Shine, midnight pearls!
The smoke curls up in whirls of doom
On the wet sand
my own hand draws unplanned pierced hearts
Deep blue-black sky
I play by rules and sigh despair
To lay aside
starry-eyed dreams that hide a sin
Shine, distant stars!
Through guitars notes, through scars of time
For her first kiss
an abyss drains all bliss from me
And far away
shadows play down their spray of doubts
Opaque pearls, shine!
On this fine night, define my north
Questions hang suspended like stalactites
Time, circumstance and elements contributing to its formation
(—then something else seeps in, pushing me to call it fate)
Questions that know not whether they should be voiced out and see light
...or remain hidden in caves, destined to be only heard
by the labyrinthine chambers of the heart
But yes, it is inevitable that these questions d
They drip, bit by bit, oozing with curiosity,
forming more queries, that turn into stalagmites—
Grounded questions to the suspended ones,
open-ended to the closed.
Sometimes meeting, creating columns,
melded complements of each other.
And then this makes me wonder—
When these questions meet,
do they ever find answers within themselves?
Will the truth ever be brave enough to come out of hiding?
This then makes me think of the words within souls,
how these souls are the questions, in search of answers.
...And of how your words, your thoughts, your feelings,
can drip into mine, feeding that inner glow
It then collects, forming this deluge,
flooring me as it creates a bond so powerful,
it seems to defy time and even reason.
A fascinating influx,
that makes me smile despite myself
Where sometimes I don’t know the beginning from the end—
where bliss swims freely there,
immersed in waves of laughter and ripples of tears.
This for me is the beauty of it all,
the search, the mystery...the discovery
That constant ebb and flow,
the give and take,
that push and pull
the flooding and trickling,
that hiding and seeking
Where one listens as the other speaks,
but ah, both feeding off each other—
hungry, thirsty, full, satiated yet craving for more.
It’s something akin to, but not quite to
how sunlight makes way for moon’s glow,
how thunder rolls after the lightning strikes,
coming hand in hand...yet both so defined.
Yes, the questions may still hang like stalactites,
and sometimes I do wonder if they will fall—
And if they do,
will they shatter,
piercing hearts as they do?
Or will their fates let them stay there,
melding with stalagmites,
standing the test of time,
June 17, 2012
I do not know?
I dream of you
I see you when
I close my eyes
I speak your name
With every breath
I vow to love you
I think of you
All the day long
My love expressed
In verdant song
I speak of you
To all my friends
I long for you
When each day ends
I see your smile
In every face
In my heart you hold
A special place
I know that we
Were meant to be
And that you're the only
One for me
And when I go
To sleep at night
I know this love
Is more than right
I do not know?
Where was I
when repo men invaded,
boxed me up within his cool heart
fragrant in its distaste of warmer climates?
climates governed by love.
(Daydreaming of knights, that's where.)
Now I have only so much patience remaining
for this slapstick brain-
a nasty reminder, the heckler of my heart,
what spews sensibility
when I simply yearn to err.
And I scarcely have time to mourn
his devil's smile
leaving southward in moving vans
transporting my pieces
(all the valid ones)
as I sit numbed,
next to climbing ivy poisoned by my disbelief,
Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Christian Love frame
The only need for death to every exist
Was to slay the fictional self
And all the embellishments used to support it
Fear not, Love’s little flock
You will not be set to fly
And then be allowed to fall
To be strong in your Love
Is to inherit the power of God
That now lies dormant in your essence
For your possession of absolute truth
Is a point at which your Love and your reality
Both become one in God
Slaying your fictional self, being honorable
Is your first step toward your recovery
Of your conscious immortality
For what is sin but the force and mischief
Used to instill and empower
Your mentally invented lower realities
Is the ego’s assault against life
Love does not judge
For what is the mercy of Love
But that it repeats it’s lessons of life
Until they are learn by the mind
For Love already knows,
What life is yet to learn
Therefore learn from who you are
And teach your outer self
Love’s absolute truth
Love is your true reality, a constant source
Has no beginning or no end
The unlimited potential, quite essential
My prayer for 2010 is that;
These proceeding sayings
Become obsolete this year
In the face of your Love itself, Smile!
Stay in your Bibles, my little bibles
For Love is your title
Not your mind of idol!!
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
I do not know?
I wish I knew how, had ability to turn
away from you and not look back to see if it
affected you, my turning away, walking off.
I want you to miss this, and I fail to pass off
the distance as a gravely unfortunate turn
of events, see truth within desperation, it
blinds, consumes, and (I hate to, but) I admit it
impossible to justify the breaking off
of any contact to once again inward turn.
I want to reach within, find this, and turn it off.
Love was in the air when he laid eyes on her.
Childhood; elementary and even high school with her.
Walking towards her, he greeted her.
Anxiety spiraled as he hugged her.
Conversation grew deeper as he sat with her.
Wanting to get closer because he was falling for her.
Another woman called pausing the time he was having with her.
Knowing he had to answer; he stepped away and spoke to her.
She stated that something wasn't quite right with her.
She said that her stomach had been bothering her.
Now he's thinking back if he came inside her.
Thinking if she lied to him about her tubes being tied within her.
Does he blame himself for listening to her?
Knowing right from wrong and yet he can't blame her.
Does he blame the devil for allowing him to be intimate with her?
Is he not a human that makes mistakes just like her?
Begging God to make a way for him and her.
Asking God to forgive him for committing the sin with her.
God said, "relax my son, you were only dreaming of her."
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.