Tag Archives: #poetry
A POET SPEAKS
WHEN i’m with you i feel
lonely without you
when i’m with you i feel
friendly and full of smiles
(i’m inside and so you’re outside)
when i’m with me i’m lovely
quiet and full of art
so when i’m meeting you i DIE
IN hope wishing you’re inside
what a pleasant surprise
see the flower bloom
incredible love!
When i’m with you it hurts
the soil crawls upon my roots
you are everything my
world moves around — unheard!
Art! My poet and artistic arm
paints you in colors and words
when I’m with you I never want
to be with you if you never
tell me how much you love me
paint dries
words solidify!
:: 12172015 ::
A BLUE OCEAN WITHIN A JAR
i took a walk along
the pyre of my burning life
watched how you smiled
behind those tears of sorrow
and the bridge to hades
narrow but straight
saw the crow above a black star
it dropped-dove across my path
then ate my heart
i’m not much too sad
but just a bit happy
i’m not much too glad
loving was just a fad
like the crow eating my soul
and the dirty breeze cuts
through me, twitches the
soul hanging on the line
of sparkling clean sheets
it’s the consummation
of a hateful nation
the little crustacean
crawling ashore
to find marriage; the sure
cure for chronic masturbation.
:: 12172015 ::
SURELY I COME FOR YOU MY LOVE!
SOME words bleed deepingly
the expressively
fine hand of shuttering windowed
hearts
Tilting with heavy winds
upon gentle stems of life
strawberry-kissed a heart
when nature uprooted
love unto other parts
of her hungry heart
An abrasively kiss came in
for my love’s praising
through winter’s thick
frost kissing!
:: 12152015 ::
BLUE JAY BLISS
Daybreak: by my own deepest wish
and through the voice of morning’s
blue jay bliss (and upon your hand)
my small heart is there I hear
the stretched wings of tiny kisses
calling like a dry exhalation
that escapes the world’s pains
Then why, assuming life is true
as the love through my veins
(and soul, too) would your hand
turn back toward your breast
to wish you are mine is as breathing
Only once, only once in a lifetime
in this watch keeping time does
the forest and her green tears of
fragment-fallings splinter wood
save two souls truly in love
WE blindly(steady my arm for your neck)
took the path chosen by fate and the many
words of poetry under the weight and
that warmth of your body — topples time
out of my skin
and the sleep of your heart
the dream of love falls downward,
falls whispering an ode
to forest and lovers
:: 12152015 ::
THE SPAN OF TIME
What is the span of time
compared to love?
A week, or month or centuries?
And how would the heart survive
within a myriad of perils
at the foot of that abyss?
And how long does a man
spend dying?
The brain thinks as the
fingers thrump the counter top
and no knowledgeable priests
or philosopher knows — i know
seeing god and devil part their ways
to visit the eternal void
And all these happen-stance
wittinesses will count to twelve
and keep the secret within their
inner most hearts!
:: 12152015 ::
THE SPAN OF TIME
What is the span of time
compared to love?
A week, or month or centuries?
And how would the heart survive
within a myriad of perils
at the foot of that abyss?
And how long does a man
spend dying?
The brain thinks as the
fingers thrump the counter top
and no knowledgeable priests
or philosopher knows — i know
seeing god and devil part their ways
to visit the eternal void
And all these happen-stance
wittinesses will count to twelve
and keep the secret within their
inner most hearts!
:: 12152015 ::
BECAUSE THE SWAMP SINGS
I
Easy is a go by-night silence
deeply throated green tiny-eye’d
orchestra give my heart it’s a’
rhythm bass beating soul and
buzzing stinging thin-wing’d
mosquitoes be’a (do i say?)
agreeing with my soul all down
my legs through my knees with the
Mississippi mud between my toes
II
My broken gui’tar sings so
lonely the moss fall’in (by
voodoo grounds) around me
the old Creole city lay across
this old swamp naturally surprised
cause my fingers keep’a playing
it be -cause slaves danced with
blood and sorrow all the way
from West Indies to New Orleans
III
Dying, as almost I did watching
the Voodoo Queen she ain’t a stopping
her dancing until a minute be’fo
sunrise and it’s still’a raining
like yellow-pink cotton fruit
Marie Laveau stop yo’ hatin’g
gonna sick yo dead husband on you
The poor Jacques Paris had his
newly wedded wife a’calling herself
the, ‘Widow Paris.’
so goes it when the swamp sings
uh huh!
:: 12152015 ::
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