poems wear no regrets
poems are naked inside

if i could sit like
a stone angel
breathe deeply the gloom that gathers
in caves where swimmers are drawn by ancient hands,
while
desert sands destroy lofty footsteps
and death mocks us, laughing

it is i who rain

what is left of you, what is left of me?

that must be why i work
my fingers to the bone, the judgment,
it will fall heavy later
among the politicians, popes and poets,
the greedy men and empty grass,
leaves of mud and women; like me
always on their knees-
who only tried to love as
you loved

solicitude is hard but
you're harsher

next time we're together, please
put me to work or set me loose in a crowd
where romance doesn't fit or isn't apt
and unresponsively, I'll promise you
i won't learn a thing from it

You don’t have to say that you’re already bored,
It’s obviously seen across the board,
Come on,let’s shape and make the word…
That would give end to and break this world.

We’re on a broken harmony,now what’s your pick?
The link that connects us now no longer stick..
Silence is resounding and our hearts don’t speak,
Saving this relationship was a suicide trick.

I take my meds
To clear my head
But, my sadness lingers
As I sit upon, my dozy bed

I progress to stay ahead
Of the active dead
But, my joy declines
As I push through, the heavy dread

What shall I do, to remove the fright?
That makes me gripe
Where’s the joy that keeps me well?
As I walk obscurity toward the light

Like a woodpecker in the early morning
Triggering my drowsy moaning
I’m feeling morose and unresponsive
As I travel this lone road of loathing

forth within a hand filled as of blind hope.
beats the breath of bounds, that holds with in thy heart.
spilled from colors of moon light and darkness.
come to within the light.
which you have held in thy yellow eye.
for feeding thy lust for growth upon me.
bring to soar in the loving grace.

arabesques of light
spouted through perforations
quiver quietly

arrive
surround
your words
your voice
comforting

Wasteland

torrid streams of tears

changing

into vaporous steam

falling on the desert

of his heart

her begging and pleading

disregarded

as even now

with no oasis in sight

she is discarded

and breaking

on the never ending

sand dunes

of his indifferent

consideration

hers is a slow

death by starvation

in the icy-hot

shadow-less lands

of the loveless

arid desert of his soul

variation 2:

the sun turned leaves to gold
but you were sleeping
and the world is growing cold
the muse is weeping

there are no words to rhyme
when your muse will not climb
out of bed and into your head
to write your poem sublime.

version 1

did you see the sun turn leaves to gold 6:00 a.m.
or are you still sleeping your best sleep, my friend?

I couldn't sleep much last night, this time of the year the days
are already half-passed all I kept thinking about were poems that weigh

omg!

i wonder what the people of California
do?
how do Floridians live with
both cougars
and alligators?
how do Indians put up
with all those tigers and cobras?
and the bears in Alaska, Oh, my!
but leave it to my state
next thing will probably be
to put up a reward
and shoot it on sight,
take pictures of the carnage
and say "No telling how many lives
will have been saved.",