i AM the small who
loving ALL
a large living
quietly THERE
where GOD permits
poets go to write
to be identified
with all is life
And life is spread
out upon my heart
as golden fields
a heart and soul (me)
tramples in delight
of love for words
and HIS voice
it may be too late for
men but yet early for
God i’ve once read before
and true true Emily!
:: 09-15-2015 ::
IF I should wait
for window panes
too clear for life
I should wait for soul’s eyes
to see
widow’s pain whose eyes
look back upon kinder times
To see a dying eye is two
a broken heart more than few
if I wait for window panes
then pray I allow the rain
to clear the stains
of all I feel
and life too
:: 09-15-2015 ::
A LIGHT of hope exists
till hell finds it’s miracle
and finds it’s scar
that blood assassins find
their mark upon neck
and all of our flesh
T’was later in summer
when the world died
and the dead devour
the living flesh
of our apocalyptic
generation
:: 09-13-2015 ::
BEAUTY is the god permitting
ingenious angels whom (i kissed
within a feverish dream)
that each can make its own
life. And how many times my
heart dragged a sour mouth
–sweet heart. The ache
of love glazed once over,
which is normally death
but not our own.
The promise is life
hung overhead by strength
of undeniable love.
My lover! My only one!
:: 09-13-2015 ::
Where I ever had my hands
upon the embroidered heart
of my soul we danced then
delightfully kissed golden
light-like that sun watching
the blue fell for night
that dark secret spot
only lovers share —
for me and you
i should spread my
humbled promise to never
reveal this beauty
outside of you:
He who wishes
for garments of Heaven
within your heart
:: 09-13-2015 ::
So reassuring is the sound
of my own heart beating
until the day i died
and now the beatings
haunt me
:: 09-13-2015 ::
IF i may be. . . (maybe)
(yes, it is simple because it’s the only
thing to do!) me of all that i CAN DO
yes, i see when this (what thing?) comes unto
my smallest world; with proclaimed sweet apple-
eyes and ruby (stolen) lips of dreams
i wish i were staying in New Orleans
and working my poems in that Victorian
home of my many wishful lustfully “you”
whose walls have stretched beyond
romantic imaginations of my emptied
chamber — not that anything was ever
really there dear. And out of the well
of God and her kindness tells me a few
philosophers say I’m doing quite well!
where freedom’s mouth under a mere
wish above as breathing what-if’s which
life-fear shall never do?
dreams drowning within life’s thunderous
stormy tears of love and what-if’s YOU
:: 09-13-2015 ::
AND within the beautiful
where i never knew
within the bountiful
love
i once tasted life
then knew as a screw
tightly bounded by
wood and you
that shaped the thread
of my heart by helix
–not a spiral
and as the first screw
factory — my love,
it was a financial failure!
:: 09-13-2015 ::
WE never know how we lived
until the curtains
come down around our knees
until the crowd says
i was good/i was bad
one dignity that delays
for all an appreciation
for having given our all
:: 09-13-2015 ::
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