A black smoke column grows in height
in New York on such a fine fall day
and it leads to a wondrous sight
heroes running toward it, not away

At the five sided eagle's heart
another shining silver spear of war
signaled a new existence's start
but condensed resolve within our core

In Pennsylvania's cool crisp air
when passengers foresaw their fate
heroic actions sprouted there
the first charge against the ones who hate

the tipping point
turns
the road is smooth
but not yet traveled
creature comforts for a fool's paradise,
what do I know, for example?

the night is long and dark in the algid breath
of winter and spring comes on forever
no matter the discontented hour.
I'm just an old fool sometimes,
my body is my cage, my mind a sharpened weapon
lacking courage to pluck out my own eyes, strange
thoughts govern;

lay beneath the window
where the cool breath
falls in across the sill plate
through the tired metal
screen that holds the
squares of opaque rain

each crucial star a beacon

each breath a prayer
on fresh sun dried sheets

"Our souls are imperfect"
we spoke aloud reading together
as the pines gathered the brilliant
dance of dusk
the lake shivering with gusts

we bear the imperfection like
a contusion on the mould

Standing Moral, or Grave Reason

What fate awaits me behind your withered look
is it but a friendly death or tortured consequence
Why would death befriend an idle miscreant like I
would I have deserved this blessed relief.

What and who gives you the right to torture souls
with your inefficient intellectual public school ways
No moral standing I would wager did you attain
under those marshalled mind manipulating masters.

Skank
Fucking mother fucker
makes me want to rip heads off.

Two bit male slag 
Can't keep it in his pants
Whips it out when ever he can

Want to destroy the arse holes
Of the species
Castrate scum suckers of this world.

I'm not a violent girl 
I'm meek and mild 
shouldn't let you  do this to me

But my blood boils 
Feel the need to massacre 
when I see you dicking me around 

The minute hand is slowly creeping
as I sit here late at night, unsleeping.
While outside a bat keeps on tapping
at door glass he's softly rapping.

T.V. on for background noise
(news denoting dreads and joys)
as pen awaits something to write
in Carolina late at night.

Unnoticed, soon my eyes grow weary,,
then drooping lids make sight grow bleary
......
........

Glacial sweat creeping down the back of my neck
trickling through my senses
penetrating my reserves.

Brittle nerves fracturing with the strain
Try to scream nothing emanates
I’m mute.

Racked and shaken
On my knees
Gripping on for safety

Catatonic with dread
As foot steps draw near
Cold blade between the ribs.

Is only because
your brain is so wired,
Despite your ailment
You are bright
While others not ill,
Are so much without
Depth, love and insight

Because our brains are integrated
And
Cast at birth
While in the womb
And
The mom knows not
what she is thinking about
Of the loveliest new arrival
or the tomb

And

Her thoughts get transplanted
In our infant
yet to be born ,
developing mind
Where can then anyone,two
Identical kind of brains ever find.

(Lyn) Charlatan
Dedicated To: Lyn Waters Ratzberg
(anger poem for workshop)

It seems I have given birth to a bastard child:
poetry...

I draw no conclusions make no comparisons, there is no
exit, no escape
from words that usher in the sublimity of the empty page.

I must be a magician, I must have cracked the Da Vinci code,
I am the virgin without the announcement and with no Lord
and Master, a Ronin warrior, I break open your seed with the precision
of a surgeon conducting an autopsy on herself, the pain is a useless
circumcision on a phantom appendage,