The Curls Of The Amphitrite

Beneath the surface does Amphitrite play,

wife of Poseidon and queen goddess of the sea,

who spends her time with the other Nereides

they sometimes ride the backs of purposes

when their beautiful appears like a young maiden.

 

She weaves her nymph spells

upon the tides and crests,

ever watching for those mariners in distress

to still their cries for help

then spreading her briny powers

over the waters with her touch,

which gives the creatures

of the deep their life.

 

It the curls her hands stir a salty magic,

so the surf and foam might have such allure

upon the souls on land

who see that waving enchantment

cascades with its swaying charms

before it crashes over the heart.

 

Oh mortals oft can hear her serenade

while standing on the beach,

those seashell notes just so overpowering

for many who must sail out to find

the singer of that mesmerizing melody.

Svelte

 

Slivers in slender envy slipped into the mental cracks,

fillers of fantasy that resonate in the emptiness,

visions aglow in glitter of perfection

where face and form forge as a deity

into divine glade of cerebral plateau,

flawless and ideal

no wind blows to disturb the view

as one becomes that matchless harmony,

all the pristine sighs beguile in their vitality.

 

For a while the fullness of distortions

fades into that svelte bliss,

every thought of ascending the height in peace

flows as a sanguine streams of serenity.

 

It all the heartbeat of longing in the darkness

a shadowy reach to bring light

unto the closet where life is trapped.

 

In a sigh the Quixotic song replays

of the hero who conquers and crusades

duels the dragons and is victories

without a scar or pain.

 

Tomorrow waits to slice at the reverie

add back the bulk of what

the gaze at a paradisiacal realm

had trimmed from reality.

 

From the dark abyss of night’s talons

wandered in doubt’s agony,

inside whispers the dreamer’s breath,

arise from this madness and live!

 

As the gleaming citadel of fancy

losers its radiance,

slowly one returns to the rumble of existence

ready to try and make sand castles

out of the ruins.

Cheddar Zombies

There was something sinister in cheese

if you ate it too late a night

well that’s what mom insisted

since it was made from milk

only has some strange additives

they got into you brain when you slept

that’s when the cheddar zombies visited.

 

Got so confusing since

the actually moment at night

when this danger started

never was quite clear.

 

It all had to do with cows

they spend all night in fields

something in the grass

did weird things to milk

then it got worse

once it became that glorious yellow substance.

 

One time we had Marconi and cheese

late at night,

my mom didn’t say much,

but I remember about that saying

spend have the night worrying

would I go crazy if I dreamed.

 

Fell asleep and then woke up next morning

without any scary images,

she said it must have been the pasta

that kept me from any nightmares.

 

Baptism

To slip slowly beneath the surface

of that sea where the heart drifts

sometimes lost among those shifting tides,

inside ever churning,

mind constantly confuses

ever watching as the sailboats pass,

just wishing once they would stop

and offer rescue from that fear of drowning.

 

But they are too busy sailing

off towards some paradise

left to tread water and wish

there was a way

for stopping the howling winds

as well as roar of waves,

find some silence amid the confusion,

a quiet place where it didn’t leave

the heart in steady turmoil

 

At last surrendering the tug

that pulls one downward so deep inside,

a baptism in the pool of reflection

where a quietness comes,

slowly all the raging swells are gone

because finally learned to stop

any need to worry about not sinking,

instead discovery how to swim.

 

We’re Bad!

 

Oh yeah,

we’re the Rodent Road Rage Gang!

Just drive where we please

ever doing what we want,

don’t mess with us

or we’ll crawl up your pants!

 

Yep, don’t take crap from anyone,

give us grief and you will pay,

for we’ll track you down

then leave our droppings

all over your place,

look out if you like cereal

since we love to sneak in there

so those things you think are raisin

will be something else.

 

Now stay out of our way

this road belongs to us

if you cut us off

then well wait until you park

since our teeth can bite the tires

and leave them all flat!

 

Time for our tails

to rule the street,

stay out of the way

or you’ll be dead meat.

Pro Active

Thousands of acres in sand left in craters,

claret stains from lethal shrapnel

sprinkled amid the ruins,

 

the wind carries the murmurs of protests

nobody heard them over the explosions,

a mangled victim crawls

towards the remains of her house,

she’ll die before reaching the doorstep

lost her son to firing son,

declared an enemy by dictator leader

her mind dazed from loss of blood,

soon death will end her suffering

not sure the war of liberation

was any better than the evil

that held her terrorized.

 

Tanks roll past her corpse

on the way to bring freedom

and end the threat

of Weapons Of Mass Destruction.

 

Under the Iraqi sun

that pitch fork of invading force

digs for phantom bombs,

how they sprayed so much lead

just to destroy the anger broth

of hateful, boasting words.

Limbs

The boughs bend in the wind

will the truly bring legend’s kiss?

Can the magic her grandmother told

truly come about if I wish hard enough?

 

If only her heart could cling to that tale

of how tears brought this tree to life,

where inside sleeps a sorceress

who can grant any desire

should she wake by those sobs

and lets her leaves shed their magic.

 

While leaning against that trunk

she hopes to desperately it is all true

so she know can see her greatest need

become a realty.

 

Subdued are the warnings

how if she lets fear control her thinking

then instead of what she longs occurring

the limbs will drop to claim her life

until she ends up like those others

that never were seen again.

 

With one swallow

her eyes close and hold onto that image,

love was worth it all,

for without him she was already dead,

ever praying the woman inside

will be able to work a miracle

to heal him from his fatal illness.

 

Soon she knows either a wedding will come

or she will merely end up waiting for him

on the other side.

 

You're dethpicable

Was no more Elmer blasting my bill

once I made sure he knew

it was rabbit season after all,

and might have worked

if on Bugs hadn’t been so dethpicable!

He hung up that duck season sign

we argued over it right along,

darn if he didn’t twist them words

got me saying duck

before I knew,

then once more that darn Elmer

done shot my beak into a tweak!

 

But I’m not given up,

I’ll get me a rabbit costume

then let old Bugs do something

once I declare it’s rabbit season.

 

So we battle them words again

dang if he ain’t dressed as a me,

think I got the best of him

when I say shoot the duck

only Elmer just still sees my beak

end up hitting it again.

 

"You're dethpicable,”

is all I’m left to say!

Moon Magic

What can cast a better spell for lovers

than a full moon over a calm lake?

To watch its beams charm the soul

quietly inhaling that special lunar magic.

 

One moment the sway of romance builds

visions of passionate kissed inflame the heart,

then when the wind soothed in serenity

while the moment tantalized with Cupid’s whispers,

suddenly a mosquito bite invaded the enchantment

that little sting so totally distracting to the will.

 

A slap, a swat and before long

this little insect had invited all his pals,

arms waving frantically in the air

in hopes of chasing them away,

only those little winged demons

wouldn’t be scared a way,

it was feast time and we were dinner!

 

So much for some evening attempts

at capturing romance in nature’s special haven,

too bad the darn bugs didn’t see it that way,

ended up running to the car

before rolling up the windows

all those lumps from being bitten

truly did ruin the thrills.

 

Back at the hotel

it was mosquitoes seven and humans zero,

watch Love Story for consolation prize

vowed to next time

just watch some movie about outdoors

let it be enough inspiration

without the risk of diving bomb

blood sucking creatures!

My Microscope

I gazed intently through that small crystal lens

at all the infinitesimal and miniscule bits of fact,

deciphering its images as harbingers of future trends

while deciding reality was found in what is compact.

 

With diligence did I search that world with my eyes

to let the tiniest detail become my wisdom’s feature,

then trimmed truth down to focus on the smallest prize

as I ignored any outside sounds from any living creature.

 

Oh the earth and existence shrunk in their priority

all that I measured as value based on my limited view,

how I gave its interpretation rule and such authority

what else resided around me denied any real debut.

 

Each hour passed and my vision stared only at one thing

imagined it as gold to be horded and always what mattered,

though inside I knew such would never be able to bring

acumen enough so I could understand all that time had scattered.

 

Then one day I accidentally dropped my cherished tool

no longer able to reduce what is down to that little site,

forced to look around upon every facet, beam and pool

suddenly aware all that I had missed in my narrow sight.

 

So amazed how the loss of my picayune probe’s power

had kept me from being able to honestly know my realm,

learn the beauty there in each rock, glen and flower,

which in their essence is seen so clearly can overpower.

My Fine Print Lament

Oh man this is going to be such a disaster

would have settled for a rental pick up truck,

to visit my future father in law, the pastor

but instead my travel agent just ran amuck.

 

Told me he had got me such an airport deal

the kind of flash wheels that would impress,

at a price that would be such a downright steel

only didn’t mention all that fine print mess.

 

So once I got a look at this insane circus car wheels

knew it was not going to exactly end up a joy,

the seats are made burnt popcorn and banana peels,

and the steering wheel is some from some toy.

 

Having dress so silly to get the insurance is really the pits,

while forced to take Bozo the mechanic along adds to the pain,

not to mention this stupid umbrella roof just give me the fits

with my luck I know it is just surely going to cloud over and rain.

 

Worse of all is that I meeting the Reverend at this local gym

he’s such fanatic for staying in shape and being so very male,

don’t think he’ll be inspired at all by this pansy looking trim

no way Bozo making balloon animals will help me not fail.

 

All I can do is think up some really great convincing lie           

perhaps like how we were performing for some orphan kids,

then keep Bozo from his smacking the Rev with a cream pie

while praying he won’t think I’m sinful for wearing some red Keds.

The Facts

Tears feel best when covered in icing,

the frosted versions of truth,

when the mind is dipped in sugary stories

and sweetened to any bitterness.

 

We thrive on the diet of seasoned reality,

every morsel moment cleverly disguised

so its flavor is succulent and zesty,

never bland and lacking nutrition,

an ambrosia so luscious and appealing

easily sliding down the throat.

 

But when the cook is history’s chef

it isn’t garnished by something contrived,

will always reveal the tainted servings

of mankind’s mishaps and blunders,

so stupidity and ignorance bubble in the mix,

how it truly spoils the appetite.

 

For we want gourmet and dessert,

with a feel that honey

drips from mankind’s purposes,

slip so serenely into the bliss

where we live a banquet

and eat only the cuisine of delights.

 

However, the cookbooks of the heart

too often have recipes for disasters,

which scald the tongue

from their caustic consequences,

left with soured stomachs,

sadden dispositions and sorrowful regrets

for it reminds so constantly

our fingers are more gifted

at making creations, charred and not edible,

than those masterpieces

envisioned in the pictures we paint

about meals never actually served.

Unfurnished

Bare walls possessed of outlines

that traced where pictures used to hang,

nail holes remind of spots

the decorations once adorn

those alabaster sheet rock barriers.

 

Green carpet matted and frayed,

only a hint left of what once was new,

cracks along the ceiling ,

a souvenir from an earthquake five years ago,

hooks also left in place,

once they held plants and lights

to help complete the ornaments of peace.

 

Even in the void,

where images of the furniture

stay alive in the mind like ghosts,

they can’t be purge in the mind

of how they moan their memories

about tears and laughter,

drama and satire,

known when this apartment living room

was our refuge for ten years.

 

Today we finished our move,

back to clean this hollow space

before starting over in a house.

 

But we can’t leave

without the echoes of time

felt in the heart and soul,

all the energy we shared

just soaked into that domain.

 

Though we close the door one last time,

part of us will always remain

both in that chamber

for another to furnish,

as well as in the home

ever existing in our thoughts.

Leaves

Her heart clung in caresses of calm

unto those purple leaves,

how they waved by the wind at will,

branches bending to obey

the silent power of that blustery spell.

 

She came to the woods

as refuge from life scars,

a quiet clearing where for her

spirits manifested their mystical essence,

those beings who dwelled

in that enchanted world below the soil

who guarded their secrets

from most that dared to venture

among their trees.

 

Shivers would strike in shockwaves,

terror beguiled without seeing its source

so quickly the curious fled screaming

from this dread that overpowered.

 

Stories soared in scary songs

over the evil that was feared,

it drifted as menacing invisible force

that awaited to panic the unwanted.

 

But they sensed that purity

in her scarred and neglected soul,

the pain she had received

for times she gave love.

 

Then revealing their identity

under the light of waxing gibbous moon,

their bodies appearing as golden silhouetted creations

shaped as clouds and dancing spheres

that draped her suffering in an azure healing glow.

 

This life she had never known

came as she transformed into a mist

before her spirit was absorbed into the blooms

where she became forever an enchantress

able to enjoy a magical reality

as she discovered sometimes

dreams can come true

by ways most mortals would never know.

Where Is She?

Where is she,

the fairy of the night

who lands on the tip

of my nose

and whispers wishes

while I sleep?

 

I know she often

spends her time

among the trees

with the pixies

as they plan

on where to next

sprinkle magic.

 

Smiles I can’t stop

because somewhere

between these leaves

there is a miracle

they left just for me.

 

What a world it would be

if they went away

how I hope

that I never stop

my belief

in their wings.

Lycanthropy Screams

Intuition groped her spine

this woods and wonder were secrets

meant to stay hidden,

how she fought with wisdom

against the tempest snarls of superstition.

 

The moon was an orb,

a simple night pearl

it had no power nor magic,

her reason stained cerebral gown

would not fear the beasts of fancy.

 

Forest and paths

were nature’s gates to earthen treasure

not the gateways to terror.

 

From her virtuous virgin perch

she descended that trail,

proud and confident

nothing would deny her

that sweet taste of victory’s epiphany.

 

Under the night’s canopy

along that journey she roamed alone,

in a moment of union

between myth and reality

was she confronted

with the hidden identity

of her favorite mentor,

now his frantic warnings

drilled her head with fear,

but it was too late

to prevent the cruel pain

of lycanthropy screams.

Stupid Labels!

Just can’t trust anyone these days

and then they give cars these

super smart computer,

got this thinks for itself genius brain.

 

All I wanted was to get better gas mileage,

for this brand new fangled, turbo charged,

“Pavement Mile Driving Road Tyrant”

that I bought from

this “Whiz Bang Motors” web site,

hell, got hooked by that name!

 

It was supposed to squeeze every drop

out of every fricken gallon in gas,

only it was more like sucked my wallet dry,

went from fifty miles to the gallon

to a gallon per every block.

 

So my buddy told me

he could get me some miracle gas additive,

would get me over a hundred miles to a gallon!

 

Put the stuff in that gas take,

engine started humming

thought it was so cool,

then took off to visit that place downtown,

suddenly that darn junk

made the car’s computer freak

it went all crazy and before I knew what was happen

somehow the front of the car

managed to get tilted down

and was trying to dig a hole in the cement.

 

Took a while to find out

that super miracle crap my buddy gave me

happened to be some plumber’s rotor rooter crap

with a gas additive label stuck on the bottle.

 

Lucky me, my brainy automobile

just went berserk on that juice

and became like some horny teenager

trying to screw anything it could.

Electoral Ghosts

I strolled sitting down through a wall

on a merry sad December day in fall,

a gremlin prophet suddenly appeared so slow

on a carpet of melted ice, so dull it did glow.

 

Tomorrow came last Tuesday in the cookie pond

it borrowed a donut from a squirrel with a broken wand,

while some oysters on combs made the air shake

as a cannibal vegetarian barbecued a plastic beef rake.

 

Oh where are the burps that ate the watermelon

and the voters who were convicted as a brain felon?

The can opener smiles died in a trash compactor bag

after a snowman did charades turning a parrot into a flag.

 

Pearls from a bowling alley went to a French fry fair

they went on strike for some pumpkin scented underwear,

cake was sold on the end of giants wart covered nose

it looked like a cloud and tasted like a wilted rose.

 

Ballots were passed around in a leaking whiskey bottle

before the TV remote was pressed to turn up the throttle,

because the mayor was a squash who wish he was a gator

who saved a chorus of “row, row, row your boat” for later.

Respite

Driven by a zephyr wind blowing over my heart,

scents of evergreen remembered

lure me to the oasis fountain

between wisdom’s pines,

the scenic communion chapel

felt as cascading seconds in calm,

one subtle respite over my chaos

captured in a glimpse.

 

Nature draped as a stunning moment

of backpack encounter effulgence,

when the waters flowed through the soul

drown the darkness in their power to baptize,

utterly immersed in a oneness

between life and creation.

 

To reach the terrace within the mind

while my world creeps in stress bites,

conjured as flaming spiders

who crawl over the chest

 

Returned in an exhale to a vernal gypsy caress,

a palatial reservoir that teems

with paradisiacal  phantoms,

where I touch that mirror in my mind

and feel its shadow blow over me

through the vibrant aura of golden quintessence,

that feathered flight of realization’s quixotic dreams,

as the cherub twin of my life

stirs in the thickets,

seldom appearing

except for a frail realty I paint with wishes.

Future Farmers Went Too Far

Okay I could handle

those future farmers at school

once the Principal’s son got involve,

who got together with all the animal lovers

wanted us all to be kind to every creature.

 

Was a bit much when they parked

their cows in the hall

and that pig in the locker room

really was too much.

But now they got us all going crazy

claim

the poor fish are starving

and being abused by fisherman.

 

Thought it would go away

until we stopped by the store

for some groceries.

Saw that sign and nearly died

 

[image Bait]

 

Now instead of using a pole

we have buy them trout

some ice cream sandwiches

or waste peanut butter and jelly,

like we really are buying that one

just to show some bass we care.

What can we do

since he principal’s husband owns the store

and sort of been hinted buy or else risk demerits!

 

At least I’m better off that my one pal

he’s an ice cream sandwich junkie

stands by the lake

just for a chance to dive in a grab

one off the hook when somebody tosses it in the water.

The Feather

Its golden color strikes my heart

I can feel the magic hidden inside,

a single wave

sweeps my body to a mystical oasis,

beyond this world’s walls.

 

While I hold it

images come into my head,

a brilliant purple sky

filled with claret colored clouds,

beneath a meadow of indigo grass

with a stream snaking through it

of emerald waters.

 

In the middle is a silver gazebo,

there are orange vines wrapped through its shape,

and inside is a blue swing.

Before it is a yellow marble fountain

it flows with bronze hued waters,

somehow I sense they inspire visions,

which part the heavens

until the universe is revealed

as planets appear in the opening.

 

The air is scented with almond and cinnamon,

my mind can conjure

any form of creature I can image

while an ivory table waits to serve a buffet

of any foods I wish to summon.

 

By this meadow’s edge are tall magenta pines

where I can hear music,

somewhere I drift as a leaf on the wind

unto its sound.

 

But then my visit suddenly ceases

for that feather you offered carries a price,

once crossing over I can never return.

 

Thought it was a charmed and spellbound scene

something inside clings to the question

can I trust to someone I’ve just met?

The Winds Of Masculinity

He’s born an innocent wisp,

becomes a confident gust,

then blows a boasting breeze

before turning

into an old fart.

The Winds Of Masculinity

He’s born an innocent wisp,

becomes a confident gust,

then blows a boasting breeze

before turning

into an old fart.

Hallelujah

Oh the people have shrunk in their faith

lost their interest in the church,

so we nuns are called upon to do so much more

and Father said we ought to be able

to have enough trust so we can do like the Apostles did.

 

Lucky us, he picked out verses

that each group were supposed to try and duplicate,

we got the one about Peter walking on water

even though it was only a couple of steps.

 

Here we are wading out into that surf

sure getting more soaked that lifted,

at least Peter had the Lord to save him,

hope drowning this way isn’t the unpardonable sin.

 

Sister Rose said to try and say some Hail Marys,

while Sister Agatha suggested with praise

with lots of Hallelujahs and our arms in the air.

 

All I know is my toes aren’t on top of the foam,

no way this will pass for a baptism.

 

Oh merciful Mother Mary, I see a shark fin,

wish I never saw the movie Jaws,

I’ll give this one more minute of gulping salt water

before this sister is heading for the beach.

 

Now Sister Rose just saw that shark,

sorry, Jonah is in the old testament,

don’t care how many converts it might get

not going to end up in some great white’s stomach,

guess none of them remember

old Jonah didn’t look so good as whale vomit.

 

Looks like I’m going to have a very long next confession

before then I’ll just hope for a miracle

that somehow our shoes will suddenly be blessed to float!