upper floor landing
with its creaks and
twenties design
the stained glass
portal to the porch
where the dopers
smoke and discuss
politics
write free verse
critiques to the local
goverment
they always have the
best hydroponic
yet still ode to the
classics roll em in
Zig Zag
The old Zenith console
with beer rings and
its patina of dusk
basks in its corner
on the landing
when I sit on the
stairs behind the
Lazy-Boi I can see
the hairdresser

a stick and a rock
a cockroach climbs one, I smash
it with the other

Willard couldn't bowl
he's a bird, Richard said
then he killed himself

blubbering clouds
soon dry up and disappear
hopefully, you will

talk is not cheap
silence is fools gold
psalm of the rapper

fuck salvation, but
sound the bell, I like the word
tintinnabulation

she took my money
to buy me a stupid gift
I returned her

smile and love age is just a number

His un-surpassable
tooth less smile
try and beat it

a lovely rainbow bird
always a perpetual rainbow
come rain or snow

from a journalists point of view
all is relative
even
among relatives

I see beauty first
it quenches my thirst
as I am deaf and partially blind
age of anyone I don't ever mind

I have to make amends...
.with like minded aged friends...

all is relative says the master

There goes my heart again,
and it's not the first time;
it's not to frolic,
no,
it's far too old to frolic
the church elders told me and taught me.

In Sunday School
I learned how to earn grace,
and in Sunday School
I was taught
and fed.

And I'd blame you.
I know you think I blame you,
but really I'm just tired.
I wondered indeed why
I couldn't never muster up the rage
or at least the contempt
I should feel even now.

ancient nights,
a lost poem
wandering
long
in communal memory
a silent sigh of deep yearning

moon glow
and murmurs of spring
a lullaby
soothing man and beast

torch and fire tame
dark, and wilds
a festival
for newborn
lamb and child

market place teeming
exotic flavors
and trinkets to tempt
a fair maiden's favor

boisterous tales
boast and bravado
a husky brew enlivens
blustering howls

BARREN

There are no bouquets
of roses
In the flow of verses
my skill creates
for nothing can sustain
beauty in soil
where no seed
can grow,
an impoverished field
yields no fruit
where all hope lies fallow .

Yes it is awkward
I hope it was better
It has a way hard
Who are you to be setter
Calm down and be armed

It is a way of growth
Time of communication
Life of the stars on an oath
This is we and perception
Oh no its wrong to south
Beats on a heart caution
Word in a mouth

Sorry but its real
Love is being loved
And you have that

Good morning

Lucky charms
in the dark
swim about
the bones
like cockelshell
fleshed out
in moon milk
skin
and sown with
down

Gritty grins
on shadow
frames
vaulted like
window dressed
spectacular
jouncing on
the leather
clipper speedship
corner overtaken
chrome gloss
careen
behind wide angle
windscreen

in the heavens
race
a tint moon
glaze streams
behind channel
clouds
dark limbed
harrasments

FREE CHOICE

There is no hope of winning
but there is a deep anger in my soul
that pushes me on across fields
of pain and desperation.
I deplore the anguish that death brings
as I note each new failure by design;
each step in life has been determined
by some Superior Kind
and free choice is nothing more than selecting
different roads that all lead to the same place.

All this while....,
I wrote poems like heap of soil,
They seemed like empty glasses,
But thanks to you, for the love,
They are now like flying dove.