Long Itself Poems
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Let's sit back, relax
And all count out the cost
As the initial wave of shock
Wears itself thinly off
One side had to win
While the other side sadly saw
The beginning of the end
In what is now their loss
But aren't we still Americans
When all of this is said
Some voted with their hearts
While others with their heads
No need to roll over
And wish that you were dead
With history in the making
We've all gone through worse than this
While a select see a set back
To others it's a gain
What may have come as a flood
To some it's needed rain
True a few must lose
For another cause to win
But when it comes down to it all
Aren't we still all Americans
The rose showed one face to the world.
I believed that face for a long time.
What I could not grasp at first
was never harmless.
I saw only one side.
The rest escaped me.
It stayed hidden
until much later.
I trusted the rose enough to hold it.
The thorns seemed unimportant then.
But some wounds come quietly,
And leave a mark behind.
What started as a scratch
Became more than it appeared.
The wound was easy to hide,
But difficult to forget.
Tears came more often than before.
Some days brought it back.
I tried to move on,
But it stayed behind.
The rose still stands as it always has.
People still lingered near it.
No one sees what lies beneath,
Until it shows itself.
The thorn did not leave just one wound.
It returned more than once.
Each mark stayed a little longer,
and it lingered.
I noticed the flower first.
Little else caught my attention.
The rest came later,
By then… the thorn had done its work.
Not every rose is the same.
Some pain keeps the shape of where it started.
Can the black live
without the white ...?
May the sun rise
no morning ...
The cock sound
without singing ...
The rose sprlackout
without button ...
Can color decorate
without tone...
Laughter be smile
without mourning ...
The pain live
without consolation ...
A star burns without
without heating ...
The beast his brother
fear...
The couple live together
without mating ...
The horse without
hungry horse ...
May death
die...
Can the poetry
poet itself ...
Without meed of
a poet ...
life alone
live...
be welcome
without
come ...
One can be joyful
alone...
Can youl livei without
me,
and me without
you...?
i am transformed. in what i see.
my eyes can not discern
as shapes melt and swirl
and break into dots --
merging with the Static.
i am transformed. in what i hear.
of overlapping rips of space itself
with the unyielding babel of humanity.
i hear everything and nothing
becoming one with the Hiss.
i am transformed. in what i touch.
my insubstantial hands stir turbulence
passing through scratchy mist.
the Dust drapes over me and through me.
i am infused with the smell of a million worlds.
i am transformed. in what i think.
of snippets of thought
impinging on me.
racing through my awareness
and memories of titillation.
i am arrested by efficiency and classification.
my mind gives over to the Context it can no longer fight.
i have been transformed.
in all my senses and in all my thoughts
i am conjoined with all Things.
i am Undifferentiated.
Published: Edge of Humanity Magazine
July 2026
________________________
So the tree stood in the centre of the desert
mangled by winds of change and truth of joy
chains of dust and torrents of rare rain
Burnt black and senseless by an
unrelenting Sun of nightmare beauty
orange was the sand of scorpions
orange was the mirage of miracles
orange was her veil of innocence
As the tree stank of heavenly myrrh
itched to pour its oil over orange
nippled breasts and buttocks
stroke curves and carves
of luminous beauty with its
ancient branches of stony bark
as beetles made holy love in its
crevices of dark deep velvet depth
And the mangled magic of the myrrh
stood short and stumped and watched
the breath of a timeless desert
slow movements of noble camels
with long thick lashes speaking of
magnificent slowness in the lick of lick
a lip in a lip
Tree of a thousand loves
sprinklings in sparkles spaced
over a tent of chiffon on sand
slithering with patterned serpents
and eyes of dark magic, of long
limbs all in One
twine and twine and grow together
as all become One
with myrrh and magic
heavy beads of sweat and
amber laugh and scream
Moments of a tree of ugly love
as ugly melts into vacant beauty
irresistible wordless wrinkles ageless
Deep furrows of sweet scent
sent desert creatures weeping
to smiling stars as a tree of life
stood stock still to imbibe
eternal myrrh itself
_____________________
As a child
I thought of eternity
as endless...
days and months and
years and centuries,
then millennia and
billions and trillions of
boring, boring years--
what would I do
when I had all the time
in the universe...?
Now as an old man
I know time is a liar,
itself unreal, an illusion
born of sweat, fear,
the loneliness of spirit
in a cold material world.
Now I can see how eternity
is always here, next to us,
within us, that moment
none can grasp nor
measure nor repeat,
the endless moment,
that indistinguishable point
between past and future,
between what was--
what will be--
the soul's singularity,
its alpha and omega.
And all our heavy fears
of extinction are like
wasted breath...
for we are real
and time is not--
we--we are the
eternal moments....
Before I knew your quiet light,
I feared the tether of the years—
The walls that close when hearts unite,
The vows that echo into tears.
But when you came, the shadows fled,
My doubts dissolved like morning dew—
A gentler world began to spread,
Each blossom opening to you.
Now every dawn is soft and wide,
The sky itself a tender hue,
And all the fears I held inside
Have turned to faith, because of you.
No chain could bind what love sets free—
It roots in joy, not duty’s call—
And now my world, once small to me,
Has grown so vast, it holds it all.
I fell, and in the falling—flew.
I fell in love with you.
Moon thoughts
Sitting out in the backyard
far from the glow of the city
in one of two lawn chairs
positioned facing east,
I gaze upon the rising moon,
watching in silence as it climbs
above a slowly fading horizon
And I think to myself…
is it lonely, this bright shining orb
sitting there all by itself
in the vast turquoise heavens
Is it hoping for a beautiful star
to join it on a warm
springtime evening like this
When I see it appear,
the first star, a glistening gemstone,
dazzling in illumined brilliance
just to its right and I wonder
as I look to the empty chair
just to my right, is the moon perhaps
thinking the same thing about me
Good night Soupers
Have a great weekend
See you again on Monday
His green gold flecked eyes stare into mine and I am whole
My love for him etched itself perfectly into my soul
I thought I've loved before but oh i was so wrong
His hands dance upon my body like a melody, a beautiful song
His lips meet mine and we are fire
His warm skin against mine is pure desire
And together we mesh, two perfect puzzle pieces
His soft lips kiss me in all the right creases
We come up for air and stare into each others eyes
He moans at the sound of my soft muffled cries
It's pleasure, excitement, and pain all rolled up into one
And I feel as if I'm coming undone
Unraveling, opening like spring's first bloom
And he's moaning like he's unraveling too
Making love is better than emotionless intercourse
This lust and love is churning at full force
And I let myself fall deeper, sink into the motion
Our bodies in tune, sway like the ocean
I've given him all I have and even more
Pleasing him, teasing him, pleasure galore
He loves the way I caress him down there
And I see the burning desire in his pleasured stare
After we're done we fall into each other once more
Holding each other tight, it's him I completely adore
I'm reborn feeling thoroughly brand new
Before we fall into a deep slumber we both whisper, "I love you".
In the cathedral of eternity, where time itself kneels in reverence,
Where stars are candles burning on the divine altar on high,
There Jesus, Savior and Sun-giver, makes His presence felt,
In the hearts of Christians - a living temple, an ark of salvation.
Their ocean of faith, a mirror without shores, unforeseen,
Upon its waves, only the Ark of Incarnation glides in peace,
For those who sail aside, compass-less, without Jesus to anchor the tale,
Navigate in false galleons, dreaming of a ray that embraces.
Here, in the palm of Jesus, souls gather like leaves in the wind,
Beneath the lofty dome, where the echo of grace is both melody and hymn,
He, the bread of life, the wine of salvation, shared on mine and your altar,
A sacred bond, transmuting the heart into an ark enshrined with mystery.
In Jesus, walls of the soul rise, surpassing imagination’s hold,
The living stones of His faith, an institution unshaken in purity,
Even in the howl of the tempest, Christians find shelter under reconciliation’s wing,
For they have The One, enrobed in the dawn of deathless love.
In the Gethsemane of other hearts, a prayer fades into whisper,
A shadow, seeking the light, in the maze of a vast doubt,
But Christians dine with God, they know Him by name,
He, their Shepherd, on the path to heaven, and in each shard of dream woven in name.
In their life, each step, a frame of iconostasis where God resides,
The ineffable made flesh, in Jesus, where heaven and earth in a dance are enjoined,
Their altars are hearts aflame, an eternal burning of the terrestrial angel,
In Jesus, the key to liberty, in a sacred chant - an everlasting mysterium.