The Garden

I wasn't invited nor annouced
When I wandered through the garden
And saw a lovely rose.

Beautiful as she is, I am sure that
I'll never pluck
I'll never touch
Until the morning dew.

Despite the quiet sexuality about her
That makes a bee crazy
Buzzing
Daily
About her.

I continue to wander through the garden
Amongest bunnies
so funny
Who makes an asshole of themselves .

Sometime I sit upon a stoop
Beneath the stars
With adoring eyes,
Wishing
And hoping
That the rose some day will be mine .

Now is that a crime ?
To wish
And hope for a flower devine .

I wasn't invited nor annouced
When I wandered through the garden,
And saw a lovely rose.

And it took a while for her to notice
My heart
My style
and the inner being of me.

May I set a date for us to touch awhile
Beneath the moon and the stars
In dark .. How about it ?

Poet Who

In my pursuit of being a writer at times
I have felt myself growing smaller but then
Again I became stronger.

All rejection slips over time I have pinned
To my wall and now they are trophies. Ah, yes
I grew from many failures.

In June of 2006 my rejection total was six,
And by 2007 it went down to four. In 2008
It was down to only there.

Two years after my first book was out, I came
To the conclusion that I could much more then
"Poet Who".

Being a "Poet Who' is not who I care to be there-
Fore I query and write cover letters. I take risks
And hobknob with those with knowledge.

Great poetry can contain great wisdom but it is never
The reason its great poetry. Its in your form, and the
Shape of your words.

The language used, the colors, the honesty both soul
And words emotionally charged . Then too there is--
Beauty within a lie .

One should want thier work to have a value, for its own
Sake and not for it's utilltarin functions. Sincerely
I leave that for "Poet Who's ".

Your only as great as your last page and the ultimate joy
From the first book is short lived for a writer so true.
What are you known for ?

What have you done ? What is the purpose for the words you
Spew ? Might there be million dollar dreams glowing and
Flowing through your veins ?

Can you be small then crawl before thinking you'll become big?
Ah, it takes alot of work to be more then "Poet Who". Stay humble
And see the journey through .

Bask not in the glory of your pages nor get swollen from the roar
Of feeble applause . Incourage and show courage and do truely what
You do "Poetic Who".

Fools being Cool

Turn that cap around,
Pull ya pants up over your ass.

Take that chain off ya neck
And quit acting like ya bad.

You don't know what I know,
Your wearing those dead man clothes.

The wrong color, in the wrong hood
Will get your fake ass popped.

Instead of a gangsta pose,
One surely could be closed in a box.

If you aren't slangin' or bangin'
Rappin' or singin' pull them dam pants up.

Infact why not leave that crap on the rack
And show some self-respect .

I Toss no More

I toss no more upon hope tainted sheets,
Conflicts within gave no cure but made me sicker.
I received a Dr . Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde affliction.

I kneeled to cry only to revitalize an evil
Through black whips of time, over and over again,
I prayed then cursed then paced through a whirlwind of emotions.

Set aside was brotherly love and a vengence,
So old yet familiar soon tripped all my pleasure centers.
They were vivid, a horror show like Kubrick's "Clockwork Orange".

Over and over it played again, leaving me drained,
Not able to attain any sense of sanity or sense of humanity for a while.
Glory be to God for one angelic momment, and a whiff of clarity.

Relief is letting go and not drifting on a memory,
What was is no more, and I'm done sweeping dirt beneath rugs
Through blackwhips of time over and over again.

I dwelled in a house of evil deeds looking for a cure,
Taking in air, so stale in a kingdom of pain and bloody venegence.

Glory is found within a angelic moment, from a whiff of clarity,
I'm no longer lost, for sure I am found again.

Octopoem(Teen day 67)

Hot thinking
hungry for
summer treats
draped slightly
above
the chin
when steamy
July
thunderstorms
rumble
she'll peel
whats left again
Then move
from couch
to the floor.
Ignoring the
sit com called
Father Knows Best.
May her dad
tinker slowly
with lawn
mowers.

Pansee(1)

Bedroom
Colors, blue and gold
My kiss descends no further
First door at the end of the house
It slams our night is over.

The Messenger Comes

After the sandman sprinkles you with sleep,
I'll alert you telepathically .

To join me in a hell bound revelation.

Feel the iciness, and the sinking of your heart
As my fingers caress your temples.

Breath thee air of sorrow, such am irredeemable gloom
Awaits you.

Did you not know this period would soon arrive ?
Its far too late to struggle.

Scream now, loudly, not a soul will ever hear you,
Only you will hear it's echoe.

In your mind by the second, an inexplicable madness
For now will be your hell.

Your lips they tremble as if to murmur inaudibly now,
And your sheets are soiled with sweat.


Turn not your ear from my bellowing barritone voice,
It's in your mind not ears.

The sound of mourners, two or three maybe one hundred
Will mourn your silly grave.

Hear the thud of dirt, shovel by shovel, scoop by scoop
Pound on your coffin lid.

Oooh, what brings me cheer evidently makes flesh crawl,
This is not a comfort call.

Did you not know this period would soon arrive?
It's far too late to struggle.

Breath thee air of sorrow, such an irredeemable gloom
Awaits you.

After the sandman sprinkles you with sleep,
I'll alert you telepathically.

Then touch you while your sleeping.

Cold Cuts

Cold cuts are hidden beneath a long sleeve shirt,
Often tossed upon a desk below a cracked mirror.

Crooked on the wall showing stoical expressions
On painted faces, a rag doll, a weird plastic clowwn.

Mute and unaware like her parents still drinking
While drowning their sorrows by the bottle or can.

Borderline issues are apparent to none but most say
She's bad and will never amount to nothing.

So secrets are held while pain seeps from arms,
In the dark on a matress on the floor by the dog.

Sometimes licking tears right off her face of shame
That never ever dares to share her endless hell.

Vivdly she remembers way back in September
When a shadow lurked about and grabbed her hand.

Not a scream was heard but the bottles kept coming
From the fridge in the kitchen as music blared loudly.

The shadow scurried from her room to the basement
Then resumed to party just like her drunken mother.

Time healed no wounds but it was soothed often and daily
By the same type of cans and bottles like they had.

Years later after many trials and tribulations became too much
She took a drive down Ricon road and found treatment.

Hopefully with Gods help and ours, this girl will learn to live again
Without anymore new cold cuts beneath her long sleeve shirt.

Jazz Oasis

Drums they sound like machine gun fire,
Rapid fire popping then a cymbal crashes.
Teasing the ears might a french horn blow.

Notes so hip, so crisp, jazz without a doubt,
Makes feet tap and hips shimmy all about
In a chair, on the floor with dim low lights.

Above candles on a white clothed table top,
Wet in spots while toes curls even tighter.
From the beat, or the heat even a dream.

Like the dapper gent in the gray pin strip suit,
Smoking his cigarette from a gold thin holder.
Perhaps its the girl showing more then shoulders.

Creating havoc for she has more to shake and roll.
But the beat goes on while a mellow saxophone
Seduces the senses and hypnotizes a passer by.

Bass lines walk the slender neck of a Fender guitar
As Les Paul swoons with the aid of pick, hitting
Every single note as applause come then goes again.

Then the dapper guy leaves and two fools who drools
See's the girl in white stumble, regroups then shakes ass.
Another night at the Jazz Oasis ends much too soon.

5/13/11

Now slowly peel
Get off your knees
The firmest fruit I give to thee.

How sweet it is
I long to please you,
And by the way its good nutrition.

You can chop it or eat is like it is.
Enjoy your banana,
And tonight I'll rub your feet !

5/10/ pt 2

All is not dark, O' love will come again.
Flowers soon will whisper sweet melodies,
In many a star-lit eves, and you'll be there
Placing a fairy-light kiss, upon her lips so red.

Your muse once more will gaze on distant skies
Then stealeth her heart like no one before her.
Calm down thy eager spirit and thine eyes.

The storm, the quake, and ocean wrath
Through sands of time of every downy hour
Will not hinder ye long, for a song
Shall enter your heart, just trust in God.

Flowers soon will whisper sweet melodies
In many a star-lit eves, and you'll be there.
Listening to the murmur of spring in the grass.
Dancing again to the rhythm of the rain.
All is not dark, O' love will come again.

3/1/11

To plan my escape, I had to travel light,
And love only a few fine things,
Leaving each door that needs to stay locked
At the back stage of my life.

I ran away, and war didn't follow.
It was not beauty thats a bad design,
Those locks so often compared to fire
Did nothing but sweep my face.

I must be ready to accept graciously
Every welcome that comes whenever
Someone arrives.
This is what I know
Beyond a few more details.

For life is now a voyage on a ship.
Looking back now, I see the topless sour.
Ahead there's a storm, mishaps, and a calming shore.
Then soon they'll be a kindly woman waving.
"All past is dead and gone"

An Open Invitation

You've found your history in me
Without grasping the history
That came before
Your chapter unwritten.

Inviting you to sit a while
Lay an unstudied eye
Upon a Melville iris
Within my heart and soul.

You've never beheld me
As new life pushed then yelled
Nor saw the landscape altered
Before these written words.

But do forever embrace me
For what is yet to learn.
Not expecting a smidgen of proof
As twilight lends its shadow.

Reflections (76-91)

Inside my mind I can find
That letter you left behind
Wrapped in confusion
A vivid allusion
By the things I adore about you.

Shallow bits within my matter
Stays within my thoughts forever.
Drapped in heat
Tangled sheets,
And each curve I loved to veiw.

Made not the poet whisper once
Under the moon-one late starry night.
One lie,
One out cry
That I loved you more then two.

So many dance naked in conscious,
And I must tell the truth, forget the rhyme.
One mother
And another
Are the only one's I do love.

Yet you flocked like hungry geese
In attempt to ease my pain, erase each name.
From my heart,
My brain,
And never did I'm afraid.

O' these trips down memory lane
Gives some a bitter taste but hell I'm brave.
I told you.
I'm a story teller
Not a saint,
And this is one life lived.

Come take my hand, I'll lend you where
You may not dare to go or care to seek.
Today,
Maybe tomorrow
But I promise we'll travel safely.

The Brightest Smile

What did I really know or her--only bright light
That filtered from her smile. Calling me

To something holier. I stumbled to her garden,
And found the rose. Each breast long bloomed.

Beautiful. Was there gray that cloaked the sea,
So wet and warm? No the moon

Did not rise before the tree now fallen.
Even the bee's adored her scent.

In the sticky catacombs of sleep. Each day
I see a rose her.

In a wilder garden, surrounded by pansies
Who hardly gives her notice.

The Blue Box

One day my mom asked me
to go to the store, and she said
I could keep the change.

But before I left she stressed
to get the big blue box.
That was easy, I got it.

So I ran to the store called Alley Rats
where all my friends hung out.
In hopes the girls were too.

When in that crowded little store
I told Jessie, I want the big blue box.
Then laughter started.

As the owner yelled loudly,
one box of Kotex coming up.
So now comes floods of laughter.

Boy did I feel small
watching my friends go crazy.
Yeah, I found out what there for.

Sure I healed from my pain
but then came the day
when mom sent me for a pair of stockings.

Infatuation

Mind, body and soul
spinning, spiraling
out of control
as heart beats race
while endorphins roar.
Dazzled by eyes
caught up in a stare
that no high
no drug, no drink
could compare to.
An energy, a connection
pulls like a magnet
as you die for a kiss,
and maybe something more.

Segway

Ok,be bold
and Segway through my heart.
You may see some familar faces,
and the debri is something awfull.

There's things
from 1983
and every year in between and after.

There's no stop signs
but proceed with caution
for some girls never leave.

So go on be bold and adventurous
down a road beyond your dreams.

Roses

Roses
the color red
sometimes crimson
like blood
still flows in war,
and within our city.
Sadly we grieve
and feel the pain
from thorns
then walk amongst wilting flowers.

Writers Woe

Words dance around my head
spinning and spinning
doing cartwheels and flips
as a pen lays dead.

Only inches
from key pads scream,
dreams about poetry past
as I sit on my ass.

Cursing a printer
that doesn't print
for ink I bought ran dry.

If I had hair
I'd surely pull it,
and if I had a gun
my computer I'd shoot it.

I can't find a theme or even a line
within my cluttered mind.

So I stomp erasers
and throw pens,
tear some paper and slap my screen.

Yet words still dance
around my head spinning and spinning
as a pen lays dead.

I kick old whiteouts butt again...