Kinesthetic/ First flower.

See how snow edged woods
display such white array of dazzling carpets,
wide, beneath the taller bare twigged trees
they spread their happy bells,
full dresses for the ball,
the grand explosive dance of spring
revolving in a waltz,
to turn the minds of birds and beasts
upside down, downside up,
round and round the round about of growth,
that rises, slowly rises up to light.

awash in briny wake
my tale is sparce
these soaked foam
ravages from bitter
mouths that croak
as hungry cormorants
that trill

and how my shoulder
aches where we brothers
held our arms and wore
away the day like flesh
and lives that life did
make the meal for
deaths plate

(kettle is boiled
gotta go make coffee
take pain killers and
catch some sleep..
Was headed somewhere
with this poem...sorry)

A tribute to trinity
as the moon seems to wane
how is one so demented
meant to even remain sane

a tribute to trinity
as the sun sees his early rise
so to does the light of day
show to humanity their slow demise

the killing of the trinity
no more in fear do mere men dwell
for in this new millenium
we have brought home the fires of hell

ancients of trinity long forgotten
buried in downtrodden ruins
no more wisdom to be handed down
all old ways renounced by the moderns

Player playing
isolate mind eye
fluid body politics
conflict columns compass

upon altar
strange crooked beings
acquire quakes akin to mine
one needed a beloved
less wane jewels to freaks

man . . .
you were once the perfect whim
tender enormous rhythms, polemics & birdie Haiku
happy with the Motown sound
set in old wax; newly found

soft-pedaling down memory lane
"Ooh-oo child" up the 5 Stairsteps
ascend empyrean
Ooo-oo . . . soulful real

Out for an early morning ramble
on an overgrown lane
The sky grey and overcast
menacing with rain.

I happen upon a long forgotten
and broken-down old barn.
pausing to rest a spell
I reflect upon this scene

Rusty tin roof sway backed and
sagging as an old saddle horse.
Tin edges warped and curled back
flutter in the wind.

Dyslectic Poet
I have keenly observed,
you always add
portions of a poet’s
rendition,
it adds color to beauty
and perfume
sublime ,
as I now learn lovelier criticism of thine
as upon the delicacies of poetry
and
connoisseur of beauty,
I myself define .
you are the one and only one
immensely refine,
to let me know
when,
if ever I shall be able to pen
in print,
a poetry book of mine
truthfully,
no jam ,no butter
Cat you could be
curt and bitter.

Witches Pride
(Reckoning of the Adversary

darkest heart
black as pitch
lying there
I saw you twitch

seeming still
playing dead
the scent of fear
'round your cowardly head

but I see you
you lying hag
pretending to be
a heap of rag

a hank of hair
a piece of bone
the only claim left
your fallen throne

you dirty thing
tattered and worn
wishing now
you'd never been born

The moonlight pales
in the wake of your existence,
it's nice to be allowed to see your face.

Treasured seconds, too short
I'm sorry to report,

Fate's not this generous with, "grace".

~

My shadowy thoughts
dare not boast my heart includes
the wondrous likes of you;

while the shadows play
time drifts away,

while your spirit holds the moment, "true".

~

Then, within the pale;
and empty, hollowed dreamscape
that's solely, only mine;

Life is a dog-eared poem
and the sea is filled with marrow,
clinging like another skin.
From where comes this music,
echoing through my body?
How does it get
here, through that membrane
of silence, weighing down and
lifting,
making melancholy into melody
making love into words
such as I am
such
as
you
are
the last chance to love everything.

I saw a lady in a purple fur
Dancing softly on her head
wondering,
Am I alive or am I dead

The thought occurred to me,
That maybe it was in my mind
How could I see with closed eyes
Because when I slept I was blind

I attempted to become awake
To my chagrin I could not rises
It felt as if I were in a wake
Hearing words that were truly lies

Is dead, dead,
Or am I dreaming I’m asleep
With time not marking
How long will I count sheep