Unsullied Poems

stay with me

Stay with me

The Zephyr breathes with the lungs
unsullied by cigarette smoke
Siesta nap
a lazy Sunday on an afternoon
when flowers wilt, the sky is recklessly
nude in transparent whispers
of silky clouds.
Breathtakingly the silence
if it should
stop
I would fall into a chasm
of pale rainbows,
stillborn moons,
corroded stars
where words of love
are unheard of, a silent echo
Inhale and exhale, my lovely
Blow a gale 
but don’t leave me alone in
city parks where aged men sit
tell us how old they are.

Fresh Paint

New walls, inviting
colors crisp and…

Clean, washed 
bright, beautiful and…

Fresh, renewed
by cheery colors, so…

Neat, energetic
like the unsullied, and…

Different, unmarked
by the past, unsoiled and …

Detailed by soft brush
filled with paint’s heavy scent…

Sparkling, like the life
reborn, new and changed,
converted by the primer – 
His light never fades out…

His brush mends the heart
restores the soul with faith
and transforms the life with grace…

Painting the spirit in love so amazing
Painting my life so I’ll always be praising

Imperishable Stork

The wounded, intrepid stork
    remains defiant,
    withstanding the ceaseless
     rage.
  An unwavering,
relentless bliss adorns it.
It enfolds a blooming dawn
in its fascinating heart.
A lighted candle resides in its
fiery, boundless soul.
 Unraveling the tapestry of
divine beauty is like
 an undying rejoicing.
The unruffled, phosphorescent
sea is asphyxiated 
by deathless fetters.
They systematically decimate the unfailing,
unrequited dove.
Their unquestioned, unsullied
commitment is to hug it.
The prevailing, widespread
dark like a bloodthirsty
hawk will be obliterated by
the joyous sun of chrysanthemum.
The unbridled, unbowed
  spring like a sunny dream
is bedecked  with unfearing jewelry.
 The enduring, unsurpassed
Sunrise will prevail worldwide.
Its golden light never wanes...

Exposed

From this angle the bushes do not conceal them.
Are they hinged or unhinging?
Each body is a prison gate for the other,
both seem stuck together by a pungent lip spit.
Feathering fingers pulse-play over gulping skin.
Greedy eyes zoom in,
unbuckling muscles sift and trowel,
modelling the creaming and palpable.
This public act despoils the evening
yet it also sweetens.
I feel the need to rut,
to suck inward all this carnality,
to sup upon this liqueur of spiced flesh,
even though my cupped hands
remain regretfully or not,
unsullied.

Sanguine Senility

Eventide drizzle,
dainty ballerina
dances with tinsels 
of molten rainbow,
captured by twilight
transient, 
descends with rhythm
of cosmic ballet 
at the ebony edge  
of the onyx night,
the squashed sordid sky
enwrapped embellished,
waits to unfurl 
rain-rinsed petals
with aurora of afflatus
to embroider
with lattice of luminance 
the halcyon horizon,
splendorous.
	
Juvenile smile,
sparkling sapphire
of innate innocence 
configured intrinsic,
cascades as cheerful stream
in verdant valley 
of fleeting youth
for a nostalgic while, 
with ageless naïve aura 
inundates ignorant
the pristine plateau,
the unsullied face
flash flooded, 
waits expectant
at doorstep of destiny
hope would turn the time, 
drift away
dense obscurity dust,
reveal the fossilized smile 
on petrified portrait
in the crumpled canvas
of senile life,
sanguine.

a different kind of love

A different kind of love

Easy, in and out your breath
lungs unsullied by cigarette smoke
Siesta nap, a lazy Sunday afternoon
when flowers are recklessly nude
Breath, taking
should you stop
I would fall into a chasm 
pale rainbows, a stillborn moon
rusty stars
where words of love go unheard
Do not leave me alone 
in a city park
where old men chew tobacco
and tell passers-by
how old they are

The Relic

It looked like a bleached tongue
pulled from a mouth,
petrified and incapable 
now of letting a word slide over
its calcified silence.
I picked it out of the wet sand
and held it in my hand. 
It had little weight, smooth
on one side and pitted
on the other. A cuttlefish bone.

It was a marvel of engineering.
My fingers followed its shape,
took in its texture, the pleasurable 
feel of its form. I lifted it to my nose 
and smelt its salty, faintly fishy
odor, sea washed to a clean
unsullied smell. It had undergone
a change into something 
beyond life, into an artifact of time.

I kept it cradled in my hands,
held it like a sacred relic.
I have seen them too
shrink wrapped in plastic bags
on the end of supermarket shelves,
a calcium supplement for birds
to be hung on a hook 
inside of a cage. 
They were selling for $2.50
or thereabouts.

I Wish I Had

I wish I had...
      the power to change
      a broken man's circumstances. 
      I'd flip his dim world 
      back downside up, 
      add colors and rays of sunshine to it, 
      and keep Lady Luck 
      smiling at him. I'd erase 
      his misfortune and pull him back up 
      by his bootstraps.

I wish I had... 
      the unsullied innocence 
      of a child;
      wide-eyed curiosity,
      a complete absence of guile,
      unblemished 
      by transgression,
      brimming 
      with vernal exuberance;
      oh, it's like being reborn!

I wish I had... 
      the ability to resurrect the dead.
      I'd bring back my father 
      and say to him ONE thing 
      I wish I've said in his living years,
      and that is..."Dad, I love you!"
      He knew I loved him,  you see. 
      I showed him so many times 
      and in so many different ways,
      but alas, I never told him so.

An Unsullied View

I was a youth who seldom thought about
the fact that in the midst of life I was,
with each breath, getting closer to its end.		
I viewed life as a beautiful clear stream   
that never would run dry, eternal springtime, 
and lively music written for the young.

Rainbows filled my mind

   Snapshots of a gentler time
     rainbows filled my mind
   Freshwater streams, nature unsullied
     Faces helpful, eager, kind  

   Page after page, endearing smiles
     teeth all perfectly aligned 
   No hint of what's to come
     ~ navigating blind

Planet Norway

Planet Norway calling


We see a TV program from Norway, a smallish nation bent on becoming green, building windmills on top of mountains and in the sea, filling the landscape with rotating blades that have an annoying sound and does not make the famous landscape more prettier.
You see, to finance this dream of an unsullied nation at ease with itself, it has to sell polluting oil and gas by the tankers full and the more expensive the electric dream becomes, more oil and gas must be sold..
To reason to the leaders of this electric manic disorder, is impossible they act as the have found the final truth and God is no longer in the details
Can anyone explain to the Norwegian government their 
country is not a “Planet Norway,” drifting about in the galaxy oblivious of other planet but is a small part of Europe and the rest of the world, that pollution affects us all and that the solution must be based on common sense and together with other nations.

Her Eyes

They dance and sing a merry tune 
They sparkle with life, death immune 
They shine like the most precious jewel 
They choke my words, commanding and cool. 

My jaw seems locked, lost for speech 
My thoughts are cryptic, impossible to reach 
My heady head bunged with clouds 
My heart so heavy, a beating shroud. 

An unsullied spring of purest blue 
A cascade of beauty obviously true
A blink and a wink the dream has been slain 
Another glimpse and I'm frozen again.

Sweet Melody

Pure as she is, sweet as she is
The beauteous Portia of my dream
With her anchor of roses
Conceived by her body of harmony.
The velvety of her skin I sink
Soft like fresh-ripe melon
Unsullied as perfect Swan
Which encapsulates beauty and love.

Adorned she in her customary apparel
The pride of Africa
She: the citadel of virtue
The Hyena of my land
African woman: her glorious symbol
With her countenance like a beam of light
Which scintillates my nights to bear.

I call her black woman, but pure black
My candle is ignited by her dulcet tales
I hail you, precious woman
The morning star of beauty
The Barnadeth of mankind.

Perfection Must Wait

In truth, I have never known
how to deal with 'true love'.
Does it glow or shine
can it spin on a dime?

I truly have known 'love'
in many shapes and forms.
It was never perfect,
never not unsullied by petty deceits.

I saw not angel wings
lifting it upon high
perfection did not wink its godly eye,
but damn it

yes, love in any rough-hewn shape
has for me been true;
love in a far less pristine guise
that will do.

WILD ORCHID -

Orchids that grow on high places 
like having a mind of their own. 
Could you tell me what's the secret? 
Your magic struck my bone. 

You ascend to climb the high trees 
like you had your own legs;
You grow on where the wild breeze 
could freely kiss your lips. 

You climb high towards the light 
so you could dodge the blight; 
To the peak of your might, you soar, 
so, no one could harm your soul. 

You make the trees your anchor
without really hurting their core;
The atmosphere is like your base 
where you could bloom and flourish. 

The blossoms of your loveliness 
radiate the radiance of your beauty; 
You take away the loneliness 
of the hearts on agony. 

Your charm is unsullied 
but you'd rather choose to hide; 
Your beauty is like the rarest pearl 
that dazzles like a priceless jewel. 

Your blooming beauty is so divine, 
You're so untamed but fine, 
Only those who dare could find
a way to rope your kind.

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