Category: All

There is a flower which blooms
In a garden, separate, yet unified
With a billion molecules of nature
All awash in a universe of splendor

This flower stands alone, yet by her
Side stands another, which never leaves
But sways with the wind to tease
From heavenly time to time, inexorably

Their petals touch and brush
Together in harmonious rapture,
Soft kisses, fleeting time, then suddenly apart
They stand alone, but still together

Never separate, never together
Side by side in a sea of nature
Always one, as well as two
Forever two, forever one.

He penned his note to the tune in his heart
Then quietly gathered his things to depart
From the one he had loved and wooed for so long
From the one he had vowed he would forever belong.

He slipped his note in the sweet dark night
Near the flickering ghost cast by a lamp’s broken light
To the one he had loved and wooed for so long
To the one he had vowed he would forever belong.

He stepped quickly and silently out of her life
Feeling the brokenness and pain strike like a knife
Because of the one he had loved and wooed for so long
Because of the one, he had vowed he would forever belong.

He started to hum the song that would always be theirs
Knowing it better to forget sad melodies too great to bear
Always remembering the one he had loved and wooed for so long
Always remembering the one, he had vowed to forever belong.

See in the shadows steps my perception,
Loyal companion always waiting at my door.
Though I walk the forest’s green floor,
The shadows foment my apprehension!

she is the focus of all i see.
she is the beauty
with her listening eyes,
deep as the Black Sea of the orient
that shimmer like leaves of gold upon cresting waves
to lithely dance across love’s space
in any place, spiraling heavenward, rapturously lost…
a girlchild in the innocence of unmeasured age.

Is her love merely drolling sacrosanctity, cataleptically dreamful?
‘Tis she or he whose grace is scarred unthoughtful?
Why dost she hide after a season of knotted pining, heart unwinding?
Hast she now become the clock empty, awaiting the clock maker?
The vials her love fills, stills time with that venal Hellenic potion.
Vessels nefarious his trust she seeks lips to sip conium maculatum.
Chapel Alight from his Adorn, he waits to breathe his lover’s soul.
Wilt thou find him in the weeping place? He suppurates forlorn!
Up he swings, Celestial, pendular wings gliding in the moonlight.
Wilt thou grant love, freely from opened heart or ensorceling perfidy?
Shalt thou love scorn his duty sworn to love only thee–thee alone?
Athena’s fury arrantly vents upon such love, neither fair nor tare.

i can be sad now…
and think deep deep
deep thoughts of love
for you and idly disappear
into a place where
we are suspended
above a plane
of ethereal love…
and for a moment…
just a moment…we are there…
though in reality separated
by thousands of miles…
just for that moment…
in that deep deep
deep thought of love…
there we are suspended together…
in an undoubtable incalculable
eternity of heavenly emotions…
emotions of my faithful…sweet love!

Ode to Emily Dickinson
Up high within her room, the window raised, she thrusts her silky hair
From a secret world of steamy, breathless, morning sea-air.
Dancing sprightly upon awakened imagination with unwillingness to wait
For a constructive instant, but snatches an idea from all her spaces,
Consigned to dwell as a fairy-tale princess who lives for a Word.
From the silence of Nirvana on paper, too crumbly, now unfurled,
Upon recipes she mixes for Zeus to taste, but, not so aptly, so sure.
Pure magic is the wind that catches and plays with her coiffure,
Stirred from Olympus? In fear, she commands the windows to close,
As from Her soul springs the sweetliness that only her mind can know.
Tender is her cry to claim a word, a thought, but not the might,
Of thinking pen that sings from secrecy, writing through the night.
A craft poured from a mix of love, to her ne’er no man shall bestow.
A greater love was her indwelling; greatest, most true, truest abode!

Who are these Editing Ghosts?
Bleeding words strike the hosts.
The feel of words they seek,
Not the banter of the weak.
Out of the silence they creep with nothing,
Butchers to haunt and curse my somethings.

Sorrowfully blue, my lonely heart yearned to taste
Her love, a rich red wine I only dreamt to drink
To her veins my soul did willingly concede
To her and her alone
In her heart sings
Rich the vintage
Toast to love
Redest love
Bluest love
Colorlusts
Drunken
Into
Her
Go
I.

In this cup
I will taste tomorrow
The dregs of sorrow
From the dreams I borrow.