Category: All

the fan is on…
spinning so slowly
the altering shadows
swim through the air,
circling the moon painted walls,
brushing against fluttering curtains.
another shadow joins them,
gliding quietly towards the bed.
soft footsteps engrave
the thick, quiet carpet,
leaving muted evidence.
within the silent world of sleep
life swirls in motion creating
sounds of wandering dreams,
echoes of diminishing footsteps,
skipped beats of breaking hearts.
the gasp of a last breath encompasses all.
the fan is off…

Sweet as summer’s honey is my lover’s taste.
And from her seasoned veins, I fill
Against the force of my whirling will.
I fear me without her. Life drifts upon waste.
Yet, here in the equivocal, eternal eternity
I scream from the Silence of my solemnity.
Beats once, beats twice, beats thrice…
Value in jeweled sublimity is this love’s price.

is there no paradigm for a perfect word? not a single model
for you or me? no prototype? no archetype? no one word our hero?
there is no finding such a word unless you are the little twang
always on time for beethoven’s sixth! torsion is a word made of
steel from the belly of the earth. a place only evil in all its shapes
and smells dares to lurk. suppose this is why there is no paradigm
for a perfect word? yet, for the strangest word, torsion is a paradigm
for a perfect word. it is strong enough to make you brave enough.
torsion is the core that makes the world twirl and little girls laugh
when the pull of the great green earth, aligns with the moon and
reckons with Galileo to make the heavens tell us the secret of its
power…maybe, one day, when the wind is the helm at your command.
ah, yes, that is when you feel its power. it is the strength
of torsion that pulls you apart and pushes you together.
laughter and smiles, love and sufferable hope brings
meaning and peace to the fragility from whence life is made.
all is made from the power of a perfect word of heroic strength.
there is a paradigm for a perfect word made of steel from the earth.
torsion is the core of strength that shows what a good life is worth.

subjectively we experience a litany
of
joys,
thrills,
fears,
smells,
hopes,
colors,
dreams,
sorrows,
affections,
expectations,
creating a tapestry of inner majesty.
how can such great beauty be born of mere matter?
we are what we are, but what of the world of life around us?
and what of the marvelous inwardness of experience?
how is this less wonderful than a tree?
just because it is ours,
is it more wonderful than that?

For Nightcrawlers
Billowing clouds form droplets of moisture, dancing
Upon petals of velvet interlaced and languishing.
Yesterday’s masterpiece, drooping rose bows dying
Amidst the symphony of morning’s sighing.

Blood red, sweet passion hangs from a branch half-torn
Swaying softly with sharp and blackened thorn.
Fresh daggers reveal purloined clues from cloak of dark
Flesh pricked by pointy tips in the dewy dawn sadly mark

A treachery and stealth that yields no respite from evil’s spoil
Nor honors the masterwork of nature’s toil.
Garden fortresses are no match for the fight
Against swift feet carried by Delphian might!

The irony of life inevitable, only seldom finds us here
Waiting. . .Wanting. . .Willing. . .
To understand the circumstances
During which, quite stealthily their
Surreptitious selves appear.
Too lost for any moral appeal,
Most certain, at night stalkings…such is
The irony of life inevitable. Life’s ivory
Seldom finds us weeping,
Waiting. . .Wanting. . .Willing. . .
To understand the circumstances
During which, surreptitiously, I am
Too lost for any mortal appeal.
Most certain, at night stalkings more delightfully
Waiting. . .wanting. . .willing. . .
So fog up the bog joe, stop up the top jack;
Tomorrow’s another day, all else is inevitably
Delightful! Waiting. . . wanting. . .and. . .willing
To fog up the bog joe, stop up the top jack;
Tomorrow’s another day, all else is inevitable.

we live in different worlds,
yet, my love for you
bridges the expanse and concretizes us
into the solidarity of one.
the difference of two, still
we bind as one despite the disparity of distance.
my world is a place
of wide, blank avenues and peopleless streets,
filling space with the nothingness
of illusory dreams and discount futures.
your world is a place
of thriving, crowded ways and thousands of hurried souls.
hustling and bustling they move feverishly
into the market places of their fears and their expectations.
we live in different worlds,
yet, my love for you binds us two as one
both tied beyond the difference that stands
between us and forges love that knows no boundaries
and forever keeps us one across the miles…across
the distance that love ignores.

he iron of life. To be sufferable, truly sufferable it can never be
Anywhere, Yet, it is. It is here. . .there too!
But mostly here, shadowed by
That which only the day will bring. To know where it is
We shall search. . .forever search. . .We really can search eternally.
Take Our Forevers and seek our hearts cuddled in mortal moments,
Both in all of time written and time yet to be.
How long? Sixty million years? Six hundred million years?
And after we’ve ruled the world for a quarter of a trillion years,
Then we shall see why the search for the core of life is our Forever.
We shall understand forever soon enough in time and space.
Lord, make us obedient trustees to search for the meaning of it all.
For in God, Forever bends its knees, and alas through Him
We shall meet all that was and all that shall ever be.
The iron of life yields to the melting of all the Universe,
In a God who began Forever and shall end Forever. That which is
Marked by His Immortal Light…That is the iron of life.

Imagine an unlived moment
When love waits to be picked
For a bouquet not yet formed,
But anticipated by someone
Not yet named, but longed for.

Illusion cries out to be sought
When one moment succeeds
And another only perceives
When one bears the mark
And another only aims
When one moves and shapes
And another only stands
When one makes a galaxy
And another only a star
When one opens the mind
And another only the eyes
When one moment succeeds
And another only perceives
Illusion cries out a thought