fever run one cause
it's gonna take
like fahrenheit 409
a degree or two hotter and
that is cool
I am not too old to adapt
I might be stiff
hey hey that's the way I have been

into being this idiot, thinking I could try to help
the worlds problems, I posited on what they were ?
hunger?, nuclear war?, Isis?,
when I saw one day it was me.
Caught within capitalism , then I imagined me
in a Communist nation,
or set down in the middle of Iraq,
or India, and saw me as so many of the people in
this world. Where on again, my circle came back around, again
to where I felt I can't make a difference. No one person can.
Then I imagined a world with all the rest of the poets gone.
No one to feel , to try to paint a future more real, or more
loving. And I began to write this. And ...I saw again why
why why my friend whether I write with the skills of Emerson,
or just dabble around, in the end it's all the same.

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.

so many bodies

in Spartacus' wake,
   his body never found
the historians say,
  six thousand men
crucified a horde of others
   dead, all along the banks
of the river Sale,
   in the High Sele Valley,
Nowhere was he found.
   His life a myth now.
His purpose also, a question mark,
    what his intent was ,
whether he tried to free enslaved people,
    or escape with his hoard into Gaul. His mission
and mistakes paint a vision..

She  
Stands for me!

Dressed up
All Pink and white
Glowing from tip to
Outspread reach

Hummingbird
Wings
Decorated

Both in sun in
Moon
A buzz

The chorus of nature
Majestic ingeniously
Being the freshest
Breath of
Spring

Of hope and
Beauty
Fair

of a sandwich a smoke a beer
at the end of a hard day
a word of praise
a smile from the world

cognizant of the real world
hardness and people's fears
worries
I sit and contemplate

why I feel so god ****** good
getting a Daily
when all I write is simple
heart and feelings and connecting

as much as I might to fellow
humans and their dreams
desires laugh
and try to cry with them

I got rewarded when you wrote back commented hearted
it's more than I deserve to be paraded as the Daily
but it was all of you who made it happen

and I won't forget or take it as my championing
it is ours our dream our sweetness our caring in full view now
the working man
the lone  poet

the songstress alone at her keyboard
a bit of song  a few hellos a heart a word here and there
not a popularity contest
each is equal to me
and deserving

this is your Daily, too
everyone
on HP!

Search the chorus for a proper voice
a noted ring, a centering of whispered scream
like a elm glade catering on a soul cliff

the cliff, flies unforgiving, with smoke sting
a pest, but faith's river flows through amazing
infuriatingly slow
through a windowpane  a pine vestige
We see nests unveiling
the falcon's spread magnificence
in September fade
remembering.

a lick to the ******* up my *** glowin' a white
boy on Jim Beam and nitro screams hell yes! without
the benefit of an amplifier ebony and ivory together
brings the old south to her knees
she begs tell me 'fore you **** I say yes then oops
sorry black betty
take a grain of salt with that
for twenty bucks
on the Choctawahatchee banks so way below
the yellow rivers
Mason / Dixon look out jealous
with crosses burning ten miles further south
we are in limited territory, look out
for the man,
and swallow.

It was on a quest we left Tupelo one night
about ten after midnight and made the coast of South Carolina
and her salty air at four carrying our backpacks loaded with Jack Daniels

We  shoveled along with worried brows, thought, we were followed.We had honey hope, innocence, and our quest would not be denied. We dug four million holes just in Alabama, no telling how many , as we slept many times in strange foreign lands read of the locals and ate their bread with gladness.
Walked and swam in currents that pulled and tormented, as we continued following our heart worrying  a little harder we got and stronger in this deed until we discovered Atlantis.
A small way, or half between Spain and France and Alabama, we found her. Buried by Shakespeare and covered with the ***** words of humanity, we dug up and exposed, our muse. She was death , and bones and honored her. We spoke of her beauty, not once but now.
For she symbolized destiny and how nothing really matters.

It was on a quest we left Tupelo one night
about ten after midnight and made the coast of South Carolina
and her salty air at four carrying our backpacks loaded with Jack Daniels

We  shoveled with worried brows we were followed.We had honey hope and innocence and our quest would not be denied. We dug four million holes just in Alabama, no telling how many , as we slept many times in strange foreign lands and read of the locals and ate their bread with gladness.
Walked and swam in currents that pulled and tormented, as we continued following our heart and torment and a little harder we got and stronger in this deed until we discovered Atlantis.
A small way, or half between Spain and France and Alabama, we found her. Buried by Shakespeare and covered with the ***** words of humanity, we dug up and exposed, our muse. She was death , and bones and honored her. We spoke of her beauty, not once but now.
For she symbolized destiny and how nothing really matters.

In what has become the daily
tallying of the sum
adding plusses
minuses divided by suns
a kept total
of souls
rung like molecules
none ever created
or spoiled,
is infinitely the same
- a quantum state-
where measuring
becomes the result
and the quotient.

rush around your day just stay calm
get things done but remember most of us
will see tomorrow
bring that urgency down to
that force making us rush
light to light
in a hurry perpetually like
we are going to get somewhere
Saturday is going to come and just like Tuesday
it begins with a sunrise and a rude
alarm clock bell
nothing to rush to
Wednesdays a race and Sunday is too

a contradictory metaphor, I see through,
the misty morning glows after,
I write under the influences of Poe or
Vanilla Ice songs in the backgrounds of my poetry.

Seek the darker realms of , Thoreau or
Romeo and Juliet, at times
when we make love.

My numbing goes so far, farther than
Frost on the tallest Mountains, questioning,
which ******* road to take.

It too late for me to turn back, to Whitman
dost the Bard laugh uncontrollably,
turns over three times, wherever he lies.
me thinks.

are hands necessary to feel
feet needed to run
a tongue necessary to speak
against wrong and injustice
limbs are a tree's necessity
to  leave a destiny
we
only need a heart to feel.

are her sweet melodies her sighs to
conciensciences her breath raising hair on the back of your neck
her rhymes her yelling at your heart trying to
wake you from your sleepiness her
silky smooth cries in the dark her poetic
inspirations her life her sacrificing sanity
her melodic guitars her hymns her spirits so obviously
inspired by gods her nature her wisdom her her
not enough

to ourself, to loves on
bookshelves,  to myself more so over,
in fragility of memories,
to truth, often needed for re-reality,
might I say all roses are as beautiful as the dawn,
and be not lying? There,
in , lies
what life
real is.

remaining
still
composed
soft confidence
a sense of being
will
sustaining that
calm ethereal
a place
a moment frozen
a face
under a tree canopy
just watching
at peace
the symphony
in your ears
have them

Do you with your man
      alone not, as I,
lay restless, turning,
      unclosing eye?

He lays next to you
      where I long to be,
I lie awake
      he sleeps peacefully.

Oh, whispering eyes
      oh, fleeting glance,
forbidden love
      stays no advance.

Too painful heights
      our love's torments
on lonely nights
      knows no relent.

Oh, endless nights
     alone I be
'til you or death
     lies next to me.

Do you my love,
     alone not, as I,
lay restless, turning,
     unclosing eye? 

myst memorized in the last glimpse
I remember it all
our last kiss embrace
your smell is on my pillow
will never go
that sailboat we came across
walking barefoot in the sand
all empty until we filled our souls up in it
and every time you asked me after
if I wanted to go sailing I smiled
the time we met on the pier
our eyes gleaming in the Florida sun
we talked for hours about everything
space continuity
rationality
hippies and the next coming
christ and the devil
when I last saw you
that random occurence
you happened by as I walked down Beal Street
I saw your arms around him
on the back of that Harley
and you happened to turn my way and smile
I wonder now was it
the smile
remembering
or
you are better now?

I've not the first clue to the propriety
of poetic words
not a glimpse at what the requirements
for poetry are or were
or what the special qualities are
the accepted right words the needed
suggestive verbs,
I just write as right as a painter
with large strokes in a house painter's brush
with latex paints and- a roller

Take a thought
Long drawn out
Every detail nuance and particular
Write it out
Wander into every crevice corner
Orifice of it
Chew on the salty sweet detail
Talk in length about the atmosphere
How the sky was clear that day
Or how it was black as southern mud
Colorize it with the voices in your head write down what they said
The inner dialogue
Argue a point
With your ego
It doesn't matter which of you wins
Just paint it out spill
The angst in gallons of red spills
And splatters the anger
Throw black on the paper spit
Hit smack  your hand right fan on it mush it
Tangle get some virulent deep blue
And paint on paper the sky how it looked
And your eyes how wide they were
Spooked
Get lost misspell
Curse ******* demons
Who are you?
Who is anyone
Are we just blood and guts or
More

Feelings can get abstract and love can hurt poetry writing spilling paint crying
Are all we got.
Take a walk. Walk until dark.
Wake up the next day.

commonly in a brine
   may be pigs feet or beets
whereas where she may be
    they are called gherkins
bread and butter
       ploughman's lunch
or caught between
      second and third
if it but was
      a children's game,
Take a hit with my pipe
          there might my predicament
resolve how my pickle will ever
     reach all the way ,
I wonder my lips pursed,
      to the old country.
It just might.

Mightily with passion  subtle,
grasp the argument,  of merging
opposites ,  flowers daringly,
converge at the feet of true godliness?

with this new day came
with more oxygen and  brain
with more tingling
with more you

off the suns rays brightening
off your face lovely
off these eyes of mine
off into my mind

where lovely is
where it really is
where beautiful resides
where love sometimes shines

of Euclid's Parallel Postulate
I feel like a line to never touch
in geometric space veering off
into infinite angles,
always congruent
I need to enjoy the parabolic
spherical
stand in one spot
and the focus of the parabola
will become
an axis of symmetry
if I hold still
long
enough
to the curves.

dully throbs shadowy
perches black on
every table
meandering 'tween what I really say
a beat, beating my head against
the rock again
throbbing deep
who can ever see?
******* it! Me!
The bills will one day be paid.
The light will come
back
the electric
will come
on.

and all do when clarity becomes ambiguity
it might scants be hyperbole to say all do
as four operations can be found by classical
rhetoricians or any half-assed poet can
as any all assed assumption always is
addition by subtracting or transferring
an omission into permutations which scholars
proudly do , ironically.

Gem missives brilliant bedazzle left right above and beyond in prismatic sparkles of all the every colors into eyes wider than windows into souls open more than spring breaths over hills softer than pillows upon shoulders bearing my breast and how might the night be were the stars to light significantly
More spectacular
Could I even breathe
......shudder

his name I don't know, might be Jesus
Mohammed Krishna Buddha Abraham or Luke
or duke for all I know, I never directly talked to him,
I am not sure he is a he. It might be
Luna or Aphrodite, Athena or perhaps Hella.
Hell I don't know whether he or she or it is a god.
It might be a Fairy.
Yet I keep (her him it) secret!
So no one can steal (?) him her it.
We often dream together. We
dream of peace and fairy lands fictionary places.
Ain't that weird?
Whatever this secret friend is ,
he makes me feel, see.

with almost nothing left to delve deep into
tonight
not much of  a quest to seek and search for left
I find myself writing this a lesson to all you
young fools
don't do as I said or what I did
only a fool shows his heart
bare
as I
do

reach out to touch the stars
I trip upon the edge of earth
fall off around get trapped into gravity again
orbit, contrary to laws of physics
until I fall back down
in a vacuum
Until, I glimpse again,
just before coming down , a star brightly
glimmering, swell my speed up to again eclipse
earths drag , blast off there seeking
anew a firey vision a breathtaking
launch a reenvisioning of flight not contained
by Newton's Law  nor Einstein's Theories. I go off
the fabrics of space time my cape.
See the fifth dimensions and more playing the age
of Aquarians on a heart of sunrises.

there were a way to make
piano sounds with words
bass drum beats  with ink
in tune vocals with consonants
vowels be melodies
adjectives the three part harmony
verbs the cymbal
nouns the guitar riff
commas loud
I am a lucky man
with song in my heart
both in spirit
and my ears hearing things
others might
not.

vanish as the whispered words
fly barren into the
cherry blossom horizon
sanguine  the sun rises
cautioned by florid
lone limbs bared by breezes
the token
leaves left barely hanging
alone
as if they were better off

all twisting around corners
dirt paved and bumpy
around snaking corners
turning which way and that
and to believe hopefully
it will straighten and get smooth
is like hoping the moon rises at dawn and the
dark is light
but, if you are like me
you like country roads
and bumps and
a different path from others
the long way around is most
often the hard way and the most
profound.

Provident the essential beauty of a long sip of her in the moonlight
Drink I did and fell head over heels
In elemental drunken eye splendor

I sing

As I breathe
As it is meant to be
Songs special meaningful
To me
My tune a prayer
The touch of god in
A euthenistic travail
Up a hill
To no avail
Rounding corners off
Touching head on bark
Banging wisdom with dead ends
And sanity in dark
Yet I

Sing

Always have this tune
In the back of my mind
Calling
I sing

I have given the quest up and focused more
on the best of what may be left
more on the flowered beauty of wild
things and weeds

more on today and less on tomorrow
more on the sunrise
less on the dark
more on what grows wild
and less on cultivating

taking it all as it is
less on making it all fit
into neat boxes and rows
more on letting it
all fall as it is

whenever weighted down on the verge of drowning
I flop like a fish and croak like a frog

as loud as I ******* can
hold my breath

'til I turn blue
and then most times

wake up

is the cure the solution the be all
if I knew what the question was
I might not need as many answers

I,
individually divided,
we seen in dreams
together...... remaining as I wake.
Separated we desire, breathe,
the same.
A piece of a whole.
Go through through reality
and see.... obsessions, desires.... cosmetically
similar.
It is all so much simpler.
No matter
  the color or place,
face
or mother,
we....
are all the same.

Just as lime
As the soil
Integrates
Sinew and bone
Tastes
All that made man
Into a lad

Just a breeze
Insinuated
Weakness in sight of
An oak trees majesty
Or a
Steeple
Browned eyes askew
Down tween everlast
And yesterday
Came