Chorus:
I know God...

Voice One:
I remember planting a
small bean seed.

Voice Two:
I recall the miracle of a
newborn's fingers.

Voice Three:
I recollect the
feeling from the
tug of a
windblown kite.

Voice One:
I marveled how
the bean sprout
struggled against the earth.

Voice Three:
How the kite rose
majestically
into the sky,
then darted back and forth,
as if to nod
its approval.

Voice One:
Finally, the sprout
opened its leaf
as if to say hello.

Chorus:
So, while I may not have conversed with God,
I most certainly have shook God's hand.

Tom & Jerry, Laurel & Hardy,
Batman & Robin, Fred & Barney,
Baggins & Gambee, Bert & Ernie,
Tom Sawyer & Hucklberry Fin,
Lone Ranger & Tonto, Snowy & Tintin,
Chip & Dale, Snoopy & Woodstock,
Archie & Jughead, Holmes & Sherlock,
Ethyl & Lucy, Larry-Curly-Moe,
Mutt & Jeff, Skywalker and Solo,
Laurel & Hardy, Lois & man of steel,
Are there any friendships real?

the world, cloyed in an expanse of white,
looks to gray skies for consolation

somewhere critters
   sleep, even dream,
      perhaps hope
but only humans console

I caress you after
Bleeding out my tenderness
To your vulnerability

I dream of you
My heart wishing
What my mind
Knows cannot be

When I left,
I took your dreams,
Your laughter,
Your secrets,
Your memories,
Your love,
And left with only
Emptiness.

I recall dry summer days
And how dust could linger
   in the air.
I loved to watch the trail of dust
   of the pickup,
As it drove those old dirt roads.

I enjoyed opening a slamming
   the big chests
      in the attic.

And I was fascinated
   by the fog
      of dust
I could create
   in the chicken yard.

Dust seemed to rise
   in the summer heat
      and billow
         and slowly
      ever so slowly
   settle
to completion.

in the poorest parts of the world,
you will find smiling faces.
so why are there no lips curled
with those with many graces?

i love myself: check
emotionally
available: check
financially
secure: most of time
have discovered who
i am: i'll have to
get back to you there

now bring on the poor
sucker

I only feel myself being pushed
            over several feet
        and then being spun around.
I see a bright flash of light,
   but I've lost my sense of direction.
My instinct tells me to stomp on the brakes,
   but it is too late.
What should I be doing?
It's too late for what?
As I slowly regain my senses,
The sound of metal scraping against metal
   plays continuously in my mind.
And, when I finally hear silence,
   I swear I hear the ****** of headlights
      falling to the ground.

Love is not a one-way street.

My spirit
Lost direction
When I came home
To find empty-house

It is not love itself
That satisfies my needs
But being able to touch and feel

Yet if I couldn't share
I would feel withered on the vine

You shall think of this fleeting
World in bites of chocolate,
In sips of wine, in friendship,
And in a few smiles.

How can I tell you
That all I once desired with you is gone -
Faded into memories
That, now, I can say goodbye
Even though there are questions
Which are still unanswered.
It isn't what-might-have-been
Only morning fog awakened by the sun

I am afraid
To seek answers
Secured in protected feelings
Afraid to risk truth

I am afraid
To question intentions
Gape into the darkness of rejection

I am afraid
To face loneliness
To leave the habit of your love
And to pray each new face
Might be the one

the brotherhood of men is
the strangest of any league,  
with neither familial  
nor mutual attraction  -
only an awareness that
comes after a pause, a wry
smile, and saying the phrase "yes, dear!"

To be in love with love -
Yes, love about all!
What could compare
To the passion of love?

Passion intensified
By the desire to give up all else.

I could live without
Security, relatives
Friendship, community,
But not without love

each time
you are a new lover,
i go back and kiss stars
the way i thought i could
and lost
the last time

each time
you are a new lover,
spoken words become lies -
not expressing feelings
i had
as before

each time
you are a new lover,
and i forget your touch,
your breath against my skin,
your smell
you once had

each time
you are a new lover

i need your tisane
your tiger milk
your snake oil
your physic
your chicken soup
your therapy
your cure

let me inhale you

and abide in
your officinal

a winter moon shines palish white
above her sleeping head a night
and there she dreams of sweet delight
of better days to come

I too came to a fork in the path
And also took the less trodden lane,
But one misstep put my arm in a cast
A low branch badly hurt my brain.
I  didn't miss the poison sumac site
Or the nest of swarming bees,
But it turned out to be a splendid day,
When I met my wife in the pharmacy.

Do we dare
Say we care
And leave truth
To search for
what is
you and me

The tigress stalks the jungle.
Her muscles ripple to testify to her strength.
Her eyes and ears are keen.

Is she looking for prey or is this a game cats play?

I wonder if she knows how dangerous she is
(She already own my heart)
Or does she know how willingly I give it?

I cannot show you me
   All at once
Not the person I want
   You to see
Nor that personage I
   Cannot see
But if you should see my
   Someone else
Tell me another time

The test for innocence is happiness.

The test for truth is whether it exists outside pedantries.

The test for a fool is how much how much he must hold on to his ego.

The test for love is silence.

I could tell you the test for happiness, but it would make you less human.

i know the taste of mud
its texture between my fingers
its acrid smell, like it
was puke ejected from the earth

why choose mud to make man?

perhaps harder stone protested

come to me, like spring days,  
after a hard winter;
make me forget the cold;
warm my heart with your smile
and your glance

come to me, like a storm
full of danger, yet hope
that all things are renewed
and the worst may have past
just briefly

come to me, like a song,
which so reverberates
and continually
repeats without an end,
in my head

come to me in quick steps,
dropping your gown on floor
and sliding your body
between the flannel sheets
next to me

a  kite thrives
on passion,
holding on
   by
      a
         thin
            cord
               that
                  only
                     one
                        soul
                           completes

but when the kite
becomes snared in
power lines of reason,
it is every lover's loss

the lotus rises from the muck,
while orchids take root in the
most inhospitable of places.
other plants are born out of dung,
but love can only subsist in
the human imagination.

Can I accept you
Without stuffing you into my suitcase
Or accept the things the way they come
Without building expectations
For you to fulfill

how should one measure pain?

in magnitude, as despair, dejection, affliction,
in breadth, as suffering, torment, sorrow,
in extent, as hunger, cold, want,
in frequency, as heartaches,
in degree, as a burn,
in duration, as a candle melts or in clock ticks,
in amount, as in platefuls of food or too much advice,
or in capacity of living?

father woke me at 5 o'clock  
with donuts and chocolate milk.
later, we packed out to the dock
with rods and reels and all our fishing ilk.

with hooks and every fish delight:
worms,  flies, spoons, minnows and crankbaits,
we were well prepared for their fight,
but the hardest part is having to wait.

you should know i put on my own worms
though i can't pretend it's not gross
it is not that i'm afraid of germs
it is that i hate slimy things the most.

i waved my feet over pier's edge,
appreciative of the world's flow,
but please hear my sincerest pledge,
if we caught fish, i probably wouldn't go.

it isn't quite the secret
to feeding many folk -
we're not talking peanuts
and it isn't quite the joke,
'cause some'll say they're fasting,
others will often share,
so there is no typecasting
when pantry may be bare;
secret to feeding many,
i'm ashamed to say,
on very little penny,
is to cook in the worst way

there's a place
where there are no masks
not the teacher, the poet,
the lover or the scoundrel
only a trickle of blood,
stretching to infinity

there's a place,
which has the driest turkey,
inedible vegetables,
tasteless stuffing, and bland sides,
but there's nothing better to
remind us that we are home

All fears removed
All questions answered
All trust restored
Lessons not forgotten
But buried

We're off again to run the race

History is not made
By those, who always
Do Good
But by those,
Who do bad
At the right time.

insaneness
behind sane,
and saneness
behind that
insaneness
are behind
insanity

fire licks spiral and
dance, throwing goodbye kisses
to the nearby trees

some listen to their heart,
as it feeds the body.
i listen to my phone,
as ping of your message
nourishes my being

i cannot remember the first time
i found myself in a line.
perhaps it was queuing up for lunch
and had to stare at someone's haunch

of course, i waited for concerts great,
though, i quickly learned of that mistake.
but the lines are long at the DMV,
the apple store and the grocery.

however, i find the greatest crime
when waiting patiently in line,
and this cannot be overwrought,
is honking in the church parking lot

a kiss, an ember, a
lifeless seed, rises on
the breath of hope

i still dream of morning's past,
which i'd hoped would always last.
though i no longer sense your skin
and rarely am i invited in,
for me, the greatest sin
it that you still hold my heart.

hope, a seed, is
minuscule, because
if much larger
it wouldn't be a
seed

desire is not a spark,
an ember or a flame
it's a bleak and sometimes
unbearable cold

since desire cannot be
quenched or suffocated,
by food, sleep, ***, being
or success, desire can only
warm, if just briefly

chef inspired meals
cpa inspired tax returns
energy efficient inspired homes, cars, planes
paris inspired clothes
ivy league inspired education
heaven inspired happiness

my clear cookie jar
filled with cutout men,
my chocolate friends,
moons and stars

I took your dreams
Your secrets
Laughing away the hours
But when I left
I had only emptiness

a road is a line
with infinite points
of departures but
finite number of
destinations

a road sometimes has
flowers on the side
but occasionally
one grows in the road
against all odds

but just because you
do not stay on the
line neither means you
are lost, nor that you
are not on path

in the future
there'll be an app
to tell when you're
lying, so i
won't have to guess
you're lying just
because your lips moved

to those who do not like rhymes,
it does not mean that you're uncouth
or you're unsophisticated
or a product of your youth

it may mean you don't read aloud
to hear how the words might sing,
rushing words quite unabated,
to hear joy the sounds might bring

if you dare to heed my advice
and hear angels start to sob,
fascinated, captivated,
orchestrated, consecrated,
the poetess has done her job

i have a new job it seems.
it's at a funeral parlor.
it's not the job of my dreams,
but it will do for a starter.

i write poetry to keep myself awake,
and i need the job quite badly,
so i can't afford, sadly, the same mistake

it was last month i lost my gig
for drinking on the job,
but the jury was probably rigged,
'cause it's not like i'm a slob

it's drinking that makes me happy.
it's not like i take hard drugs.
though it may appear quite sappy
i'm not like those other lugs

the job is pretty simple:
each hour i walk around.
i check the locks, i punch a clock;
i don't even walk the grounds.

is there really need for my job?
it's not like the dead will walk
or there's anything to rob
'cause there's nothing here in stock.

the lights just flickered right now.
a thunder storm is approaching,
but there's not a cloud, i avow,
so is subject worth broaching?

today is tuesday; i return
from making my rounds and found
something strange. there were lights burning
when there's no one else around

it's later; lights were on again.
i'm starting to think i'm crazy,
'cause the doors are locked, but then
i know i can be quite lazy

later, there's casket in that room,
which was not in there before.
i do not want to portend gloom,
so i quickly closed the door

but i find that sight quite haunting
and i am more than a bit scared.
what is that lone casket wanting?
are my faculties impaired?