workshop
pink-a-thons
fat and sappy
pageants of pity
ending,
so ironically,
in beseeching prayers
...for more, and more
researching cash!
Living her life in regret of her mother,
Living in the embrace of the man who loved her.
Crying to yourself for reasons unknown,
Holding you close, never leaving you alone.
You always loved and trusted the beat of my heart,
My heart has been called to protect and do its part.
Here I am to be your knight,
Share with me what causes your plight.
When life has become hopeless Ill give it meaning,
With a prayer for your smile I hope to be seeing.
the lake is cold
sheepshead and pickerel
and i could care less
these jagged knots running
my spine like loft steps
soft sooted bending
with a wear
your heavy trod
i bear beneath you
in the infinitismal
patchwork this old wretch
of a place is
your chain of the weak bike
you garrulously weave
leaks
the rapid lover raining
excursions was an oiler
in his previous existance
extending his ooze to you
and yet you squeak hardly
a sigh
be rare invectives and infectious paw
licking the feeble
force crush
directed head digits
consensus latent
and lamp heat
acumen hatched
rays lay
splay slay
turrets watch- lordess
to all the land...............
re-open circuits
''Appreciation is the elixir of creation'' loverme
I see your face
in the morning light
clouded with doubts,
left unspoken
as we face a tempest,
threatening to sink us
in a sea of insecurity.
Don't fell prey to the malign
spread by hearts riddled
with cancerous envy,
trying to lead us astray.
Listen to me and believe,
for you're the only one
who possessed
my heart,
my soul,
my body
all surrendered to you.
Search your heart,
you know this is true
bread and butter
sunsets supper
knead dreams
while threading bows
a candle hue throws
warmth
sufficient glow
cigarettes tawdry glow
a rim on an irise
of most in depth lost blue
the spark like a buoy
a jewel marker
wrists performing magic
in bowls shadow
Bactine and a tin of
proof rum
the steady hand drawn stitches
parted with the gift of the honed
point repairs in rouge and
anger flare
the shirt sewn neat
lye and bleach
It may not be high class,
but there's value to keeping a spot in the gutter,
to throw your guts up into on a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday night;
Thursday I brush the rot out from between back teeth,
spitting out broken bone fragments,
swirling down the drain with the excess of saliva and blood;
It may pay off to maintain this stance of confidence,
sweeping the room for the sordid affection I crave,
just for the night, just for this moment, I'll be gone before the dawn breaks;
you all have not remembered
one now out of sight
do say so
a simple poet
you and all know
off the cuff
composer
lets you aall
in the garbage bin of time
dispose
some repose
all now suppose
hankering again eh!
if master sees it
quickly read it
then twill be deleted
He is coming
go see out of the window,
leave the door ajar
we will know ,
when he is not far..
but do never forget
what lovely poets
we all are!
Stay! you hands, don't move so fast,
or at least slow down a bit.
Too quickly "now" fades to the past
and I already have too much of it.
Cease your endless headlong race,
give me a pause to catch my breath
as hours speed across your face
hastening all toward our death.
Is it that you do not realize
just yesterday I was a child
who ran and played with joyful cries
with imagination free and wild ?
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