Littered thoughts lay
crumpled on the floor,
lips bear the imprint
of a fingernail.

A single word
dances at the end
of my fingertips,
I scratch paper
into confetti.

The first stanza
dares me to
give it autarky,
declare its truth
all its faults
in every sentence.

This untold idiom
would usher in
the torn diaries
of an undisclosed
suffering mind.

So I clean my floor
clench my hands
and close this
subject forever.

---

Lilting waves from salted sea
receding from the shores,
sweeping away with an ebb and flow,
shells treasured within its folds,
along the endless stretch of this Isle,
once a paradise,
the isle now marooned in turmoil,
alone.

Lennon gunned....

John got shot that’s what he got, he
didn’t ask for the bullet that killed him.
I liked him a lot, well the songs that he
sung, I somehow identified with them.

The world he would stun,
when he fired that gun.
An insignificant little man,
with an insidious plan.
To jail he would go,
newfound fame that would grow,
just another malcontent
regrettably human.

It is not
always
any port
in a storm
and yet
it could be.

Insulated from the world, listening
to whatever selection of music
I had decided would best protect me
from the perils of dull conversation
and the lives of even duller people,
I noticed a small child, at his mother's
hip, desperately concentrating on
the banana in his hands and I smiled
memories' involuntary smile as
I was instantly transported to days
filled with laughter and soft kindness and I
could not remember when I'd given up.

Stillness
sheathed my need,
a gentle sheen
glistened your chest,
and my hands
yearned to reach
sliding my fingers
over your length.

But you beat me
with strokes on
the embonpoint,
tracing my navel
with the tips,
brushing my thighs
with your lips.

A rise of emotion
embodied my fervor
and flowed to surge,
as my mouth dried
limbs began to shake
this was the beginning
of a body quake

embodied the tangle
and the brush
fair locks
full of sleep
and sunshine
dreams
and restless
dark winds

treasures
and keepsakes
coveted

I proclaim the love of Christ
I proclaim the love of Christ
I proclaim it in my heart
For the rest of my life;
I proclaim the love of Christ

Such a love that does not envy,
Suffers long and retains plenty;
Love as it bleed but not paraded itself,
Kind enough to die on the cross for all else.

… the love of Christ
I proclaim it forever.

The aliens won't ever come for me
when I'm lying in my bed at night.
Awakening, I'll never see
odd grey heads looming in my sight.

I won't ever feel the curdling shock
of strange grey creatures lifting me,
or the fearful sudden knock
of paralysis hit my sweating body.

They'll never take me to their ship
to do their weird examinations,
or tag me with a micro chip
to track my subsequent locations.

A veil of sadness
was pierced,
the fabric of sorrow
ripped.

In moments
a rippling silence
eschewed.

I was liberated
from a shroud
that bound my grief,
I am now a silken thread
fixed to spin,

in silent whorls.