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Obtuse
on fallen knees
broken but yet busted
the sheen of the hours
waited
the baited
lamps
burning hot
humid
Lurid soundscape
an edge with no
escape
shadowedge
the point of light
pulled in that
tension
unbearable
Parked in a sea of hot asphalt
(and it's not yet mid May)
I exit into air as thick as soup,
sweat springing out where I once had hair.
and I begin my plod
....to Wal-mart.
The lot has trees in scattered islands
from one of which an unseen bird
sings his heart out for spring love.
Trees will one year provide more
than a mere tease of shade.
Is it the heat
which brings out the sights
of Wal-Martians in every shape and form?
I've never seen an ass that big
stuffed into so little cloth.
Power derives from
elemental clashes
that create a sustained
minuscule gap
between time and reality,
a level plane
where non chaos
and magnetic thoughts
burn the flame
of candles
and evaporate
aromas of mystic oils
to float into dreamlands
of imagination and wonder
to assimilate imagery and create
abstract notions in potions
of good intent,
to drink the universal
knowledge,
and be drunken
with wisdom,
for it is
a life to
invent
In the far distance
a light leads me to meaning
I follow or not
It is dull,
the impulse to write demands better
come it from passion, madness or craft
as Elliot said
"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion,
but an escape from emotion;
likewise personality.
But, of course,
only those who have personality and emotions
want to escape from them."
I have passion, madness and some craft,
yet all is dull.
The coffee mug is mostly black.
In white encircling it-
as an Egyptian mosaic-
are figures metamorphing.
A Lemur dances to a tune
and turns into a hulking beast.
The beast then tries to stand.
Two incarnations and he is upright,
then his rocket pack takes him to the stars.
Happy Moms Day
To all over the world
For moms living and in heaven
all smiles !!!!!
yeah s m i l e s !!!!
Dig into the heat
the lair
the beast
smear the waves
with the waste to be
Invisible on the prowl
mending traits and licking
jowls
sniff the sniffs and
the tastes to sate
the skin tingling
the fur rippling
I remember that trip,
with the scooters,
and the soft laughter of the afternoon
as we explored a village
tucked into the memories
of a thousand years.
As the light crept through the plaza,
we stopped for coffee
and you spotted the shop.
It was a storefront,
older than my dreams of you,
and we walked over
to spend an hour
touching the history of lives
entwined with our hope,
and you picked up the bowl
and fell in love.
When fashion and decoration
conquer even the dinnerware,
I ask why?
Why should we care
if the dish is fine china,
bone china, or stoneware?
Does it really make
a difference if the plate is made of
the finest porcelain
or of the cheapest clay?
While the table cloth
and the fine floral painted plates
might pay for the beauty of the place
and please the sight
does a dish really buy the appetite?
I ask why?