The childhood trips remembered most:
the channel islands off the coast.
Embarking from Redondo Beach,
most were within a one day’s reach.
Though absent wind, the distance grew;
a one-day trip could stretch to two.
Too much, the seas would chop and swell,
and that could be a queasy hell.
But land ahoy! We’d come alee
and gain some shelter from the sea.
Drop anchor in a quiet cove,
make egg burritos on the stove.
Then beach the dinghy on the sand,
and practice skipping rocks by hand.
At night, a tinkle in the sea
brought phosphorescent shouts of glee.
The stars, like diamonds, sparkled bright
far from the bustling city lights.
The sleeping bags, the damp, the cold
add to the fun at ten years old.
The time flew past; before you know
it’s Sunday morning: time to go.
With anchor up and mainsail taut,
the isle recedes, a distant dot.
The thought of school might bring despair
one thought kept me from going there:
for I was sure no classmates had
a childhood sailing with their dad!
Jouhikko
-----------------
By: Ardor Futanari and
Ahegao Bellissifah
The only thing the rest of the world
has in common with us, is the birds,
bees, the sun and moon.
We are that special he told her.
strumming her ego and
assuring his stedefæst, to her.
She kissed him in gratitude.
her words were Libretto and there
relationship solid as they viewed there
togetherness as a work in progress.
"whence there are nought
might the edges of tomorrow
have us coupled together
as lovers friends and associates"
"then before God and man
" shall we stand together
hand in hand
woman and man
Amorous toward the people
that they may envy our togetherness"
Lush the evening a night spent with you
that such a gathering is an orchestrator backdrop
that heightens the emotional and sensual senses
eros, philia, and agape: love makes ordinary days feel magical
even in the worst of times it's special and meaningful.
November 11, 1511
Bell Tower Student Villa
Florence
Most Honorable Leonardo ~
I am traversing Venice with Ricardo
We’ve roamed the delightful dame of Florence
where we’ve ogled all kinds of performance
Rhapsodic to report that I have audience with Michelangelo, Sculptor
certainly he is a revolutionary artist, a disrupter
I’m seeking to be his assistant to do household chores and learn
wanting to imbibe his artistic wisdom, not to earn
Florence is growing rapidly with many rogues
though it still feels evocative like a maiden rose
I’m immersed in visiting life-size statues, complete and incomplete —
walking miles of cobblestone streets, making
me deplete
My senses raw as unworked marble, ready to be carved without any garble…
Write to me, please, with family news, about your health —
I trust you are in strength and wealth
With the Grace of God, nothing else
Your friend, Giovanni, wearing an Italian belt !
We lived on an orchard,
apples in autumn,
cherries in summer.
Though it wasn’t ours,
we cared for the trees.
We helped prune as we grew older.
Dad was able to keep a cow.
Her name was Carnation
and she was ours.
Dad milked her by hand,
early each morning before work
and again in the afternoon.
Afternoons we could go too.
First we helped herd her
to the barn.
Our reward was warm milk
Dad squirted straight from her teats
into our mouths.
He missed sometimes.
We would laugh so hard,
milk all over our faces.
I think he missed
on purpose,
just to make us laugh.
A Drink with an Old Friend:
Like a criminal,
I'm caught red handed —
As I return the scene of the crime.
But I don't understand it,
It's not mine.
No, I didn't plan it.....
Noose around my neck,
And trauma did the damage.
Reenactment....
Drowning in the fractures,
Of my melted face.
Again I ask,
Who am I today?
Isn't time just a place?
Does identity disappear,
When bones are ground into paste?
When even the mirror,
Reflects my empty space.
Red is the flesh,
Dipped in my own blood.
Stained is the page,
With a cruel heart called love.
Swaying in time,
Like the pendulum of the clock.
As I turn towards death and simply laugh.
I've been dying.....
Ever since my first bath.
Come on Mr. Grim,
If you won't take me—
Why don't we just hang.
Here have a cigar,
I'll pour you a glass.
Let's raise a toast,
To the pain long past.
~D34d-1~
*In regards to Repetition Compulsion
What do you do if there's a coyote in your yard?
That's an excellent question and the answer's not hard.
Though his visit may have been unplanned,
smile, introduce yourself, and shake his hand.
Life ripples with love's rhythm --- clear
reverberating kindness' hope
allowing hearts that hold each dear
remain vibrant as they both cope.
Against confusion-propelled woe
life ripples with love's rhythm --- clear
while faith lights partners midst truth’s glow
vanquishing angst of deceit’s fear.
Upon faithful devotion’s gear
toward triumphant friendship-tie
life ripples with love's rhythm --- clear
as hearts beat as one, closely nigh.
Tuned gladly with serene refrain
relationship basks in blest cheer
thanking God that along race-strain
life ripples with love's rhythm --- clear.
Life as a hanger is tough
Dealing with all of your stuff
Got Bargain Barn blues, you pick and you choose
Cuz more, is never enough
The plastic ones, always snap
Dealing with all of your crap
We hang on the door, or nap on the floor
Cuz you're tough, just like your Pap
The metal hangers are best
They're always passing the test
They'll hold any crap, Kong's dirty jockstrap
Cuz, "he" looks better undressed
You might think there's something wrong with my head.
I believe in the existence of members of the living dead.
She only comes out at night, and never walks in the day.
The trouble is, I know she died last May.
This pretty vampire has cast her spell over me.
She says I am just her type, positive AB.
When this creature bites my neck, it feels so kinky.
She always leaves much more than a hickey.
With her long black hair and dark eyes, she is one I will take.
Please don't come near her with silver bullets or a wooden stake.
An older poem reposted for the Halloween season
Night draws its veil on all I see
No need to tell what differs — I am free
The clamor of the world has slipped away
At last, peace comes to close the day
Why guess at those who hide from light?
We need only guard our souls inside.
At least the flesh it calls home is still young
Is that not the luck for which all have longed?
The God of Darkness keeps him in his care,
Beneath a single lamp's soft glare.
He drinks the quiet joy that senses bring
In these calm days where no harsh winds sting
No loneliness can find him there
For in the night, beyond despair
He finds, where shadows gently fall
A reason to live beyond it all
So many memories of you
Flood our minds
From NASCAR to dirt track to model cars
You were a collector of many things
But true love was your greatest treasure
You held it close you held her dear
Your children knew what a great man you were
Tommy you were a special unique soul
A bit of a perv but you knew how to have fun
The memories we share of you will carry us through this difficult time
You journey now begins in the arms of your beloved
Some day we will see you there in heaven
With that unforgettable smile and with out any pain
Catch up on those lost years
And we will see you again down that eternal road of true love that you paved with all your heart
For Thomas Matteson Jr
Gone but never forgotten.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" is my plea
Yielding to Him all of me by His grace
Believing that such brings spiritual glee
As I run life’s race along service-pace.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" drives my day
Propelled to fulfill ministerial aim
Empowered in doing best through faith’s way
Toward exaltation of Saviour’s name.
"Do with this what You will, Lord," props my heart
Against selfishness-fall from pride’s great blow
Letting me practice loving kindness part
Prayerfully true in sharing hope’s glow.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" keeps my mind
Focused to eternal endeavours’ crest
Cognizant of what virtues have enshrined
Marked by genuine care to be shown midst zest.
"Do with this what You will, Lord," says my soul
While thanking Him gladly for life bestowed
By divine guidance to pursue blest goal
Toward triumphant heavenly abode.
a pebble
d
r
o
p
s
into
the crystal-clear mirror
of nature....
gone
after a sudden disruption.
the surface of the stream
reveals
an unspoken wish.
a circle
w i d e n s,
e x p a n d i n g
as though bursting
into flames,
pressing against
the quietness
of the water's surface,
the water holds
whispering
of unwhisperable secrets.
without a tempo
leading its way
without a beat
to command it.
lily pads d r i f t
over the stream
shadows reflecting
the movement of a clear day.
no track to follow,
no reason or why.
outwardly,
and outwardly,
the edge of stream
grows thin,
the starting point
where the line
originally started,
a pulse and silence...
as the water
recedes from sight,
a ripple
with no rhythm
being engulfed
in the darkness.
I saw him lawfully wed
Calm , composed and mine
Once.
I saw him lawfully wed
Prayerful and resilient
With her in mine.
And I sighed for a poem
Our saddest thought is often a mistaken hoopoe
still capable of gluing a heart to know
Masjidul Haram, Masjid Al aqsa
Indecisive of him about Windsor
Yet almost assured about a hymn
As the song stressed
They do come home!
Eyes ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ follow ¦¦¦ butterflies,
And, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sweat ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ at the empty skies.
So ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ they fall ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
And sting ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Till, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ pain ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ gather
Out of ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ a cabbage-leaf.
"You ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Turn, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
Glorious butterflies ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ dead." . . .
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ beautiful, Earth ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
So ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ where ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ is our death!
(Blackout of Butterflies by Rudyard Kipling)
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