Tag Archives: #words

IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

IN a WORD are the little things
the meaning bigger than me.

Within a Soul is great soup
the tongue and her taste great.

Inside the nest unborn eggs
unpublic – slanted sight!

My unborn babies are largely great
inside only a single name:

a lifelong dying Soul as me –

Admirning time and her quaint space.

A poet? For me yes but you for
saving grace a possibility.

:: 02.14.2022 ::


WIDE BLUE SKIES OF KISSES

A blossom of heart
a brain of red storm
that soars in swarms
of indistinct dreams
holding frail fingers
of silver nails
writing two charming
words:

“loving you”

And within the scene
of heavy hair where
dew falls my trembling
fingers wander
wide blue skies of
kisses bathing jumbles
of blooming flowers

merci, interrupted by
trembling and saliva
whispering resumptions
on the lips or desire
for kisses___

A soul rising and dying
that constant desire
to weep in gray indolences.

:: 02.14.2022 ::


THE SMELL OF A WET DOG

(I preface this with: FUCK YOU)

I ONCE made love to a corpse
it was still warm with lies
It was bad weather like her eyes
AND she asked, “have you ever
fucked a living soul?”

Then, once, as I remembered:

“Within the absence or presence
of sun once I laid with a woman
and gave her subsistence by love
only to be hated by her.

Death only wants more death.
And her corpse’s flies ate her
through and through.

:: 02.09.2022 ::


A BOY AND HIS PRIVATE WAR

The boy is working very quickly now, Mariketa; very fast.

A blue light spreads through the garden, enough to make the plants wilt but not kill them.
He’s collecting knowledge so quickly, Mariketa, that we’ll lose our advantage.
He’ll get away, Mariketa.

Why?

He thinks that the white wolf can control a dark servant; and we’d lost our one such, the Butcher.
Can he?

We need to send the boy back to die.

She’s talking to me through the Wolf of the North.
The Butcher of the Red Brotherhood, the Butcher that should have been destroyed years ago, that he should have killed years ago …

The Wolf was silent.

The Trollocs have the field.

I feel them move on the far side of the river, not too far.
Can they turn that loose, to come on here?

No, I don’t think they can.

Their beasts can’t cross the river with their backpacks and soldiers and equipment.
The wolves are too small.

I can sense the other beasts moving in the distance, hundreds of them, coming to the caravan.
It’s a war party, a massive one.

The wolves, though, cannot cross the river.
How large is the caravan?

I don’t know.

I only know that the Trollocs are looking to turn loose a good many beasts here.
He makes a move with his head, as if nodding to her.
He’s saying, “We move the battalion, take these beasts and flee.”
So he’s gone.

I let him go, Mariketa.

He will take the unicorn.

I sense it.

His demise is only a matter of time.

The land is left over, the Grey-Jeweled Queen, and the River Raedah.
No others come to us.

The three armies turn and march back toward the tents.
There, the work starts all over.

The army camps downriver has retreated to the riverbank, providing a covering fire to turn back the Trollocs on the road.

The tents are ready, the tent troops and riding troops have been gathered.

Tales and councils are given to the men to get them moving.

The fires were taken out as soon as the supplies were unloaded, and the area is being kept dark.
That means this part of the plan is at last done.

:: 02/07/2022 ::


PARAGRAPHS OF DISCOVERING ME

LONG winter days
then City nights
Unplowed fields
full of snow
lit by millions of lights

Wearing tears from living
Wonderous painful life
Not sure what it’s suppose to be
Oh love if it’s not the world
then it must be me

A lover first for words
i believe in paragraphs of
discovering me; a lover’s thirst
for humanity —

the poet does not envy
does not boast
and is never proud

without a pencil we crumble
toward the ground____
the paper; a scroll of the soul
for all eternity.

:: 02.09.2022 ::


BLESS YOUR HEART FOR THE SONG YOU SING

I’d kiss your lips;

Crush them like grapes,
and lick up the sweet juice.
You’d smile at my kiss;
You’d turn, and let me go
to go far away.

Then, like the girl in the fairy tale
you’d try to outwit me
and return once more
to that thought, which you knew,
that still creeps upon your sleep,
the thought that it should

Be this way, somehow, all of the time.

All the time. For me.
Always for me.

Because that’s all you ever wanted to know.
And that’s all I ever wanted to tell you.
God bless your heart for the Song you Sing.

:: 02.05.2022 ::


i am small BUT

i

AM small BUT

GREATLY expansive

the little Rivers
appear large
to small eyes
they(while)ATE
wheat Harvest Mice
twitchingly mild
dancing smoke-TIME
inside

::02.01.2022 ::


CONGLOMERATE UNIVERSES

IF four nails secured the Cross of Life
should i entirely ask of god why Tiger Mart
sells deluxe burritos but 7-11 has hot dogs
happily the uninformed droop bloated question
marks — like a scar across the mile of
my sacred walks_____

And if i should receive an answer more or less
deserved, God go in peace and spawn a supermarket
and wall street to rape all mankind from their
health and well-being –infinitely in your
schizo’d deity-mind.

So i wish to meet a girl who has a womb of happiness
to spawn a new universe! Please?
her tiniest whispering
invitation is like a clock
striking my heart \oh shit! tic toc yes tockey tic.

:: 08-08-2015 ::


LOVERS STRETCH LIFE UPON NARROW BEACHES

WE breathed
Yes? Did not you say:

“The shore is long but
narrow like life.”

My dearest soul
you make me believe
Art is more than Life
and so you took my heart
into those wondrous
moments of our secret
life.

i am not that bold nor so cold
to say we made the universe colorful.

And my gentle soul it’s
been just moments ago
but now my need is stronger
:saying how much i love you
we breathed
yes! The shores are long
and life so short my lover!

:: 08-21-2015 ::


THE VEIN OF A COLORFUL TREE

i sang tangerine
tune-summer ending bursting
green fields of your heart
we laughed running through
ivory key-feet swiftly: chasing
life down into her brook of water
toe-tipped dipping prose :: you
are me and i am Y((ou))
writing poetry inked by leaves
we took the tree to task
and she gave her leaf of
color for the book we write
the words of our love

no: oh, tell it to
the world — they may never
care! for P O E T R Y

:: 08-21-2015 ::