you **** me softly with every syllable,
your vocals do not make me shake,
but make me stand perfectly still
to make sure I don't miss hearing even a mumble
come from between those lips


©L.F.

Aspen of Appalachia, away,
Bereft from bleating, brooding bovine.
Clay County contrives conspiracy
Doomed, darkened, deceitful. Directed
Eastward at Eastaboga’s emp’ror
Full of most fitting flight, fleeing from
God. Those good graces known given up,
Heartily, exchanged happenstance his
Immortal soul for idolatry.
Jeered at Jehovah, jested Jesus,
Kingdom keeping the kicked knaves knowing
Lowly that the Lord lash little at
Men who make ****** and mudwork made
Nightly. Nefarious no-goods now,
Open but not ostracized. Oh, old
People praise the past per penchant but
Quickly they quit; queerly quell their quest,
Running from redemption and rambling
So he stopped searching, got set soulless,  
Turned to the tantric, tuned to the tumult,
Unburdened with useless unknowns. Up
Verily and vivaciously, vet  
Words which will warrant wonder. Why not
*******, excellent, exuberant?
Yet, ye of yellow faith, yon Yahweh
Zeros the zest of zig-zagged zetas.

Lay the sandbags.

Endless streaming torrent of thoughts,
Carve a new path.

The mind river in which I flail,
But cannot drown.

Leads me to run the anxious mile,
Which never ends.

Your hair falls, like dark
feathers over your forehead,
too soft for lowly
hands. Your eyes they live beneath,
the hole you live in
reflected there. I bend and
shoulder another
of your burdens. It is all
I can do. You are
trapped, like a prince in a
dream. Or a nightmare.
In my love for you, it feels
as though tenderness
will tear a hole through my heart.
I would carry worlds.

you're on the tip of my tongue            
not quite fully formed
a word
the one i find so easy to forget

you trip me up
every time
start with a 'g'
three syllables

i've got you...almost                    
g-r-a-t-i-t-u-d-e
ah, that's right
rhymes with attitude                                  

i'm so thankful i remembered you at last

Listen to the rain
Indifferent to the pleas of man
Cleansing all in time

Haiku, a poem
five, seven then five morae
has only three lines.

In life, I have come across people
who always felt like home to me.
It’s a wonderful feeling –
to have someone like that.
That is why it aches
to think of homes
I renounced
when I
left.

Fresh dough, sauce, and melted cheese,
plus wholesome veggies,
add tender succulent meat,
baked to perfection.
Breathe it in before
you dig in.
Drool!