Commences Poems

Naive Faith

Claustrophobic, saturated white walls constrict,
sucking the oxygen from every molecule of deprived blood.
Hypoxic cells circulate through an increasingly unstable body,
whilst rivulets of sweat flow from clammy palms.

Insomniac reality blurs with insidious shadows,
dancing upon the ceiling.
Naive faith keeps insanity just at bay,
but with each sunrise, hope is chipped away.

How much longer can a soul survive without respite
before it splits open—
spilling into the realms of delicious delusion?

Counting spots of dust in sunlight streams
now becomes the norm.
Two hundred yesterday—
is that two hundred and four today?

Slowly losing grip,
twisted nursery rhymes play out in a fracturing mind:

One, two, no one is going to save you.
Three, four, get ready for the relentless gore.
Five, six, they will play with your bones like sticks.
Seven, eight, for this occasion you better not be late.
Nine, ten, you are now in their sadistic den.

Praying for sleep, it never comes,
as reality dissolves
and this phantasmagorical nightmare commences.

Sense perception

immediate and intimate 
is rapture felt when nodes gyrate
borne by currents of our senses
truth as felt, mind cannot truncate

why live out life in past tenses
when each moment breath commences
ushering with it boons of grace 
reading through ego’s pretences

embrace release; release embrace
that origins we may retrace
strobes of light that heighten delight
gentling touch, slowing down life’s pace

vibrant by day, at peace by night
doing what conscience deems as right
making void-centric our soul’s view
our aura radiates God’s light

touch leaves to feel fresh morning dew
each rainbow we see, seems like new
as does caress divine sublime 
as bliss ignition does renew

accent occurs in timeless time
in slow steps to heaven we climb
there’s no fear for God dwells within
His heartbeats echoing love’s chime

Cranium Composure Compromised

Calendar commences, conviviality,
kids kvetch knishes cold,
cantaloupe crappy,
kids constantly crunching cookies,
cake, candy.
Could kayaking, canoeing, camping
in Canada cure cantankerous
children's contention?
Can caddying at the country club
conquer kid's complaining?
chaos could conduce calamity,
kindred claiming complete cuckoo-ness,
summer sanity-stealing s'mores scavengers!

Singing a Song in Honor of the Wind

Melody of the west wind
Wafts into the courtyard
Tickling the fresh buds of an apple tree
I am enthralled, excited, enthused

Singing commences
A ditty I make up in honor of wind
An appreciative cloud gives me a nod
I feel validated

Oak tree scoffs
He is not as easily won over as wind or cloud
Matters not, I continue singing the wind song
Feeling the excitement of spring

You Excite All My Senses

For Timothy Lee

You excite all my senses.
I happily lack any defenses
against stimuli your love dispenses.
Your ways lack false pretenses.
Whenever together, true joy commences.

Eyes, ears, taste, scents, touch -
all intoxicate me so much.
My heart and soul clutch
because our love grants such.
You are my sweet penuche.

Thoughts of me and you
paint a picture perfect view.
Our combination is love's brew
sweet seeped through and through.
Daily, love gifts us anew.

Time Has Nothing to Do but Dance

A crow struts into a bar,
it's a crow, not a native American.
There's a hot wind blowing through town
Texas Rangers are drinking on the job.
A young beauty is busy
capturing boys' hearts
on her I Pad.
A land Line rings loudly
from a backroom -
no one has the skill to reply to the call.
The sleek jet-black bird
commences to dance
on the dusty wooden floor,
neck back and cawing loudly.
A picture of Clint Eastwood
looks down from an adobe wall,
he is 150 years old now
but he is still the rightful President.
Some crusty old-timer
throws a ten-dolor bill on the counter.
Soon the crow is drinking
and occasionally playing the fool.
Outside, a mule bray's,
crow flaps up and leaves
for the past.
Hollywood is still slowly arriving.
Native Americans have been on strike
for a hundred years.
The Crow Nation brews its own beer
and rez cops take their share
and don't care.

I step into the Newness of the Night

I step into the newness of the night
feeling sticky in the warm air
It is twenty degrees cooler now
Still warm at eighty degrees
But this is Kansas in August

a streak across the sky grabs my attention
blinking red and yellow lights, a commercial flight
we are fifteen minutes south of a large airport
wolves or coyotes are howling in the distance
excited yipping commences, they have cornered something

the yipping seems to have ceased, they must be eating
the night’s freshness taunts me
this is an opportunity to write something new
but what? I sit in a lawn chair, surrounded by my dogs
where to begin? I pick up my pen, waiting for my muse.

The Angler

The water churns under the angler's gaze,
Mirroring the sky in a soft, gentle haze.
Beneath the surface lies a world unseen,
Where fish roam freely in currents serene.

The line tightens, the thrill takes flight,
A struggle commences, a dance of might.
The angler wrestles with the fish through the night.

Colors burst forth in a rainbow's delight,
As scales glisten in the moon's soft light.
A flash of crimson, a splash of gold,
The fish's strength, a sight to behold.

It fights with resolve, this creature of the sea,
The angler reels, his grip steady as can be.
He knows the rhythm, the ebb and flow,
With practiced hands, he guides the show.

Finally, the fish breaks the surface's hold,
A moment captured, a tale to be told.
In hues that shimmer like a sunset's gem,
A testament to nature's untamed emblem.

who would wear that

She is new to our community
A woman who wears a scorpion necklace
Who would wear that? Some naysayers wonder aloud.
I have a cousin, an aunt and know two drag queens who would.
I keep my mouth shut as the conversation commences.
Wondering if I should tell them about my favorite book.
“You cannot afford the luxury of a negative thought.”

Wild Birds Revisited; Same Soup, Different Spoon

A scarlet-throated hummingbird, betrayed,
commences the annual rite of packing his nest,
in response to whimsical winds' pirouette
and the capricious moods of weather's ballet.

Distant friends once conspired in sunbeam pursuits,
beak-dipping in nectar teased from blossoms' allure,
whispers of the breeze tutoring flight's debut.

Without forewarning, save the whispers of history,
the wind turned, concealing its chilly shoulder,
snow's fragrance on its breath, contradicting denials.

Taking only essentials, nestled close to his breast,
an eccentric twig, a wisp of newborn down for nostalgia,
the unborn blueprints of a portico, a dream deferred.

Perched on a bare branch at dawn, the crimson aviator bids adieu,
soaring on a desolate breath, burden lightened,
leaving his heart with the capricious whimsy of sylphs.

Making Fun of Her Grandson

turquoise hair and pink stripes!
his mother must be proud!
giggling and poking fun commences.
annoyingly mean and loud.

I am proud of him,
his grandmother says with pride.
I love crazy punk stuff,
now you two better hide.

the bullies ran off in haste
For they could see she meant it.
teenager with the wild hair
loved hearing grandma vent it.

Spellbound

Dark orange skies
Fading into black night,
A crescent moon rise
Glowing ghostly white 

Skimming overhead 
With trick or treaters below,
I watch them tread
Before up I go ...

Flying over corn crops
Reaching out to touch the stars,
Dodging rooftops ...
And parked cars

Above the tree limbs
Sweeping the last leaves, 
As I swoop by, skims
The houses' eaves

Over the picket fences
And wrought iron gates,
The night commences
Where the cemetery waits

It is Halloween ...
In all it's sight and sound,
Beautiful to be seen
And I am spellbound!

For Whom the Bell Tolls

treatment commences
cancer eradicated
we remain hopeful

the bell’s rung three times
radiotherapy done
life begins again

live for the moment
we are never complacent
cancer may return

cherish your loved ones
embrace life, it’s all too short
cancer is a thief!

It Is That Look In Your Eyes

it is that look in your eyes
that commences mine closing
the world disappears
the aroma in your hand 
echoes the feel as your shoulder
guiding, powering the arm
the deliverance is in hand
all the senses wait for the touching
held at bay by a Percheron steadfast
angel wings whisper 
as your hand arrives on my cheek
my heart in a pyroclastic bursting
as enchantment grasps 
every atom within me
where time and space have no meaning
and in that instant when lips meet
the Percherons are in a full gallop 
in a universe gravid with an elucidation
that consumes my life
a plethora of galaxies i so adore
all of this from a social event
i had no intention of attending
where just one perchance look
from afar across the room
became the smile on Klotho's face

   OKC   4/23

Zen Mode

marked by our intent 
an action commences
which if interrupted
by randomness of fate
causes in us no ripple
being but spontaneity
of the expression of life
of which we are a part
so we intuitively adapt
dancing to the rhythm
in a mood celebratory

09-March-2023

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