The stream (all workshops)
Summer dresses and flat shoes
Plunging bodices give great views
Hair unbound and flying free
That's what turns the head of me
T-shirts, shorts and bare thighs
Bring from me great heaving sighs
Been married tho, over twenty years
So I never get closer... get too near
I can't help it, I got to look
But wifey dear, only page in my book
I just look from back a ways
Summer skin makes for such pleasant days
someone has been chain-smoking
poems again, damn it man,
I wake up
coughing,
free verses for July's heat
running down my breasts
like fingers that never touched me
long enough to say hello:
it's been a long time between
the comfort of sex
between us
and the madness
of elation reaching
torrid zones
that enters deep water and makes
even the rain beg for more
With eyes set beyond the horizon
back turned to the distant shore
suspended in the oblivion
between darkness and light
the sound of silence
greets the soul
into a peaceful Nirvana
Garishly paved
Who will dare to run
the red streets
our young
fall bleeding life
they have turned
corners where jack
waits sharp
eager a hunger
to be sated
the thin blue line’s
ticking off minutes
they don’t know
to many cowards jacking
anyone who wears
colours causing chaos
the commute just
rolls her eyes
travels in a
different direction
this city is a woman
said the man on collins street
he held a brown bag of fortune
his eyes were salt
someone must love
this body of his
(i wonder if he beats her?)
over tall towers
gulls wheel and rise
trucks stomp and groan
to love a woman is
to try it out for size
what it is to be
a swollen fruit
i too, have a heart
full of redness and
dark seeds
i too, share secrets
and dark truths
Stalker in the night
Prowling from swaying treetops
Owl catches her prey
Strides we make in life’s long journey
The things we acquire, who will own them?
When the sun sets, bringing darkness to bear
On glitzy cars, houses and fêted moments
When tints of candle light are left behind
And the eyes opened to see in silent night
Some may say, the dead have nothing
When material reality is a by-product
Of the coming and going from this world
Others may say the dead live in our recalls
Had names, and if not, just call them things
For something can not come from nothing
Oh, mother
Dressed in misery
Your broken spirit
Darkens the heavens
Democracy’s birthplace
Left in the hands
Of savages
That left decency
Somewhere far away
Uncertainty dances
To the sound
Of shattered
Dreams
The quiet night
Is woken
By corruption’s
Laughter
Pericles cries
from his grave
as Socrates
debates tyranny
Children of tomorrow
watch parents
sell their fortunes
for a piece
of comfort
It's been more than thirty years since I gave up smoking
but I never wrote a poem about my secret craving while
draining the spaghetti, waiting for you to come home
don't have the habits no more that led to old habits
rising to the ceiling, declaring their independence,
while listening to Billy Collins read his poem
about his last best cigarette,
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