Communication

Brilliant strokes they gave the office safety manual,
committee of human relations
carefully scrutinizing every detail,
so proud it provided for every possible risk and harm.

Even more joyful it was written
so a child of ten could understand.
Didn't help the employ's son
when he asked about the hole in the back
and was told to keep him cool,
thought he meant putting his head
would keep it chilled!

Little Quivers

Trembling touches sense messages
hidden beneath cold and quiet textures felt,
songs resounding in lucid tremors
only the fingers of a quill
can truly preserve
of its poignant power
and sanguine stirs
that wait in such quaking essence
below the facades of known.

Muse whispers her dialect ,
which only ink stained hands can hear,
obedient to her voice, ignoring the puzzled stares
when a wisp of fluttering inspiration
kisses with consuming ripples.

World shrouds in its demands,
mind telegram's creation's psalm,
time clock temporarily forgotten
whatever slays the passion for light
dies from the burning to etch
all the silhouetted metaphors
sleeping secretly until a pen
opens their crypt.

One more chapter born
out of the fated melody
clinging to one's expressive talons
for which life only exists
during moments of crafted clarity.
Uncaring the critics
who see it as waste,
because one can't ignore
the little quivers.

HOLLOW MOANS

Gas gauge amnesia
haste to fill stomach's void,
sputtering consequences,
hollow moans
strolling with gas can
growling insides,
abyss unfilled.

Waterfalls

Cataract elegance
flows as rhythmic magic,
bathes soul in serenity.

Cascading eyes
gush with betrayal's effervescence
drowning heart in sadness.

Possibilities

Mind fills with a labyrinth of corridor images,
which way to turn?
One leads to the closet of screaming, zombie cannibals of regret
while another to a cemetery
or perhaps a Neverland of jeweled breath and fancy's inhaled treasure.

Roses sprout in the stomach and blossom as fragrances of confidence,
sometimes wilting, others turning to the compose heap death of fear.

But then there are the times of rainbow magic
leaving one's insides, glow with brass ring ecstasy
when one knows with such intense certainty
one door along the walkway of deepest confrontation
will open to the place where you face your own destiny.

Turning the doorknob, fighting the gnawing doubts,
is the only way to find out what truly brings a face
beyond the barriers we see with speculative souls.

Special Beats

Heart rich seconds
calendar written in days
unblemished
by melancholy ink.

Love an epidemic,
hate a memory.

Leaders who
know the difference
People that notice.

Trailblazing

Instinct courses through my veins,
it was good enough for Christopher Columbus,
Daniel Boone and all those pioneers.

Did the people in those wagon trains
have AAA for help?
You think they stopped at some teepee
and asked the local Indian for directions?

Why are you looking at me that way?
I was just being honest,
no really we’re fine, not taking a map was still a good idea,
just give me a chance to hone on in true North.
Yes, it is important,
because er, then I can tell,
um, which way the sun rises.
Hmmm, wish there were more trees around here,
moss grows on the ah, side facing, ah, ah, well never mind that.

Oh see now there is a McDonalds,
so no, we haven’t left civilization,
plus I hope you will remember
this trip was your idea.

Okay, so you didn’t say we needed to go,
but you showed me the brochure about that new store
with all those bargains, which is the same thing.

Now there we are,
that street is named Oak.
Naturally Elm has to be close by.
Come on, give me a break
flashing that GPS tracker device ad in my face.

No, I am not dialing the store on my cell phone for directions,
merely checking the um, time, yeah the time.
Bet Mrs. Daniel Boone didn’t ask so many darn questions.

Words

Promises put on display like flowers,
death gnawing at life so barely skin and bone
hunger's pain burning so deep into the emacitated flesh,
mind a haze of questions, too tormented to answer,
while echoes of dreams have all turned to hell's heartbeat.

Skeleton victims facing the end of sunrises
sobbing suffocated by the shear agony of helplessness,
no scent of hope left to fill the nostrils,
waiting mournfully, for the last gasp of need's terror,
ghosts of family already dead, haunting in grotesque forms.

Another scrawl of deliverance's assurance
trickles down form heartless power lords
through a stern, sadistic minion.
It blows away with a wind that fires
the veins with poverty's constant sting.

Night's coffin opens its dark welcomed womb
closing eyes, praying they will never open,
depression's pillow hardly a comfort
for the vanity of aid left as only,
words.

Snacks

Liar's pan
cooks
deception's kernels,
buttered excuses
hide real
flavor.

Heaven

Brown nectar
stirred with lascivious
lashes.

Bringing anticipation
to boil,
lips pursed
in cocoa's ecstasy
elation.

Taste, sugary concubine
salvation.

Behind the eyes

Behind the eyes
are worlds never spoken about
by the lips,
which lives visit in paradise flights,
but can't confess their wings to the day.

Words paint what tales the mask worn
wants believed,
actions betray the essence craved.

Some faces wear their truth
without facades
others keep them buried
in a vault guarded by the mind.

How often I have thought
the stories share were from the heart,
finding out when fingers betrayed my trust
that who I thought was an angel
or a demon
was in fact a mortal living with flaws.

My guesses often fall short of accuracy,
so I do my best to listen and not conclude
what is told as being other that reality
until the life I see dances off to places
the person claims to hate

Coupon Karma?

Life in the grocery aisle
used to be a strategic effort
wife and I would sit down with coupons,
plan every purchase
and take a calculator to what the cost.

But then reality changed
we had to add shopping for a grandson,
after years of simplicity
now vested with strolls down the diaper corridor,
baby food and all the other infant accessories.

Put a dent in our venture to beer section
though got admiring view from those
who presumed it was great
some senior citizen had a son.

Tolerating the myth, coping with teething rings
as well as baby wipes,
still more about having kids these days
than I really wanted to remember.

In grandpa's pride we took our 21 month old grandson to the store,
they had these special cars shaped like cars just for little ones,
so we plodded down each lane, my grandson making engine sounds
getting smile from parents.

Unfortunately, my wife forgot her coupons
being to busy packing a diaper bag for the trip.
leaving us to groan a bit from the loss of bargains,
doing our best to find any discounts
while constantly retrieving a baby bottle
my grandson kept tossing on the floor.

Survive the sojourn one more time
made it to the check out stand,
was to busy tending to purchases to notice
how my grandson has grabbed so many treasures along the way,
hiding them in his plastic car cab,
watching unload them from the basket
before putting them on check out stand when we weren't looking.
Talking to cashier, kept me from noticing the items moving pass on belt,

YO-YO HEARTS

Smiles and hugs,
they warm and touch so deeply.

But even a comfy blanket can caress,
only it doesn't speak words
it doesn't mean.

Life's too precious
to ever allow passions
a ride upon any tearful rollercoaster.

For tomorrow's hand meant for you
that you have yet to touch,
awaits somewhere you haven't been,
who will come without
any strings or promises,
left broken when the mood for roaming
becomes a craving wind.

Let the yo-yo's of fickle embraces
going so up and down,
be left as a toy someone else plays,
while you seek that purest one
who won't make you ever frown.

Carried by the Wind

Moving swiftly, but never without sight
inhaling each breath with lucidity
lifting as if having wings,
passion's flame shining on every single facet encountered.

Never just a heart beat
functioning at a snail's pace of expectancy,
but rather feeling lightning strike with each glance,
discovering love's stream flowing
from another's eyes and soul.

Not looking for graveyards
in the folds of time,
claiming a second as a precious gift,
savoring it completely
until you day becomes a dream
and your dreams
a lasting touch of that noon's gold
walking by a light through shadows
looking for beauty instead of ugliness
carried by the wind
where the sky's magic dwells inside.

The Rules

Welcome to as new relative in our proud corporate clan
on this first day of your being added to our family tree.
Now work begins promptly at eight am and ends at five pm,
we never work over time, just too costly to our brood.

Oh, I should introduce you to Zanders. he such a great inspiration,
sometimes here so late and never once claimed extra time,
truly touches to the core?

You do get all the usual thoughtful blessings,
such as medical, worker's compensation and paid vacations.

We embrace about our help in love, though such costs are so atrocious,
and besides it is such a glorious paradise to dwell,
wouldn't personally envision taking a week off
how I would suffer such sadness from the absence,
I really loath people with a poor work ethic, don't you?

Say, I need to let you share a moment with Becky, she's a angel.
Tripped on the carpet one day and really took a nasty spill,
broke her leg in two place and sprained her neck as well.
Never miss a day of toil,
so proud we are that she wouldn't even claim any disability,
such a valiant profit warrior, we gladly carried her
during those times the pain made her pass out.

Isn't the panoramic splendor from my office so serene?
It is even better at night and weekends,
well, I'm sure we can commune in thought on that later,
as long as you have a true spirit of cooperation,
not being like that other disappointment we had to let go,
can you imagine the insanity of wanting to do other
than eat lunch in your cubicle?

Guess that will be enough bounty of regulations,
they aren't really complex,
our company always tells you what is expected,
however, we don't like to insult your intelligence
by stating the obvious.

So I will see you in the morning my dear new relative,
I normally get here by seven,
funny isn't it, how being here early truly impresses
when it comes to gifts of raises and promotions?

Tails

Puffy scribbles
writing their mysterious messages
across the skies,
author anonymous,
but signature
left for the soul
to ponder the voice.

Just as a season
wags its images
in one's mind,
so the feather fluff
of alabaster
leaves a staining stroke
upon one's senses.

Gossamer alabaster finger
pointing towards the heart
and also unto heavens,
composing a silent song
heard by the spirit.

Streaking its plume
into our darkness
if there is room
between the eyes
for knowing
more floats in the cosmos
than stars.

Daybreak

Sifting through
a multitude of recollections
I watch the sun rise over
dew drops on the fallen leaves
I surrender myself to the belief
that this caress of morning
sows the seed of hope
For the renewal of vows
that you so disdainfully rescinded
just a few moments ago.

First light

Waiting dawn's unveiling incandescent sheet
to paint its amber stain upon the day,
my brain flips through the pages
of memory's sacred scrapbook
stopping to cherish the images
from each precious post card second
that I have spent lost in her arms.

Sun's yellow aura fans the horizon
brushing away the cloak of eve,
golden spears of shine
pierce the trees,
shafts becoming fingers
penetrating my world
touching my heart with flames
burning with heat of possibilities
swirling through my senses
lifting me from blackness
to ascend the sky of winged thoughts
where I see visions of promising tomorrows
bereft the burden of disbelief and despair

Watching the light smother our bed,
tracing the impression of your absent body,
clinging to hope that I will see our love's first light
I thought would last forever,
which your words assured still glows last night,
will somehow guide you back to me
from the midnight's land of unspoken darkness
where you left to visit so unexpectedly.

Apostrophe

Curling cue greed with plotting tentacles
write in serpentine claims of ownership
over each layer of identity,
from the red tape citadels
sucking dry all of passion's juices.

Insides decay like a melting clump of snow,
ever so slowly,
mind never noticing
that erosion in sensations,
till one day you just don't care anymore,
emotions turning leathery,
eyes blur
towards any demon, succubus,
saint or angel.

Image of RSVP invite left on doorstep
by embalmer party animal,
life becomes an anesthetic cocoon
while fantasizing how the jingle,
"I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner"
was one's reputation.

Dog Daze

When life's dog house
becomes an outhouse,
never stop looking for hope's bones.
Unleash the boxer within
because better to growl
at circumstance's mailman
than give in to fate's
dog catcher!

Resurrection

Her muse arms never let go
though mankind left
to find gods as mechanical messiah.

Watching when mortal hearts grew so cold
from worshipping their iron deities,
silently she faithfully whispered into their conscious,
hoping to inspire resurrected love for artistry
in the midst of spiritual decay.

She smiles with pure ecstasy
when hands discard calculators for pens
and create verses
instead of steel idols.

Failure in Communication

Palace of thrills so known
for its amazing roller ecstasy,
throngs beguiled by steel track ventures
into the realm of adrenaline euphoria.

Genius creator suffered dementia breakdown,
still his fame forced park minions to accept
his latest offspring,
never questioning its plans
and agreeing to let him build it behind a giant curtain.

Then they stood and watched in glorious confidence
the first day of its grand opening,
too busy with ticket sales and selling souvenirs
that they were able to notice the path the tracks followed.

Only paying attention when hearing screams
from the passengers
who discovered at the last possible second
why it was called the "Mermaid's Whirl"
as the cars plunged into the watery abyss
where designer had intended innovation
of making it both rollercoaster thrill and submarine ride,
but in his failing reason
thought they riders wouldn't mind holding their breaths.

Desperate management tried to explain
this was effort at combining both air and water joys,
while they quietly retired mastermind to padded cell adventure
and to save money without having to rebuild ride
passed out scuba gear to those taking ride.
.,

Their Watering Hole

Old farmer's reservoir
their favorite place in summer,
always checking to be sure
he was off tending to his crops.

In small town with now public swimming pool,
cool, stagnant waters
of their private watery heaven
the perfect cure for heat.

Each day of summer,
sneaking through his orchard,
waiting for that precise second
when they knew it was safe.

Hearts paddling the rush forbidden
spirits immersed in subdued laughter,
day hanging in the mind
as a tranquil drift in Nirvana's lake
while floating carefree in the liquid euphoric.

Didn't count on farmer getting dog,
finding out only after removing clothes
and just before that first fateful dip.

Barking sentinel giving them chase,
paradise temporarily fled,
until some new strategy can be plotted
to be sure Rover doesn't
ruin their watery magic.

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.

Vintage

Fermented zephyr contiguous seconds
sipped from sanguine inspired sangria,
awakening droplets splash on slumbering sloth
sleeping in cerebral caverns.

Inebriating transcendence residue
poured from ageless crystalline clarity decanter
brews its invoking metamorphosis.

Nestles as revelatory bottle on the shifting sands of time
fated epiphany marathon intoxicates, seeking born to jog,
savoring the sojourn towards inner dawn's vintage destiny

The Shimmer of Horizons

Through the tinctures tests of turmoil and tempest
stepping in the footprints forebears forged
hearing the wind of ancient echoes lift in longing,
while rattling the nerves and mind with foreboding questions
that burn in anxiety upon the pores.

Soul solidifies in spiritual sacraments in the quandary quagmire
infusing epiphanies in assuring layers of conviction's mantle
eyes focus in clarity upon distant possibilities
feet grow stamina to walk on quicksand,
thunder quakes, but no longer terrorizes.

Inside the flame of faith roar so steadily
anticipation's mirages become passion's islands
no longer slave to shadowy curly cue snares of doubt
sun of promise shines steps towards paradise's destinations.

Fingernails

Alone
behind the walls
of one's most cherished foundations,
crowning life
in the aura of self declaration.

Ensconced upon a wobbling throne
composed of tales of greatness,
mirrors covered
to ignore
the blunt reality.

Till another's fingers in pain,
reach out in their own loneliness,
letting one touch of tips
refrain
a need for further delusion.

Smiles infect in calming thoughts,
being another mortal with mar
isn't a tragedy or hell
when somebody else
can show you the dirt
growing under their
fingernails.

Lunar Landings

Full moon shines through
office window.

Hearing door opened
seeing her stroll inside,
new employee sits down
exposing her silky legs,
cooing stayed late for training.

Seductive puckered hint,
desire's wink, pants dropped,
lunar light's enticing flight
erupts as fiery landing.

Forgetting security camera,
captured training session.

Executive's lunch entertainment.

Communication

Brilliant strokes they gave the office safety manual,
committee of human relations
carefully scrutinizing every detail,
so proud it provided for every possible risk and harm.

Even more joyful it was written
so a child of ten could understand.
Didn't help the employ's son
when he asked about the hole in the back
and was told to keep him cool,
thought he meant putting his head
would keep it chilled!

The wash of time

The flow across the stones
is like a wash of time
across my mind.
It baptizes with reminders
of the ever changes moments
how life itself is the water
moving constantly.

Bathing in its gurgling sound
as if voices of angels were calling
to drink of God's love from its rush,
knowing it is nature's tears
from his mercy, which never ends.

Letting move from fount to vein
when insides are drenched
through its calming touch.

At last refreshed
from feeling immersed
in such simple song for the soul,
I becoming one with the waters of life
within my heart
willing to pour them out
in cascading rushes over other lives
who also are in need its soothing feel.

SAY WHAT

Peddling along the bike path
as it spreads in a asphalt ribbon
across a rocky ridge miles long,
no bushes or any obstacles to in anyway detract
from looking at the bordering river bed on one side
and houses on the other.

Ahead, I see a woman walking, dressed all in white,
appearing in her twenties,
more attired like she was going shopping
that for an afternoon trek in high heels.

I rode passed her we exchanged glances,
but her eyes strangely seemed to look through me,
giving me a very spooky sensation.

Her face was calm,
yet seemed so beset by some empty gaze of lostness,
which I could sense.

Seconds later,
coming to a curve and gazing back,
noticing with shivers running through my spine
she had completely vanished.

Fog

What murky sway smothers the heart
when our souls are fogged by fantasy?
All the senses clinging to a mental fairy tale
hearing honey in every word
feeling joy in the shadows breathed
seeing enchantment in something ordinary
believing in our being heaven as come
even if the landscape is barren.

Writing the future with a quill of portent sighs
trusting with a quiver shaking the spine
that somehow the clay of possibility
can be molded by our passion's hands.

Then sunrise staggers into our illusions
having a face we saw as a star
in our cloudy swirls of sanguine sight.

Glass of pretense filled with delusion's wine
shatters when reality's gravity
causes us to lose our grip.

Slipping into aftermath hollow
of confusion and disbelief.

Until dawn of inner voice
lifts us to a sanctuary of light.
Sitting in the calm blossoms of truth
serenity's discovery gives warmth
finally able to gaze without squinting excuses,
exhaling tears and sorrow's fumes,
rejoicing from illumination's mentor
which allows one to view
distant horizons with a birth of prefect clarity.

Do not press

Do not press
the button of my soul
unless you truly care
to buzz the feelings
it holds within
and enter the door
where my secrets
I fear to confide.

For when it vibrates
from your touch
till I care for you
as other than a stranger
please don't trespass
upon my welcome mat of trust
just to be a thief of hearts.