without a full moon

take this sword in your gut
dog man
i fire you to hell
with the Hades group
of idiots ringing my bell
it's 8:20 on a Sunday late
with rain like a torrent
overwhelming my front yard grate
and you won't care
as long as the cable TV
is working and the air
is suffused with scents of eclair
why have my bracelets gone to rust
and bones to ashes
my heart a victim of your wars
and scarred with gashes
all the while you busy yourself
with makeup off the shelf
and on your face
i yearn to know the watchman's name
and guess the nature of his game
know intent
and kiss true love with true devotion
stop the tide & pause the motion
of the spinning stone
still left unturned
great forests burned
great oceans warmed
beyond their natural call
and so you fall
& i, dog man, bark
without my lover
or a full moon, in the dark

a busy intersection

i don't want to love you
more than you love me
but rather keep it balanced
centered, evenly
between two strands of interest
human or divine
dressed like nun or harlot
regardless, call it mine

i don't want to leave you
cold & flat & sore
but rather make it handsome,
always wanting more
in spite of time demanding
new movement at a pace
that blurs the definition
& the lines upon my face

i don't want to lose you
more than you lose me
on the shoulder of a highway
near the sounding of a sea
past a busy intersection
by the bus stop, carelessly
i don't want to lose you
more than you lose me

field of flowers

i smell you in this field of flowers
as our moment passed which seemed like hours
when I took you tight to make you mine
skin on skin in, out of time
behind the door which had no key
best left unlocked for you & me
beneath the sun beyond the wall
with fingertips i took my fall
i called your name you knew me well
left me dreaming cast a spell
i couldn't run, or get away
tried to talk, no words to say
that childhood crush is coming down
i just can't use it on this ground
i just can't notice how i feel
i can't be honest, can't reveal

i smell you in this field of flowers

Edwardine, forgive me:)

She dressed like a Vassar student
from 1932 with formal tucks, a pearl necklace, and silver hair
held high like her esteem.
She would not play the fool,
nor did she like to be entertained with anything
less than the most erudite spoken language
of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.
She force fed as though we were fledgling baby birds
and she the raptor with wild owl beak and a penetrating
gaze into your forming character.
She would ply that mold by God because
that is what an English teacher did, so suffer little children
and welcome high school Class of 1966, into her domain.
You will never remain the same!

long last night

i stayed up long last night
thinking of how you make me feel
and there's more to what fuels my interest
than your obvious sex appeal

it's your eyes, mouth, your auburn hair
& how you listen to the words we share
your mind, smile, and creativity
combined with your touch enrapture me

i wish i could encapsulate
that one single exciting trait
so i stayed up long last night
thinking of why it feels so right

and then i remembered beneath the tree
i was struck by your sincerity
as you spoke about your life and more
& trusted me unlike anyone before

with an easy voice and a gentle strength
i could measure you but whatever length
if my nights are short or the days are long
i'll always have you in this song

crazy girl

she had her own mind
but was never unkind
rolled herself in a bed of newly cut clover
close to the edge but never went over

she was a crazy girl
with a smile like a bumblebee
her stinger dug deep into me
i wanted her most intense pain
and she gave it over and over again
told me it was genuine love
& that's what i was thinking of

she had her own voice
but gave me a choice
tied me up in a bed of freshly laundered clothes
somewhere in space where no one goes

she had her own dress
but showed me much less
wrapped herself in the style of perfect hollywood
under the stars whenever she could

she was a crazy girl
with a smile like a bumblebee
her stinger dug deep into me
i wanted her most intense pain
and she gave it over and over again
told me it was genuine love
& that's what i was thinking of

TS, phone home

i slept in the Victoria Hotel
down in old Mexico
and walked on handmade tiles
colored in deep indigo.

Eliot wasn't on my floor
nor was he in the bar
listening to the young gringo
strumming on an old guitar.

i heard he was still swimming
in a pool without a sound
with a handful of wasteland dust
i remember he had found.

he was wearing a huge sombrero
pulled tightly against his cheek
with a slip knot fully made
still showing the receipt.

my margarita had no salt
but i drank it all the same
to not offend the bartender
who called me by my name.

a Spanish lady with the melons
she was proposing to sell
approached the nervous tourist
ringing the front desk bell.

i came to walk the canyon
so deep it smelled of death
where spirits wear an empty mask
and take away your breath.

a train would leave the station
soon maybe the next day
and though tempted by those melons
i knew i shouldn't stay.

my coach was full of writers
down on their luck & drunk
on mescal which they all consumed
until their voices shrunk.

we stopped above the canyon walls
& began the long decent
into darkness at highest noon
i wondered what it meant

i heard the hidden waterfall
down in these depths of doom
and supped on poetry endless
beneath a Copper moon.

the slightest trace

corpus callosum
amygdala
basal ganglia
i am looking for you everywhere
but can't find you anywhere.

are you a sore on my ass
a bent blade of grass
a lady with exceptional class
or nearly nothing at all?

thinking, but i can't recall
from where are you watching me
and why aren't you here?

i want you near, dearly

tell me if you're close by
with a simple sigh so that i
can finally be at ease
would you, please?

i sat by the pond & watched the fish
poked at my food, didn't finish the dish

lost the appetite i tried to keep

wanted you

took a quick peek
but saw nothing interesting, went away
and determined finally to stay
away, 

but your pull, your eyes
eventually even i realize
there's magnetism and magic
in desire 

along with the tragic

Oh yes, i'd like to see your face
the faintest hint, the slightest trace.

the 3rd i

it was a time before television
or radio was perfected
when poetry was important
the words and phrases dissected
and contemplated,
simply stated
like the dandelion seed
without a philosophical creed
released into the air
and blown everywhere
into currents swiftly rode
nothing showed
no signs or spiritual pointers
no businessman loiters
on this trail,
without fail
the wooden bridge spans
this clear creek where we hold hands
and kiss; a heavenly angel
with wings beating our hearts.
is this how it starts
i wonder, torn asunder with wildness
and scents of bliss
it's you i miss.

a song for you

is love something you can measure
based upon ones' sense of pleasure;
a cup into which you can put so much
and feel it like a special touch;

a mood reserved for just the young?

you'll know it when you hear it sung.

a melody of such exquisite grace
enchants, enfolds, & pulls your face
into a smile of cat-like purr
when you simply think upon him or her.

Thriller

Michael we need who you were
when you'd dance with flying fur
and the crazy music hit our beat
moon walking dancing on your feet
toe tapping snapping drums a'cracking
jumping up & spun around
never ever come back down
hipping hop the world of rock
beat it thriller ticking tock

smooth criminal in white ties
billie jean falls down & cries

your table is ready, Sir

i've waited all eternity
to sit & talk & sip my tea
at this special table
God reserved for me

it just happens to be there
when I reach out from this chair
& position myself
the world is everywhere

in colors & landscape & sky
& water which is really why
i should be happy
i thought with a sigh

yet,

from asia to the ivory coast
shadows & hunger like a ghost
escape from our notice
when we need it most

from the highest point to the low
the most insignificant know
overlooked is the fate
they suffer & grow

the gardens they plant with some pain
for nourishment not for acclaim
not glamor nor fame
they're just hoping to remain
to survive another day
on minimal pay.

little bastard

her mother was not married
she barely knew her dad
short memories of his furtive face
were the only ones she had
10 years she said she suffered
lived with her mom away
heard bastard spoken to her face
behind her back all day
by raucous kids who felt secure
they'd taunt and chase her hope
& catch it in a bloody dish
then swing it from their rope.
she married a street fighter
from a nearby river town
who proved to be full jealous
kept her locked inside his crown
she couldn't smile to strangers
or dance with men unknown
for years his anger strangled
her love which should have grown
kids called her little bastard
cruel hurt that word dug deep
lodged in her heart forever
so sad to hear her weep.

night watchman

i saw you watching me
but your touch was far
as you smoked a lusty cigarette
full of nicotine and tar
your hair soft on your shoulder
with your face around two lips
so full of promise as I drank
my beer in hungry sips
a man sang Frank Sinatra
with a microphone in hand
while couples danced a lover’s beat
on our patio of sand
underneath tiny Christmas lights
wrapped tight around your waist
i found myself in puzzled knots
and wondered how you’d taste
with smoke still on your Texas tongue
and rapture in your eyes
i heard the night voice whispering
there was longing in these skies.

talk to him!

why don't you talk to him?
i can't

i mean, really there is nothing to say
i have to go my own way

and besides
what life would it be
for him or me?

two souls in thin air!
what would keep them there?

why don't you talk to him?
i can't

closeness

a long time coming
but what's the rush
this pleasure center
is not meant to gush
like an out-of-control firefight
on an insane battlefield
it's not a contest meant
to win or yield
not an Einstein's
relative theory
where going too fast
will make you weary
but rather stay
& take your pleasure
in deep relaxation
at your own pace, leisure
that's how satisfactions' hold should measure

brown eyes

the lady with deep brown eyes
never questioned she knew my name
held my hand which was a great surprise
& walked an early morning mountain
easterly and sunrise
touched the marvelous meadow flowers
where we paused, sat for hours
we counted all their colors
unaware of any others.
the lady with soft safari step
sometimes closeness needs at night
found my face while she still slept
and knew it could be good & right
the freedom song she hoped to get
& touched the skin of inner thigh
where lightly paused and gave a sigh
we counted all near passing stars
and felt that moment they were ours.

the wooden door

behind the wooden door
at midnight i felt the floor
as i walked to my soft spoken bed
in the heat of this long summer spell
i surrendered my dream and fell.
the youth who can be no more
found crying on a pillowed shore
weeps softly to not arouse a head
finds pleasure in a single fashion
fitfully yearns for love & passion.
behind the wooden door
anguish from a throat is tore
rushed to the nearest window pane
and looks outside, but all is rain.

a Maine woods

i'm having a love affair
with my surroundings
as i sip coffee
are you there?
i use sugar & cream
as i watch the lake shimmering
and flowers unfold
before my dream
that i dream in this paneled room
hidden from all prying eyes
i take myself adventurous
even to the edge of doom
i walk onto the dock and stop
hear the pine needle fall
touch my heart and pause
the movement of my human clock
the tick tick tick tock tock sound
the spider i watch is oblivious
wraps the prey in a tight silk web
spits a line to the distant ground
and watches me watching waiting
scurries beneath a leaf is gone
as i should be from this Maine woods
growing restless, anticipating.

magellan's strait

i am possessed
i am consumed
this woman's dead
i just presumed
to touch her flame
& feel her fire
her voice ignites
an unholy pyre
i saw her shadow
beyond the SUN
& wondered why
her love's undone
i heard a trumpet
from distant past
& dreamt its' call
within my grasp
then felt her tease me
flirt & dance
wooed me special
into her trance
i am possessed
i am consumed
this woman's dead
i'm being groomed.

play on

i placed my finger on your mouth
& watched it heading south
past moist lips of sage
where thyme has no hand
in the striking of the band
you wore your dress with care
and watched me linger there
with rosemary on my breath
instead of a usual plea
& you knew it was me
singing a midnight song
so nothing could go wrong
as tempers safely fade
i placed my spirit on your bed
& gave my arm your head

don juan & Vincent

in the storm
she could not find
him
or the Peace of Mind

for the wind was vicious
-his writing delicious
yet fatal came ashore
& he lived no more

no fire or lover's lyre
was ever found
on the rocky bottom
of that roaring sound

& then she died
underneath the fleeing tide
with her degree
in eternity

but not before fingers
(her power still lingers)
scrawled across a page
& i witnessed her rage.

elementary elizabeth

she didn't know who the mothers were
to the children soon to be
and wondered in nervous anticipation
if she could simply flee
to the classroom closet in the back
beyond the door where students tried
to find their own coat rack
and that's exactly where she cried
& lost herself with nervous tears
because she wasn't sure what to say
to those approaching ears
is it fine to say that history
is a tale without an end?
to give a glimpse of loneliness
in this life without a friend?
she could teach them winning numbers,
painting freehand, spelling bees
then send them out to recess
say "be back in twenty minutes, please."
but what about western religion or
science in evolutionary terms
but heck no, nothing substantial would do
beyond the idea of our everyday germs
and human health in general for charges so young:
but mostly just remember to keep a civil tongue
sticking to the basics and teach
elementary subjects that are simple for kids to reach
and she did.

my tongue

this is my tongue that i show
and speak to people that i know
it's native like an early Indian village
before the europeans came to pillage
and expand westward with a mumble
slipped from the mouth like a careless fumble
because their destination was the thing;
not the words they employed to sing.
With a WAGONS HO! and a mighty wave
rose unlovely voices they came to crave
of a single syllable and a lazy grunt
Oh Bards, attack this affront!
To the language walls and guard your post
or this English tongue, my man, is toast.