YO-YO PITY

Up and down
over and under
again
my thorny and lustful
stride
is a stumbling, staggering
stubbed toe pace.
I pretend
the pain doesn’t matter
for rainbows
come after
storms.
But
I’m always
so consumed
with my broken
umbrella
to search for
any pot
of gold.

Gone, but never lost

Though time has raised an impenetrable canyon
between our souls,
and a gulf with no bridge prevail its breech
where once we strolled so joyously together,
it can not quiet the beat inside,
the throbbing stir to the heart
that is the bond, which never ends,
a glue of oneness nothing can sever.

For as long as there are stars overhead
to dress the night in their silver necklace,
so too shall you shine within my thoughts,
never more than a heartbeat away
from my joy over what you have meant to me.

What tomorrow brings in fated claim
may not bequeath us again each other’s company,
but it can not extinguish the flame we share.

So for the moment where in face we are gone
from the presence we have had,
in no way does it mean we’ve lost
all the truth and unity,
which blessed in the hours
of being friends and more.

Let us take the sun in the form of the other’s portrait
grant it light of memory to always reflect within,
choosing not to call it a goodbye,
just a temporary detour along our path.

What Problem?

I will never understand how anyone can presume truth
just by seeing only shadows and dismay
among the heartlands of the soul?

We reside in the everlasting utopia of our passions
with it being up to us to mine its gold.
To gaze with pessimism's demons is to regress in one's visions
refusing to reject the precognitive precursors of failure
embedded in beings cursed
without the pure efficacious indwelling residence of illumination.

Having set forth, therefore,
each and every boundary for enlightenment,
which can elevate one into ever increasing
cycles of enhancing,
bestows upon the blessed quintessence of numinous nuances
some morsel of ethereal ambrosia
gained as sustenance, through every forged talon of reliance.

Thus,
let us discard the rubbish of negativism's disbelief,
abandoned the decay of ardor's fancy,
and set aside each numbing encumbrance
that henceforth offers no gauze of hope
for healing what is always curable.

Now I shall retire to my hallowed haven
beyond the screaming lairs
where so many languish by choice.

There are no windows in my castle
why should I need to see
what some claim is reality,
but I know is simply the figments
of their hysteria?

Upon the water

Upon the water
she tossed the white rose petals
pulled off the flower one by one.

Watching them drift down the river,
standing so quietly under the summer sun,
her eyes beset with a somber stare,
before a hint of a curl
briefly brushes across her lips.

Flickers of seconds from January dart through her mind,
recalling sitting in terror in the passenger seat,
as the jumbo jet was falling from the sky,
crashing into the icy river.

Then the moments of pure horror and confusion
when the waters flooded the plane,
people screaming, desperately trying to get outside.

In the chilling depths, passengers were too frozen
to try and swim for shore.
They waited as the helicopters came
and lowered their wires to rescue.

One single elderly male passenger, looking so much in pain,
big bleeding gash on his forehead,
kept passing the harness to others.

At last only he and the woman were left,
she tried to get him to take it, but he refused.

Slowly, she put it on,
his voice, weak and exhausted,
whispering to her, "please remember me"
before he sank below the surface,
body never found,
yet always seen in her heart.

Two Scoops

Her eyes were so arousing
as if they were two scoops
of luscious chocolate,
I so wanted to consume.

Watching her red lips
shine as if strawberry,
checks a milky skin
reminding me of Vanilla.

At last after countless
toppings in sweet fudge dripping words,
we mixed our flavors.

They froze together in such
perfect blended taste.

But sadly the warm
from misunderstandings
melted our love sundae.

Next time I guess
that I look for a cone
for myself
who hadn't been licked
by so many other tongues.

Passing Go

Light shines through between the bars,
cell is cramped, fighting the fiery tugs of claustrophobia,
a thousand tales my mind does pen
in hopes of erasing memory's ink.

Sitting with a number stenciled on my prison uniform shirt
feeling it such a shameful descent in glory
from the pinnacle where once I stood like a god,
wearing my crown of monopoly dreams,
intoxicated in my lust of fiscal gluttony.

Playing life and souls as a game
striving to have it all,
people being just poker chips
one could gamble away
on my ante to win the pot of gold.

But my passion for capturing
every deed of hearts and land
turned to blindness
about the rules
one is forced to obey.

Smiling in cavalier confidence,
when indicted for my antics in darkness,
so sure my vault of lucre
could buy me freedom
and another trip
around the grid of greed.

Finding out too late
that "do not pass go"
was not just a card to be ignored.

Monday

Caffeine eulogies
for yesteryear's corpses.

Rationale's cream,
hallucinogen
seeing memory as crosses,
instead of vampires.

Hair Trigger

Hand reaching
inside overcoat
fondling gun,
sheepishly waiting in store line,
mind teetering
on sanity's sheer tightrope
falling off
depending
whether
voices in head
have complaint
satisfied by customer service.

Temple in the Pines

It looked so out of place
in the middle
of the Southern California mountains.

More like a temple you would find
somewhere in India,
white walls, golden tear dropped shaped cones
crowning all four corners.

A sanctuary of quiet reflection
built by a soft spoken, peaceful monk
so many years ago
who was lead there by his spirit guide.

He served for years,
calmly and modestly,
helping all who sought him,
never refusing a need,
sharing paths of serenity and love,
not asking anything in return.

His grave is behind the temple today,
his spirit though lives on.
Descendants of followers
see that his faith and compassion
are not ever forgotten
by preserving the sanctuary.

Sometimes they say
you can see his flowing red robed image
walking among the evergreen pines,
whenever a pilgrim comes
to pay tribute.

Euphoric

Spending an eternity in seconds,
exploring her lush garden of desires
that thrives in gasping anticipation
shining so invitingly in her eyes.

Feeling cupid's breath
across on my heart
from knowing each flower
of her love
blooms just for me.

Our bodies and mind
drowned in a river of deep wet kisses,
until the flood gate of passion bursts,
swimming that steamy stream
rapturously entwined
to a lover's paradise
teeming for the heavenly afterglow
after reaching the shore of oneness,
exhausted and euphoric.

Turn And Get It Over With

There nothing that drives me nuts more
than being behind someone on the freeway
who has their turn signal on,
but never turns.

A thousand questions bug you,
like did they miss their off ramp?
Still the mind tries to believe
nobody could possibly not notice
he has a blinker flashing,
especially at night.


What adds to my urge to scream
is when they finally turn
it I is to go right
with the left flasher flasher.

Now those are the ones
you truly wonder how he got
his driver’s license?
Which apparently is not a problem
on driver’s tests
since he does have a license
or at least you assume he does.

Either way
all I wish
is somehow he could be taught
the difference between right and left,
though with a few
I doubt it would help anyway.

Their Frame

Hearts framed as one by heaven's predestined photo,
picture taken before the planets
were hung in the sky and galaxies possessed
legions of shimmering suns.

Their souls were pledged in golden bond,
divinely wrapped in love's eternal ring of light.

Separated by distant shores, ambling through life,
each seeing the other's face in their dreams
always haunted by the image,
unable to find love among the concrete layers
where minds wallow in cement cesspool,
existence numb and cold.

Two beings left on fate's doorstep, clinging to muffled knocks,
resounded at night when sobs of ache were trapped in pillow
so they wouldn't be heard by spouse they married,
out of convenience, but never loved.

Ethereal clock chiming to undo their years of failed connections,
as the two married couples try to salvage dead marriages,
booked passage on cruise ships,
storm ravaged seas making instruments malfunction
ships hopelessly headed on collision course.

During the tragedy, on that disastrous dark eve,
the four ended up floating in the water with countless others,
waves finally bringing together intended lovers,
both mortally injured in the accident,
willing surrendering life preservers to their spouses,
in parting gulps of salty rush while trying to say good bye,
before swallowed by ocean while their nuptial companions watched.

Moaned in their absence, but none aware
their souls residing in perfect bodies, spirits now one forever,
now happily spending eternity on honeymoon cruise
across immortality's ocean, memories of tears never remembered.

The Call Casade

Streaming effervescent elation's elixir
cascading over spirit with Nature's tears
soaking with effulgence baptized vision,
calling in the sweet caress of rushing symphony
imbibed tinctures from Mother Earth's sobbing voice.

Droplet resuscitation bequeaths awareness
mind sealed within the enveloping splendor
falling flow of transcending life force
bathes in euphoric sense of oneness with creation's pool,
feeling the roar of ripples yield wings of awe.

Slot Machines

Noble dross in minted musings,
carved coinage from starving souls,
counterfeit silver of greed's stamping
gambled in fate's casino.

Jingling in lamenting moans
ignored by tyrant's hands
feasting upon the lucre
ripped from abused lives.

Ravenous fingers
ignore
suffering's fount of tears
inside the slot machine
that never has winners.

Incidental Iridescence

In the night of gathering conformity
when everyone draws a shade
over what they refuse to see,
the incidental iridescence
of the questioning mind
shines like a light that glows
by a pure flame in understanding
amid the ignorance.

It is so bright
because there is only blackness around,
which has a brilliance so obvious
and hard to deny
though it reminds
not all that is visible,
genuinely representing the truth.

Still those little gnats of luminescence
are treated as insects,
annoyances to the calm,
even if it is inside a shroud
intended to smother independence.

But insight is a natural incandescence
can’t be extinguished by pretending
that it doesn’t exists.

Though some try
by closing their eyes
just content to be blind
than discover what thrives
so completely alive
amid the dark veil of life
who always manage to fly.

Surprise

Blessed moments
held like feathers,
until nine months later
bar goddess
who said was on pill
brings you
a Father’s Day creation.

Painful Pink Cheers

I thought the brew of pink champagne
would make me feel in the pink with a high kick joy,
never before had I felt my skin's pink tones become such a pink disaster in flush,
as when I saw those pink elephants appear
taking bows with their pink behinds facing me.

Then they took pink paddles in a dark, dirty pink shades,
spanking each other till their pink bottoms
were even a brighter hue of pink.

A cocktail waitress dressed in pink
with several pink bows in her hair,
was chewing pink bubblegum and wearing a pink carnation,
when she came to give me another glass of my pink nectar.

The world reduced in my pink intoxication to hazy dementia,
which refused to sent the pink pachyderms packing,
till I passed with my eyes still blurred
from all the pink hues coloring my sanity.

Reviving long enough to be put into a cab with pink rims,
where the lady driver wore pink lipstick,
mercifully handing me a bottle of pink Pepto Bismal from seeing my queasiness
that I drank till the pink remedy returned the pink to my face.

Amplified

Scarecrows in the antic
moaning their decay
bent dreams of caramelized reality
transcends optic elegance
into a throb of aching enigmas.

Karma holocaust felt in surreal glimpses,
horror visits as door to door salesman
selling formaldehyde vacuum cleaners
for the conscience.

Exit signs glow in dementia's night,
but you never find the door knob
because world leans sideways
in your coffin thoughts.

FINDING THE WAY

There is no road map
to follow
that will guide one
towards the ideal throbbing
in life’s pulse.
We are
after all,
but visitors into the scenes
played by time
between the curtains
of dawns.
Some
think the are the stars,
which will always
be in the limelight.
however
sooner or later
one must exit that stage
from playing their part
on a stage between tombstones.