when you're just not
inspired that much
or just writing
out of obligation
one tends to just
produce junk
worthless crap

like the poem before
and the one before that

But hell, who's perpetually
hooked into the muse
or always obsessed
with perfection
and finely tuned in

Writing these things they call poems
is just an outlet
for the flow of substandard
horseshit,
that makes up
almost all of my
inventive thinking

It got me thinking
simplify
make more out of less

like a good omelet
eggs, bacon, cheese
thats all

I bought a cheesecake
the other day
and I have eaten
most of it
plain
no fruit compote
or sauce at all
it's delicious

then there's
my favorite sport
hockey
a simple game
offensive plan
put the puck in their net
defenseive plan
keep the puck out
of our net

Watching the floating leaves in fall
touch down gently upon the earth
they seem to cover its naked form
in a blanket of heavy emotion...

Caressing the simmering earth below
they clutch to its passionate warmth
till the whisper of a brewing breeze
scatters them to spread their charm..

Strewn along in a pattern so rich
woven with golden silken streams,
the earth below now comes alive
as tender love within it sprouts...

she's my little red caboose
her windows a little loose
tucked away under a tin shed
white lattice trim, a coat of red

an old relic of the past
was built to last
real wood is a beauty of mine
my mobile home enduring time

nestled under pine trees
on a hill to catch the breeze
over looking Toledo Bend lake
you'll find me taking a break

from my many repairs
giving up in despair
I'll just cast a line
oh! this life of mine

.
resplendence dances before sleep
as does the north side of night
a wind
blowing backward
a ruby in my shoe

boggled eyes patently dismiss
for rocks are hard, water wet
and yet,
a tumbleweed mumbles
a ruby in my shoe

have no doubt
it can be as such
prove otherwise
I'll tell you "not true"

yes, It's better
not to remember
but so much sadder
...a ruby in my shoe

“Blood on the Snow”

Remember
The lingering sorrow.
Gun blue eyes
Locked
In a moment
When time dared not breathe,
There
Just blossoming,
Love lies bleeding
Ever steady
Softly cocked,
I am felled.

*Love Lies Bleeding is also a flower also know as: Amaranths

Ere!

Ere tis too late
Meet me
At the place,
Where the day meets
The darkness of night
But ere

Meet me at the sunset
And
The sunrise meet
Yes ere

Meet me when lust
And
Love conjoin
Ok ere.

Meet me when the
Sperm and ovum greet
Yeah, ere

But do meet me some where
No one can see us together
Perhaps
That’s nowhere!

Carnal grin , a sensuality
that makes me sin.
Out of control

A one to one connection
As I crave the warmth of your skin
Melt down.

Two bodies melding,
pulsating, undulating
as one.

Sample and savour,
I long to drink you in,
for a physical reaction. 

`

The masks we wear, to us are given,
assigned to us before our cue.
The choice is ours to reveal or hide-
A grand charade with many a clue.

Would you be this or be you that;
Is it surfaced or is it hidden?
Not all secrets are lies or deceit,
Our view of others we must widen.

The genuine heart will itself reveal
Its spots or stripes are where they're at.
The lot of what we think we see,
provide but circumstantial caveat.

I’m tired
and have no poetry left;
so says Mary and me.
Meanwhile,
Mike and Chris tell me
it’s only a matter of time.
And Toby bleats
“ya gotta start somewhere.”
When I dropped the artistry,
I dropped the philosophy;
the fact is
I don’t even want to hear my own philosophy.
I’m ducking under snowballs
that occasionally shatter in the air
because it is too cold and dry
for them to be formed.
Every now and then
an expert bully packs one,
takes aim
and wallops me in the face.