Some say the greater art is the one
that never lived
like symphonic acts of refusal dancing in the rain
that
never comes but once in a lifetime.

Who is that who that wonders why poets
write words that rhyme when olive trees are bare
and cut down to make room for progress
at breakneck speed, going going gone
beyond a truthful thought that can never turn back
to live outside of itself.

Bearing witness, facing the tank or the bulldozer,
life lives its greatest art.

I do not understand but I see the truth
Why my tornadoes are resting now
And gone back to their hazy groove
Of eerie sleepiness,
And my bright spheres now dancing
Like freaky circles upon the horizons.

Calliope
It is a long story to write of you,
An Epic will that do
On many tablets as in days of old
This is how your story is told

Clio
Of times past you tell
Of battles won, and times of hell
Rest a while let your scrolls foresee
A calming image, for you and me.

Erato
Now sing lyric's softley to me please
A beauty toned from your lyre to tease
Play to me in dreams stories of the old
Tales from the Greeks so I am told

one windy day at the lake
a loud whistling in the wind roared
spurned tornadoes breaking windows
along the lake's shore

suddenly, abruptly the quiet ended
as the cellar door opened then banged shut
screaming children crying mommy I'm scared
to sirens blowing in nearby towns

Simply superbly intellectual
I drift in the knowledge
of being a part of a
(Non) spiritual beauty
that is endless and races
with unconditional love.

I am that lonely bird
As there I am free really,
of all people
as I have learned to write
Even with the bard standing
at my side.

Just trust me,
I believe in myself.
The anonymity I don,
is not optional,
It is adorned as a diamond,
a Kohinoor perhaps
like it’s only exceptional.

your warm gaze
and chartreuse set
this light that billows light

A laughter that scatters and pink
sea stars adorn the wave break
this tide that swells
this water hides

For cheery days that were upon the very
we of us
thatched roofs of sediment sunshine
and rust
like teary tangerine tears to kiss
and feel the wind tug amongst our
amulets on leather leads
that tempo swayed
in lovemakers dreams

Iambic hexameter with alternating rhyme.

A wall of sound precedes the vortex barrier.
A windborne howling as of godlings passing by.
Lost voices shriek in whispers bleak and sepulchre.
Strained iron groans and snaps about the place we lie.

At once the soil is atomized and buffets tin.
It seems behind us armed cicadas ply their wars.
So loudly does the sand meet with metallic skin,
that clearly had their scatter guns discharged indoors.

Hurtling down through the atmosphere
silver drops of H2 O
With a splat, their mass is scattered
Then in streams they join the flow

The water rushes madly
down the slanted tin
Streams that run side-by-side
in a race, not one will win

The drumming, beating raindrops
left the clouds to play
Now there's water dripping in last place
while the storm moves on it's way

Falling down the rainspout
Winding down the curb to drain
The water from the sky
is gone down the sewer-main

Thick and grey, lumbering hulks
trumpet the silence....

MEDUSA : THE SCENT OF MALE

From the darkness
that hid
her abomination
she slid
sniffed the air
and dropped her veil
seduced by the smell
of male

there they stood
mesmerized by the beauty
of her ugliness
in a trance
of desire and revulsion
as Medusa began
her dance
of seduction

serpent strides
back and forth
left to right
in orgasmic thrusts
of promises
that were to come
to each one
who looked upon
her serpent smile