No alphabets can conjoin
to form words to express
what lips and fingertips script
stroke after delightful stroke
a poem in invisible ink
of those intimate liquid moments
indelible

They come alive
when I close my eyes
like glow worms and goosebumps
with fingertips and nose tips
gently strumming the heartstrings
and amidst them I hear
in a heightened pitch
your sighs

on the wrinkled sheet I read
those verses
in shades of pink and scarlet
tinted in moonlight

Ah, playful is the gay coquette
who flits between the trees,
which stand around like marionettes
all swaying by degrees.

She romps along, red curls unbound
and flapping in the breeze,
her wrap lies low enfolded round
a figure made to squeeze

Let’s raise a glass to this dear lass
who never meant to tease,
or shake our heads at those instead
that try too hard to please.

I, a demi-poet
write almost poems
and hang them on a cloud

a gloomy
dooms-day sky,
full of such strangeness,
reigns over me
perpetually
dripping
downers
and upward floaters
eerily
passing in the night
lonely, lonely
drifting
forever some
to holes
bleaker than never
flailing
against the knell
cringing
the gravity
of abandonment

in silent screams

drooping
...impotence

and shame

....................

A LUZ

A luz que brilha dentro
é como uma chama de vela
tremulando ao vento,
uma vacilação da alma
em antecipação assustadora
abatido pelo Tempo
enfraquecido até morrer...

THE LIGHT
the light that shines within
is like a candle flame that
flickers in the wind
a soul wavering
in frightful anticipation
weathered by Time
and dying…

First eat those around you,

then when flesh no longer satiates;

fall upon your own body

and devour the bits that everyone hates.

When you've chewed through to the bile

blacker than a bible

and blessed your flesh

for what is cursed;

start in on your marrow thighs

and follow down past the shins

hard kicking every bleeding sin

to your feet upon this dank earth.

Should you find you still hunger,

lust for more and thrust your spirit

void around the universe of the living

this is a poem
about a poem that has yet to be written

it will most likely have word strung in lines
syntax (slightly distorted for rhythm and rhyme)

spaces in some funny places
cutesy turns of cliched phrases

subject and theme will be cast on a whim
insights glowing, though thin and dim

clarity...not my concern
obscure and cryptic...de riguer

it may be pretty
it may be raw
it may slide easy
or stick in your craw

when finally written
I'll overjoy with bliss

but..'til then

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.
Brick homes, timed sprinklers.
Plush green foliage, free flowing ponds.
Frogs singing nonstop.
It's a peaceful time in this country neighborhood.

If only the world was like this everywhere, everyday.
Quietness, birds chirping in the treetops.
It's music to my ears, heart and soul.
Paradise was put in us from the beginning of creation.

Hey, you, young man over there
with your colorful clothes
and that greasy long hair
We have no vacancy here
Perhaps you could stay
at a place, that's a little less fare

Hey, you, young man over there
with your colorful tie
and that greased back hair
We have many a room here
for men of your stature. Please,
won't you come in, join our affair

From youth to childhood
then manhood
entwined with another in mind
we travel forth with dignity
hand in hand
what a lively romance
does our quality of life enhance