Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Lord of the Man, or..?

They lord like flies
over why, why, why
in crying caterwauler,
when what is, is, is...
is the feast of now.

In disco ball vision
the dancer of wily writhe
happy claps in the patient
wait of the next move.

The preying mantis
cavorts in green robes
of his regal imagination,
in hindsight misgiving.

Crack a gentle whip and hear
the thunder of mortar and 
pestilence grow silent
in a bottoms up world.

The praying man-
tis stifling rubies..

One over on me dude...
the woman is standing 
on the bridge wondering,

should I take you back
for all of your preying?

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Conversation on the Deep End of a Chance Meeting

HI there... how are YOU?

"Who are you... what is it that you do
to send me into the wild wet frenzy 
of my desire?

Oh no, you don't know me... yet
when you read me in the meaning 
of your soulful smile, I know you.

I like what I see, I hear your style-
sing to me, you wily coyote.

I'll be taking you in on a pinnacle
of a shimmered, silky, spin...

I have no answers for where I
am going or what you are,
I just resonate to your beat-
I know my own heart.

I feel a dizzy relief of flapping wings
in deep places with you next to me.

Funny feeling, it's up a tide 
to the ocean of your being,
where in this moment
somehow you belong to me...

tongue tied in my lipping,
a sweet and coy wonder of the words-
the meaning not quite clear, I
sing to your mournful soul.
(praises in the winds of belonging)

I ask no more 
than a simple sigh
upon the plain shore
of a mystic sea...

will you taste the salt
of my tears shed for you,
sweet mysterious?

will you sigh contented
in the morning afterglow,
will it light your soul?

To my knees I fall in the grace
of your forgotten desire, so 
in a bargain of hope and chance
will you know me?

C'mon angels are watching,
but then again,
you may be disappointed
later in the day."

I'M fine... how are YOU?

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Sloshing Around the Soup Kitchen

My cauldron is your crucible,
a hot pot of burnt porridge
dished up in the smoldering
crockery of our grueling truce.

We swim the thinning broth bath,
in a wonton spare of salt licked simmer.

Serve up the usurp of our souls
to a bland humanity of hungry trolls
and trippy trollops in search
of the eternal bitter green.

We lick  a lollipop of watch and wait;
two serfs in a soup kitchen for the regal...

"No seconds on the gruel sir?"
"Please sir, have some more-
(we snicker in deference).

Soup... our salty brothel
in a  slippery bubble of crafty sin...
a chive or two and the old shoe
of roads that lead us away
to the bare bones of wander.

"Please sir, is that so wrong?"

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Green Snake in the Road

A downhill glide by sunlit glade
of a streaming water,
muddied and soft... beneath
the shady vegetation
in a hidden gulch.

I saw him on a blackened pavement,
in wriggled repose of respite-
no slither, no malice, no intent.

I passed in an agitated avoidance,
his stillness touched me,
no pity, no sorrow, no mystery...

A beautiful creature 
lying on a darkened street,
green and vibrant
on the dusty road...

I loved him.


Caught and cocooned in a tangle
of outmoded commitment,
light of the unfiltered judgement
glistens on silken threads
that hold me in the animated
suspension of a whorling turn.

Absurdity earmarks the capture
in noisy disarray, the clamoring
for the feast of a slow deafening
death of yawning boredom...
a longing for the winds 
of a dangling temptation
to free the threads that bind.

The shroud is a molting cloth,
frayed at the edges of despair...
metamorphosis of the leave
is still in the making.

The inky jet of a spider waits
at the doorstep with clamping
pincers and hungry mouth,
he is patient and so am I...

he will wait until the gelatinous
remains of my past quiescence
synthesize to a tasty morsel of adieu.

The freeing of the sunlit spirit
will flee to greener pastures,
tempting a liberation
far away from yesterday's tomorrow.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Fodder for Folly

The jolly trolley snipes the trollop
in romping roominess...

Ruin the day in deep dather
shiding shingles in mayhem...

Work me over in the wonder
woo hoo, you who doo wop
to the head...

Jingle, jungle tribal tribulation
in jubilant juxaposition.

Angling a lure... firefly
feasting in smoldering frighten;
light a lamprey lampoon...

Reading here, go away 
little Sheba, come back
when you've grown.

Groan... a rolling eyed
teeny bopper,
do do do and a rampant 
rap in the head.

Jiggety, piggedy
pudding and pie,
make it a creamy dream...

Waltz with me babe,
in three quarter dime,
as the sole of a shoe...
kick it up a notch!

The home fire's a burning,
a touch of the torch...

you've met your match.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

The Peacekeeper

The peacekeeper goes about life
in a quiet way, 
with the grace of a dove, 
with a song in the heart
that beats a steady tune.

He gives up the struggle of conformity.

Her fear has flown over life's cragged course.

His trust is complete, 
unmistakably a part of a source 
greater than All.

To the power within
she keeps the steadfast vigil, 
knowing all is possible
within the circle of Light.

A light that is visible to those
who realize there is no greater 
reason for being than to reflect light
and be One with All.

His inner soul is not a mystery
to the peacekeeper.
He knows where he is going, 
is thankful where he has been, 
is content with who he is.
As he was born of the light, 
he will return to the light that is
forever and evermore.

The peacekeeper sees time as a gift, 
an orderly progression
of learning, which is crucial
to her mission.

She holds no malice, 
no judgement, 
no regrets.
She knows not of death.
She clings to the truth as her mentor.
Her love is immeasurable, 
She is the essence of all she creates, 
reaching out into the harmony
of all that is.

Who is the peacekeeper?
He is you
She is me, 
hiding as a human...
free as the soul.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Foaming at the Fancy

Illustrious elevator illusions
in orangey fits and flights
of a lascivious leering,
olive sea eyes watching within.

Breathy echos of ancient chant
in clandestine chants
through bare wood bannisters 
and mirrored raptures.

Silky filtered smokescreens
portend savory bits
in lushy fleshy pink,
drawn shades hide
tremolo tapping beats
of chaotic chords.

Bobbin weave of liquid writhe
massage quavering mountains
and velvety valleys in coo.

Mind's eye rising wide eyed mist
in peaked pungent pursing;
a taunting in unfrocked opening
surging stifled oceans
in foamy lace and tangled coif...
sending ripples to a sunlit window.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The Green Man

I chirp and flit before him,
in words... of my own make believe.

He watches and smiles in savory color
and thinks as deeply as a lamprey
at the bottom of an subconscious sea.

I don't understand his words...
only the essence of his mirrored frame
pulsing my desire.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009


Riding high and proud
across the studded sky,
bathing me in pregnant possibility...

Staring in open air wonder
in breathy darkness
the delight is scintillating...

Catching her moonbeams
within a goblet of water,
a slow drink empowers this goddess...

Seeing is perceiving,
feeling is believing.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I Remember the Wishing Well..

We meet in the lust highway...
Distant voices call to you,
now you're free,
who do you want to be?

Now we part,
I will keep some small of you
in my heart...
dreamers that lovers dream...

Your love and affection turned
my love around...
You're sailing to salty seas,
not my tears...
a beginning..
from the rote of rot,
unsettled, unscathed..
They will never know
in the scorn of our snarls...

We'll laugh our last dying breath
knowing we seceded over the sepulcher...

Truth can't be wrestled
from the dying...

Be brave.

Grinding Chaw

A shift of the mindset...
no more a friend sought
in strife, in sorrow, in boredom-
the veins pulse in agitation,
the lungs long for the dusty inhale
of that long lost ghost of a passing
light... one twenty pack of de-light
from adolescent angst... loved
the light after the heat, the stab 
of an ending... exhaling satisfaction
in the disgust of stubbornness.

Time lines tell tales in circumoral
bleeding of lipstick...
not ready for cotton candy hair to match...
vanity wins over fear.

Chewing like a drug store cowgirl,
swinging a foot, tapping a pen,
nodding a head to a knowing finality...
done dude, you're too expensive a gigolo...
could'a had a car payment all this time.

Yeah, rockabilly seven nights to the first step,
chew and chew in time with a rabbity sniffing,,,
My god, my bunny is with-drawling too, he glares...
some example I've set, thank goodness the children
have more sense...

Twelve weeks to freedom.. twelve step?

I've got life to live,
songs to sing,
dances to complete...

I'll not be tied to a corporate package of lies.
I quit... I chew... I could just spit
at my stupidity.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

They Live by Rote

She's so angry, the hair
burnt off her head.
The hattered cat
frisked the Calvin smote...
he lost in the sub-dewing.

An open mouth gape
in demonic demise...
he gloried with ears
of the dead 
to her incessant chatter
of doom, in a sorry rosary
of forgetfulness...
biding time,
to deliver her a stinging
punch line.

Unto them a savior was born...

Just Listening...

A wild thicket of white laced
clover lies baking in the sun,
waiting to be rolled upon by
the fuzzy fur of the buzzing bee. 

Trees whisper their secrets
and wave for attention,
as nonplussed tufts of cloud
float by... unconcerned,
yet deeply committed.

Chippering cheeps and squeaky squawks
trill quietly... only the wee ones
remain alert... the old and jaded worship
in early morn and at dusk... they are mute
in the work-a-day of adult endeavor.

No matter how hard mankind tries,
his cars, and mowers, and chain saws
do not engage the senses in the peace
of the moment... even his songs 
become lamentably trite
against the glare of the noon day sun.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Night Dreams

Eyes close in weary anticipation
of memory unloosened
in floating pictures,
of unspoken gestures
freed of time
in spacey disarray,
the Watcher hovers
as guardian of the otherworld
of hidden mystery.

Scenes of a movie
center, shift, and weave
through thoughts and
emotions where a blend
of past, present, and future
emerges from the womb of the mind.

A lesson lingers
as the eyes open,
the message only known
to the one who sleeps.... elusive.

Only the Watcher knows when it's time to understand.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Spawned by Yesterday's Sorrow

Such high hopes in a world of rules and order,
they celebrated in a park (metaphor for lie still)...
Milky swans swam silently as the geese cavorted 
in raggedy weeds and dewy grasses...

an ethereal promise of flushed devotion
from a shining Chevy of their desire,
rebels without a particular cause
sought the making of a dream in the pie,
crisscrossed in a crust of manifold baking.

She danced in purest Salome sexuality,
he drank the light and sweet of her wiggly soul...
she was not a substitute for the Mama of listen...
his sensitivity had been beaten out of him
from a drunken father's painful disdain.

In a jittery bug of dance they sought the destiny
of dream... in American Pie lattice.

Flash flood of sorrow for yesterday's tomorrow...
the five peppers grew, not fast enough to weather
the storm of a mismatched discontent.

The jaded one loves both in their estrangement
of the regret I saw, I was a hope...
damaged when eyes were closed in the dark,
we all hid from the violence, it still hurts...

There's love for all in this damned mess of dreams...

The youngest butterfly is elusive in the wetting of wing,
she will know the beauty of their dance one day,
they just forgot how to fly along the way...
the endless hashing of past disappointments
was their captor in a noose of their undoing.

The future weaves us into the loom... as promise of your own doing.