islamic jihad

islamic jihad
the olive and the fig
marilyn covering herself
with her blonde wig
and the wind uplifting
desert sands shifting
from east to west
catching the crusaders
acting like invaders
their red lips bleeding
like a manhole cover
with a teenage lover
and an honor killing
south of southern Beirut
Davy Jones's loot
hiding in a dead man's chest
islamic jihad
the saudis and their spear
flying on an airliner
with packages of fear
happy New Year

sweet world

in this sweet world
with crowds stage right
you scream in fright
throughout the night
your face set tight
while i tell you
don't venture there
into dead air
it's never fair
a devil's lair
you should hold me
when no light's on
every one's gone
darkness and dawn
you are the pawn
full of empty
and they hate you
never rate you
disseminate
but i need you
and there's more news
meant to confuse
nothing to lose
how can you choose
sober or booze
apology
or symphony
you're wanting me
in this sweet world

crazy love

i want to ride you
like the titantic
pull you down
into pure panic
split you into two
like an iceberg on a hot bed
dress you in red
feel you bleed on my face
come on baby
i want another taste
of crazy love
while i'm sinking
and thinking of
looking up and what do i see
but your ocean pushing down on me
you're my tidal wave
i'm your passion slave
i want to be free
of your fingernails digging me
into crazy love
i want to ride you
like a speeding car
toss your heart
into my candy jar
split you into two
like a hunger in a hot tub
something to rub
feel you bleed on my face
come on baby
i want another taste
of crazy love
while i'm sinking
and thinking of
looking up and what do i see
but your ocean pushing down on me
you're my tidal wave
i'm your passion slave
i want to be free
of your fingernails digging me
into crazy love

at Christmas time

at Christmas time
cool eastern chill
a middle school rhyme
for a buddy's dime
atop Renaissance Hill
and the ocean bay with a younger lover
deeper undercover
with a Rolex on her wrist
lightly kissed & missed
not in the very least
a woman as the fabled beast
swimming in finely heated lust
serves a tender healthy bust
on an early morning plate
upon the finest linen beauty
sapphire, diamond, and a ruby
near the sensual Ivory Coast
with warm and tender buttered toast
eaten well before seven
breakfast treat a dish from Heaven
dreaming of a distant Dolomite
and pasture cows and a star lit night
at Christmas time

your eyes

the snow surrendered without complaint
to my foot weight
into the deep woods
i ventured without you
sometimes without myself
but what was i to do?
a coat was already wrapped tightly
around my shoulders yet nightly
i slip in darkness
with hot invisible breath
sometimes a silent beating death
like the cold of a lonely winter afternoon
shakes me like a sharp wind
and i fall but arise again
i wish you were here
with a snowball in your hand
the smile a blizzard on your face
your eyes the light of galaxies
illuminating my space

the healing arts

Rose &
the healing arts
like healthy little darts
penetrate the fertile ground
pulling ego full around
to face an unpolished rushing sound
of bold reality
so completely amused
body and mind fused
still often lightly used
and Self now free to claim
grounding as its newest game
while all the fingers and the tongue
the old & still wet young
all of us being among
those experienced or naive
some wanting to stay or maybe leave
now YOUR song shall be heard
without a silly random word
yes Voila! It's totally and utterly
BLISS
to never ever have to miss
this moment in sweetly passing time
DIVINE, you're simply fine
it's all sublime

Mein Square

Trafalgar square
still royally there
with tourists and fanatics
wearing turbans
speaking freely
like Horace Greely
on the Place de Concorde
while the champagne is poured
into spirited eyes
of African immigrants
on their European shore
near the Plaza Mayor
the fantastic Red square
much older than Times square
where a terrible Ivan
and the post Romanoff brood
look westerly and linger
with caviar on a jeweled finger
at Piazza San Pietro
and tame pigeons that flow
past Roman Catholicism
eating discarded food
from a cobbled stone
where once had shone
the sun on Alexanderplatz
in Berlin where Hitler rots
with Eva and despair
like hope undone still turning
the Statue of Liberty
without a hint of ambiguity
her torch held high
in Rightfulness toward the sky
the Sons of Allah knife
your treasure and your life

cooking class

when it rains it pours
she said
as though it were easy for Lance
to win multiple Tours
but she meant men
wanting affairs of the heart
or the breast and implore
i listened just to be sure
while she spoke of loneliness
all day throughout the night
then eventually stopped actively
looking for Mister Right
when surprisingly all Hell broke loose
because she grew a certain vibe
which felt attractive to male
members of our older tribe
and they swooped in
grinning a grin
she said you find true love
when you're no longer looking
so recently it appeared
in her kitchen cooking
with a widower and his spoon
coated with a rich pasta sauce
adjacent to the Pinot Grigio
and the hand rolled noodles tossed
carefully with mozzarella cheese
he spoke so convincingly, please
pass the olives
no he didn't snore
and what is more
he proved genuinely pleasant
their next meal will include
wine, of course, with greens, and pheasant.

who's there?

who's there
if my mind is empty?
across the green hill
on an island of mystery
where my full weight
rests on the faire ground
of Scotland or Earth
cacaphony, total sound
while time forever bent
under the runes of life
tugs my sweet sorrow
from temporal strife
Witnessing! Witnessing!
but not the Holy Ghost
wandering inside my head
this fine mysterious host
with seconds on his wrist
hours on his face
what have i missed?
my eyes invited inside
his jacket long and flared
this King of the Underworld
gone before i dared
toward where once he was
i stared:
who's there?

take home pay

i love the smell of napalm
in the morning
even when sometimes
without warning
it doesn't taste like victory
or even sound like death
before a certain final breath
there is still the stare of danger
in the sunlight
or when the screaming
begins at night
i see a bullet in the air
like a heated curse
pointing a finger
at my thin verse
and splitting a head apart
then a heart

Obama

He wasn't on the Thunder Run
and didn't dodge an rpg
at Larry, Moe, or Curly
when the firing was intense
but in Afghanistan
north of Kandahar
more Marines are
sent to serve in our defense