werewolf central arrived in the form of an army
these soldiers were bulky, hairy and swarthy
we were terrified, since we are much smaller than them
Don’t be fearful said an old werewolf Clem
We did not come to harm, we came to save
We do not believe that anyone should be a slave
That night the werewolf militia saved us all
Halloween night in 1992, October, the fall
We owed them a debt of gratitude
Wanted to feed them, but they weren’t in the mood
Good thing since they are voracious carnivores.
They leapt away, each one on all fours.
scrambling scratchy screaming scribes
squeezing, squeaking, squawking,
swiftly sweetly swishing
swarthy swearing swimming
scrambling scratchy screaming scribes.
The sky is a slow bruise of amethyst and rose,
the sun, a tired king, bleeds gold across the land,
paint the western fronts of the city by the bay
a million dying lamps before the swarthy rise.
I am a cruise ship returning to its harbor,
while another ship sails filled with the day’s spent wind.
My every footstep sounds more like tiny pebbles,
like being dropped on the quiet of the asphalt
the echo of my journey home is astounding
Streetlights and shy fireflies wait to see who’ll glow first,
start their weak pulse, as if unsure the day is done
My thoughts fading like the lamp carried by my mind,
while reviewing the day's encounters like phantoms.
Each house exhales the scent of a tasty dinner,
a warm, domestic breath into the cooling air.
The moon, a pale coin, is tossed into the worn blue,
and the first star is a pinprick of forgiveness.
My own body knows this liturgy of descent,
the knee-jerk turn of the foot, soft exhale, tale’s rest.
I am not just walking up, I am unspooling,
bit of a loose thread of my former self, reeled back,
into the arresting arms of the spool of night.
Hear ye all, henceforth, Let it be proclaimed,
the first five books are synchronously known
as The Pentateuch. Leading faiths acclaimed
to be Christian and Jewish drawn from stone.
Claimed author, by and large, flight stareway
to wings and hauls swarthy locked dominion.
Greek pente five teuchos book, or crock-clay
to bear volume. Congruence brand common.
Transcend sanctioned, chosen by the divine,
retrieve and set free, quagmire pre-breakout
--God's Law Giver, ... Hebrew Torah enshrine
Moses. Collective's command role, no doubt.
Numbers, *** Genesis, **Who?** Leviticus,
Deuteronomy, *****Mosheh,***** Exodus.
It keeps calling,
And you keep calling it.
The more you think and feel, the more
you see how perfectly you both fit.
That thing...
That beautiful thing you have to get.
So be wise and ignore distractions and all
superfluous things so you never forget.
You see it as clearly as a supermoon in a swarthy
Georgia sky.
It reflects your dreams and desires,
And further signifies why you must try.
You feel it as deeply as a beloved mother with
her adorable newborn.
You see it,
You see how your life can and will beautifully transform.
It keeps calling...
And you keep calling it.
This thing,
This beautiful thing you're destined to get.
A sweet young bank teller named Doris
Had a crush on her co-worker, Boris.
But one day while at work
The young clerk went berserk
When she caught Boris banging the manager, Morris.
Doris' secret admirer, Dan Danson,
Was swarthy, tall, and roguishly handsome.
But the next day while at work,
This clerk, too, went berserk,
Took an ATM hostage and held it for ransom.
Dan was embarrassed, didn't want to be caught,
And was going to shut himself up in the vault,
But Boris told him to run,
While Morris called 9-1-1,
And Doris flatly declared that it wasn't her fault.
When the S.W.A.T. team arrived on the scene,
They found everything calm and serene.
Boris told the S.W.A.T. captain that Dan
Had taken both Doris and Morris' van
And fled with the cash from the money machine.
Doris' version, when caught, was more exculpatory
And dripping with details more lurid than gory.
She'd plotted with Dan to create this diversion
To rescue her from that den of perversion,
And now Boris, and Morris, and Doris, and Dan
Are suing each other for the rights to the story.
Close up, on the smooth couth
meretricious pod, vibrantly
violating my optics violently,
even through the microscope.
Its swarthy stare is maliciously
resplendent and evoked from
parsimony.
Nature's beauty is suicidal.
pulchritude through lens,
but a spike to the neck.
Even in risk, identified ignorance is ignored.
veracity is a voodoo doll,
if you toss it out it re-emerges like
a comet
relentlessly.
the microscope aggrandize on its perilous magnificent shock.
like an arboreal boat it is shielded but
pops in agitation, adjudicating what
personality to adorn.
It feels like a placid charade,
for toxicity comes with respect
and beliefs, adherence.
just like a horse belch loyalty
and a den of destruction
her seeds swell calmly in hot dosage bean.
opulently lethal.
I see her dancing high on the bed of pleasure
through the microscope, with feets enveloped in predicament and her lips covered in crimson ichor.
A queen, so clean, a routine as green.
Love always thinks it's chosen well,
Discerns no qualities to criticize.
In the loved one all is loveable,
And defects become virtues in a lover's eyes.
To speak, or write, or sing of love,
A lover needs no dictionary.
The words come tripping off the tongue,
For love provides its own vocabulary:
A girl who's pale is jasmine white,
And her purity is felt;
If swarthy, she's a simmering brunette;
One who's wafer-thin, with skin stretched tight,
Is willowy and svelte;
A chubby one's a sugar plum, a pet;
A sloppy and untidy girl's a wild and carefree soul;
On a giantess bestow a goddess air;
A small girl might be a mignonette, button cute, a doll;
A vain girl's assumed dignity gives her charms beyond compare;
Shy girls are smart;
Dull ones simple and sweet;
A chatterbox, engagingly bright;
The silent one's dark and mysteriously deep,
Affected, maybe,
But love makes that all right.
So a truly smitten lover loves all the faults of his beloved,
And ever has it been thus since "the Fall".
Whom your heart says love, you love her,
Not in fits and starts, or selected parts,
But farts…
And warts…
And all.
"The talk before the walk" Love Caution
Make me understand how you are able to break my heart before dating you?
You took my breath away and l know ours beat in sync we are a rhythm constructed by destiny.
I do not have answers and so do you , why let linger for longer knowing you will disappoint?
Love hurts either way but it is worth it ? Are you worth it? Perhaps l am asking for the impossible like looking for a needle in a hay stack only time can tell what we are.
At the same time like prime time it's getting swarthy the picture we hesitate to paint the image disconnecting from the frame .
If we dive in then let it be damn the consequences life is too short you might win to lose but only if you fail to try .
The paradox to life is the one we all can't escape or begin to comprehend and that's the truth so at the same time we might as walk away before the scratches.
(for Sally)
Sally, swarthy mare of a serene plain
Clad in habiliments of nubile grace
Whose name is the opium
That soothes the tremor of restive hearts.
Like the full moon that adorns the night,
Whose brilliance brightens gloomy spots,
Her probity, constant and unceasing
Is a blaze of untainted glory.
Sally, whose rhetorics dripping like wild honey
Is a basketful of beatitudes
That wraps the souls of mortals
In veils of hope and faith.
The winds shout her name,
The trees bow in reverence,
The birds whisper it in their songs
And echo its beauty to the green hills!
Ghost train seven was right on time.
I had put on the track one lone dime.
It was crushed in half, which amazed Ted, my friend.
He could see and hear no train, in the end.
Here is the dime for proof, I said.
He had always thought the ghost train was in my head.
Why do you see it and no one else can?
I can! Piped up an engineer, a swarthy man.
He can, I told him. Didn’t you hear him?
The engineer, old run away Jim?
What are you talking about? Ted didst ask.
Seeing and hearing ghosts is a lonely task.
Ghost train seven only comes once a year.
I wish you could have seen it here.
But it is gone, and so we might as well leave.
Ted was disappointed; but he did not believe.
I saw it longing for sovereignty and cynical toward chastity
I heard it unleash a perpetual claim
Let the swarthy be disdain
Subtle while shape-shifting our Constitution toward heavy discontent
I saw it force peasantry with disenfranchisement
Those disparaging eyes holding contempt for our very soul
I saw it most jovial when mayhem was in vogue
A phenomenal being wishing to hew the innate from its bough
I saw it reap and not sew
Hands of talons, satiated in blood
Dragging the wounded through mud
Its power was a noose called capital
Forever it will deride morality as if laughable
Red in hate, misery blue had white become
The Devils Hue
Somewhere in the wilderness,
Among the barren deserts,
And under the swarthy clouds
Lie the dilapidated destination
Of a poor homeless rebel,
Victimized unmercifully to fall
Like a drop of rain waited long!
There is a burning sand,
Perforating his bootless heels
With each prick eat up and engulf
The rest of blood from his dry veins
And does challenge his undanted will
Not to subdue and fall in subjugation
Before the sway of mighty domination.
He stays unabated in his determination,
With every sigh sobbed and blubbered,
Every sweat evaporated from his flesh
And every voice raised like Rustum's war cry
That shall crumble down powerfull states
And teaches the lessons of sufference to the foe.
A power plant or a powder room? Your choice
Crap!
One of those dreams again.
I had already had one of these last Thursday.
Isn’t there a limit or something?
I knew if I chose the wrong one
I could end up boiled in strawberry Jell-O
or
my teeth could be pulled out by rusty pliers.
I choose planetarium, I said smartly.
Found myself trampled by a swarthy buffalo a few seconds later.
Soft shadows,
slowly slide suspiciously,
sustaining shivers
shooting silently-
suggesting simultaneously,
surreal wind-blown,
wispy, wisteria wands
whispering wildly,
waltzing wonderfully-
while willfully
wagering, winged-wights wallow.
Slithering silhouettes
secretly stun-
surely, sculpturing spooky,
scary spirits-
showcasing swarthy,
spellbinding sprites.
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