.
a moment, captured
in gentle eloquence
the poet smiles
.

birds sing, children play
a monk tends chores in silence
what does he not know

.
Ah!Ha!, says the monk
the poet bows gracefully
hiding a sly smile

Lightning flashed a thousand times
Early morning light
On isle of broken windows
So far out of sight

Out of sight of neverland
Morning, pouring rain
Spate of wind comes hurtling
Blowing cobwebs from my brain

From my brain come all these words
All these words and more
It hears the door close softly
Perfumed departing whore

On the isle of broken windows
Watch out where you step
From here has come from ever since
Where we have never slept

Freeform (my comfort Zone)

I am what damns your soul,
the negation of your hopes,
the madness making skeletons
of children
while watchers suck
cooked meat from bones;

I am despairing mother
crying for her babies
in the cold,
their father jailed
for stealing what would
fill his children's
empty bellies,

One poem, three different forms

Western Classic

Two suns circling out in space
seen so many times by Hubble,
locked in gravity's embrace
without planets or other rubble.

Some so close they exchange mass
each thus gaining from the other
as their shared times slowly pass;
never alone, they've one another.

We have a love which is binary.
Where does one begin, the other start ?
Envied by all those, ordinary,
we two who love and stand apart.

She steps onto the balcony, gazing
Far unto the edges of her reign.
Moonlight radiates strands of auburn hair
Eschewing from beneath her night bonnet.

The night is young, as she
What wanting and needing
Stirs within her about him
Knowing not whence he came.

Gently a cool breeze brushes her cheek
She closes her eyes, and cocks her head
Leaning on a palm which is not there
Eyes slit open and she sees her lover
She inhales and smells him
Opening her mouth tasting him
Like a snake would senses its prey.

I sit
with an emptiness
that fills me up -
a longing so deep
the well
has dried up.

I cry
with a sadness
that says: 'Don't go"
a melancholy
so dark
it destroys the soul.

I come
from a place
called "never enough"
There's hunger at the table
There's thirst in the cup
a need so great
no feast can fill up.

BjR 29 November, '10

.
.
Once in a while my thoughts turn
to everything
intuited
imagined
felt
manifest
and not.

And it is as if my mind
opens
widens
expands
reaches
to give a tangible glimpse
of something wonderful.

And a wave of joy
delivering a fluttering truth
excites my heart
lifts my soul
and I almost
almost
perceive it all.

But the enormity is too vast
and before I can grasp it
it is gone.

beauty and long sleep
walk sacred paths of winter
'til new dawn of spring

I yearn for this island,
That is so far away,
Drenched in darkness,
Where foul things play.

A haven for souls,
That have come undone,
Where those of black hearts,
Come to gather as one.

There is a great garden,
Filled with shadows and doom,
And buds of black velvet,
You can relax in the gloom.

It's right place to be,
If you shun the light,
They frolic in evil,
Embracing the night.

day was a rasher of bacon
sizzling in too hot a skillet

judge said -- thirty days
next case

I was a greasy spot --
a turd on the tarmac

I felt like ashes.