The Death of a Poet

it was quiet in the room
on the third Saturday
in April. weathermen

clamored pointlessly
about the lunar eclipse
that was to take place

in another part of the
world. a city we’d
never heard of, in a

country we’d never
seen. or see. together
at least. perhaps you

will go, alone – or with
your new lover; should
he come along. i know

that you would want
to find a quiet stretch
of road, park ‘neath a

tree, roll the rented
windows down and watch
as the same old, tired sun

rises helplessly over a parcel
of earth that you’d never
imagined. until then.

Love Shock: Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur

Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time

your love was
a shocking
surprise.

it came to me
unaware.

like storm clouds
on a perfectly
planned day.

and in one
simple moment.

i lost all sense.

The Plumber

she waits, with bated breath,
for that slow leak
faucet – unsealed
drip, drip, drip

until in walks Mr. Slim
with his sly winks
and mounting chagrin

there is a moment of
awkward pause
until release finds itself
in the shallow breaths
she exhales.

October Twenty Seventh

it’s rained all morning.
the mud clings to my boots
as angry clouds rush
past, not willing to waste
anymore water on this
saturated ground.

not willing to waste any on me.

she came into this wet
world five years ago
and left quietly
four days later.

it wasn’t raining on the day
she died. it was, in fact,
the bluest sky i’d ever seen.
on her last day,
i had held her for four hours
and the numbers on the
LED were the only thing
that told me that she’d
gone.

they announced, then left -
switched off.

and i, with my wife,
left the hospital
empty handed.

My Love For You Is Simple

my love
for you
is simple

it’s me
standing in
the rain
because our
umbrella is
just too
small for
the both
of us.

…old souls…

today i melted

Sunday afternoon
fingers still greasy
from lunch. house
flies eyeballing the
peach cobbler stain
on my shirt. green
succumbs to
yellow succumbs to
orange, to red, to
brown. a Rainbow
of earth tones and
life becomes sepia
snapshots in dusty
drawers.
“Who is that one??”
“Oh, I think it’s your aunt dear.”

just let that thought
swish away like
the apricot days
of Summer honey.

and it just so happened
in a moment much like
this, that i was melted
into the wrought iron
bench beneath me, and
leaves tickled the sky
with their spiny fingers
and old cloud cobwebs
drifted aimlessly into
branches, painting the
perfect scene. to retire
this same old notion of
old souls. old souls. old. souls.

the trees groan in the wind
the wind, a skinless hand, lightly
stroking her hair until sleep
finds her, at last.

saffron soliloquy

i am catacombs
and deep places
underneath us.

i knock against the soles of your feet.
i knock against the rubble.

souls asunder. wings abruptly
spread, lilted, paused..breathless
and flight.
i am cloud wayfarers. sojourning
in a blue abyss against
the sky. stars sink
into the waters and are snuffed out.
blinking beacons sinking into
reservoirs of soul. in bins and tubs
and the bags where we keep
the spirits of those who’ve planted
begonias along their path.
and they are muted. and not quite
snuffed out. not nearly as amused
as that chaplain in the courtyard.
staring wildly and the children who’ve
just let loose the last balloon. up, up, up
into a moonlit sky does it drift. up
up into the ceiling of the night.

afraid and aware, we all pause
for just a moment to
recollect. that something.

that saffron soliloquy of nothing.

…weed…

i’m out of my head
meandering about
stairwells and flat lands
‘tween grains of sand and stars
of course this simply will
not do. with much to
err before i wake, to live, to
die, to breathe in me. stars.

…summer dies…

the world is changing.
the sky, in Fall, gets bigger
lazy clouds of Summer migrate
south, with the geese, for
warmer pads of air to rest
on their heavy laurels.

the night gets darker.
the moon becomes a beacon
to this world’s beasts, bats
and witches – all dancing
nude in the silver shadows
of Candi or Chandra as they
swap their turns in controlling
the ever waxing and waning moon.
two lovers locked in pain
and pleasure.

trees and cicadas and I shed
our crispy skins and like all good
things, Summer dies.

The Work Horse

see this flower
bruised yellow
and red. trodden
down into the
thick red clay.
the death blow
from his iron hoof.

no one witnessed
the transgression
as the moon hid
playfully in Earth’s
massive shadow.

the stars, like me,
turned a blind eye
as he ground her
heart into the soil.

then back on his
pedestal he rests,
sentry over these
expansive fields
of famine.

Mud Filter

would you break me?
stake me to my own actions?
would you tear me
limb from limb?
chop me down then
chop me up
in pieces on the
amber ground.

would you slay me?
burn me in the bed I’m making?
could you hear me
calling from six feet down?
my muffled voice
a tune filtered
through the Earth and mud
poking prickly notes
against the soles
of your feet.

i’d still sing for you.
even from the grave.

… the dying sky …

last night the
milky way was
leaking stars.

one by one
they fell out
of view.

I said, “well thank goodness for that.”
You said, “i wonder if we’ll miss them?”

you rested your
head against my
warm shoulders

and we slept
for a few
brief moments

under the dying sky.

Below The Surface

suddenly, i found myself back
again, on this barren beach.
the black sands packed

hard against the hidden
ground and the frothy, white
breakers beat against its

stubborn brow over and
over and over again. the shore,
calloused and indifferent

to the footprints left by
gulls and people alike.
crabs signaled my approach

and took shelter in their
cozy bunkers and Summer’s
last pelican watched as i

stumbled over my tired words.

it was this time last year
that you and i found our way
to this empty beach. only the

brambles and the windswept
shadows of driftwood remembered
me. but i remembered you.

i remembered how your
sun-kissed skin seeped love and
sex into the dark, sandy dunes

and i remembered how the waves and
water swirled around your locks like
tentacles trying to drag you back

home, back into the depths from
where you crawled in the early days
of our own evolution. i remembered

the salty taste of kisses we shared
while watching the distant sun
drip westward and dive, headlong

into the black waters, made
ruler-straight by the even-handed
chiseling of light that’s traveled over

the vast expanses of your rocky surface.
no mountain can remain afloat in the sea
for too long, and like us, they all

succumb to the sterile flavors of the
deep, and sink willingly into their new
home, far below the surface of things we see.

Ghosts Do Come and Go

Ghosts do come and go
With nylon strings and chimes
They sing placid songs of rainy
Moons and coming home soon.

And wearing translucent robes
They move in and out of walls
And memories and leave only
Glimpses of themselves in the

Corners of our eyes. But their
Songs – birthed in sorrow and
Strife – they sing out as clear
As dew drops on Spring grasses.

Poseidon’s Strangled Currents

I stood along this vast Golden shore
Gritty sand clinging fast to my bare feet
And watched as the grey was set ablaze
By Ra’s tired ole head.

In my hands, a tattered parchment
And a bottle. In my heart, a galaxy.

I scrawled your name and a few bits
Of love on the browned paper, previous
Ink had faded into a hazy mist along
Its shabby edges

My love, made real, by penmanship
Most weak; yet love made strong
By words most dear

Corked and sealed my devotion was
Cast out upon these early morning waters
And left to set sail in Poseidon’s strangled
Currents; I left for home with hope in heart

Knowing full well my defiant note may find you.
You, living no where near the Sea.

A Prophetic Thought in the Shadows of Autumn.

when brown leaves
fall we all feel the
same unease

will this Winter
be our last?

phantom

she floats in me
silver-lined mists
rustling branches
against a window

the moon seeps through
her and casts a
deceptive shadow across
the floor. a tortured embrace

her footsteps are silent
her hive is well protected

from distant valleys i hear
Autumn’s crooning spill over
into this ever-tangling
web. her underbelly’s

red hourglass pulsing
brilliantly against the
fairer earth. flowers wither
i am drawn in as she lowers

dark lips, honey dripped
skin, the flowering embrace
that steals my prudence
just long enough for

that sweet poison
to release

… endure the Winter nude …

the katydids are fading
and the shadows grow
longer. the sleepyhead
sun drops quicker than
he did but a few short
weeks ago. weary with
words he silently vanishes.

trees wait to shed their
leafy clothes and endure
the Winter nude. unashamed
but not unaware, they
yearn for the frigid winds’
prickling against their aged skin.

i yearn for the cold snaps
of Winter to brush across my
bareness as well. and yours.
as the only warmth we feel
is between us. let Mr. Frost
freeze my body against
yours as the bright-eyed
heavens peep through
tiny holes in the black sky
at our lurid display.

i, too, would steal glances
at you my dear – and make
love to you against a frozen
earth. and like these towering
trees – with my eyes open.

… a little more on paIn …

of all the pains in this world

i
believe

that the greatest of these is

loving
that
which
you
cannot
have

… a responSe to paIn …

when Dracula floats through
our open windows at night
and alights gently on our bedside
we never awake in fear.

instead, spellbound, we await
his delicate bite. and in it
we discover a secret moment
of euphoria as his fangs break

through our flesh. it is this
pleasure that allows us to
give life as freely as we take it.
it’s what keeps the blood from clotting.