he said black was soothing
an intensity of nothing
he believed in it
and i suppose darkness
if wanted
can make peace
with distressed souls
until they claim a higher distinction
and call it Christianity

i don't think he believes
but he said
something must exist
for him to survive

strange how people do that
believe in a god they can't see
not a heart they can feel beat

Stainless Love

I have no doubt
That you were sleeping
As those words rolled out
Neither the sun had set,
Nor were you dreaming.

Perhaps twas early morn by then,
Rise my friend
Above,
The soiled sheets of pain,
Love is the only beauty, in life
That does never at all stain

rumble
the night brevity
cast eyes along the porch
of delicious ache
you hurt
we bend
and slender the dusk
pools in our handfilled
lust

chill dreams
savage in the pain
the eager breath
and the minute hand
sweeps on delicate
scented wrists

satchel portions you weep
me through the grave hours
when stars fulfill
our eyes
and we taste the bitter sweet
of our poison

feeding on ravaged
shelter

Moonlit eve’s

Through starlit nights and moonlit eve’s,
With the waters asparkle and the silvery leaves,

As laurels fall from heaven’s grace,
And take at last their justly place,

Here shall I sit and lie and dream,
Of wonders wrought as wonders seem,

‘Til day ahead is cleared of strife,
And all seems wondrous in this life;

Sunbathed days

Yet seem to be and seem to may,
My world to love and love to stay,

In sunbathed days as time draws past,
With patterned silhouettes as they are cast,

MENTAL SCARS
.
.
They’ve called you every cruel name from cynic to a snob,
Their words and looks, like needles large and small,
Leave you with the feeling you've gotta be a slob
And your jokes just never raise no laughs at all…

When your smallest faults are magnified, distorted, advertised
And you cannot hope to do a thing that’s right,
When everyone’s against you, every action criticized,
And the only path left to you is to fight…

There illustrates music that depicts an openly active heart,
the notes are grey,
the tones are significant,
the words are bodied.

Yet the jazz musician could kill himself.

In every grey note he sees black.

In every significant tone is a burble.

If only moonless quandaries exempted darkest days?

Lift!

A smile could be liable.

because us

Who the fool….

Some lie there on the bed of fools
finding so little insecurity.
Not one will search for a meaning to life
none will be asking what is an obscurity?

No answers will come raging forth, so
they can make their own conclusion.
Running faster now downhill, are we
escaping the madness or is it a delusion.

I see old hands now, where
a piano players fingers used to be.
I’ll be deeming this totally unfair
reaching for an enigmatic key.

My inner most thoughts
I will never reveal, there
will always be that I'll
forever conceal, where
things are unexplainable
not tangible or real.

So no one will ever totally
understand, knowing every
face that passed my way
some stop I greet others
stand and stare but knowing
me not I'll never care.

A barren branch still reaches out
o'er withered seedling's callow chance;
still wick within, pulse beats throughout
a barren branch.

And there, despite life's fatal glance,
beyond spring rain or summer drought,
our majesty begins her dance.

Her pirouette glows beyond doubt
past naked limb of stretched expanse;
regeneration gleaned to sprout
a barren branch.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Roundel (poetry)