Bakeries

Military cookbooks
mix patriotism
and courage,
young hearts
turned spoiled pastries
if over baked.

Discarded after burnt
into society's kitchen,
denying preparation
when leftovers
kill.

Cutting Board

Tiles seriated from my life,
the collage of cerebral ceramic shards,
dicing up my clay of trust
by the vile chefs who prepared abuse’s casserole,
sealed over my wounds and scars,
a durable bandage spread as a shield
upon the cutting board of my heart,
allowing my soul to accept
a divine entrée that would nourish and replenish
what past bad gourmet cooks
sought serve for my essence,
and bake me in self-hate’s oven.

Their voices still mutter their wicked recipes,
seasoning with guilt and shame,
as the salt for the cookbook of my day,
inspiring images of hell’s take out.
But I hold onto the Lord’s china of grace,
unwilling to let their chatted destroy my appetite,
knowing they will never stop visiting,
invisible dinner companions
ready to taint any meal.

A Quanta Of Questioning

To wander where the mind flies
a vagabond voyage through irony’s ocean,
but never seek the spirals
ascending from the layers touched
rising unto the cosmic staircases,
is to deny their murmurs sparkling
with shimmers in enigmas,
how there is life
beating beyond this earthen solitude,
avowing utter reliance only one self,
lacking willingness to accept the umbilical cord
stretching into space.

Feeling Mother Nature’s face
while ignoring the textures
having origins unexplained
requires dwelling in a house
without windows or doors,
thinking its imbalanced den
has a logic you can accept.

Not hearing the timbre of twilight,
denying the silvery soliloquies in starry vestments,
means crawling through life
always looking only at the ground.

Missing pieces in our mural,
intuitive sensing they lie
among the sea in the night sky.

It is to ask and not expect a common reply,
seek the chains that tie the world
unto its universal home.

Never content to merely accept
chaos is the core of being,
walking in the warmth of illumination
torched by a flame
not held on the planet.

Happy Hour

Grace and beauty time have frayed
chasing rainbows by the score
lovers sipped in nights of intimacy's cocktails,
knight of heart not captured among pillow quests.

Eyes searching for newest serving of love's martini
face forced in cosmetic smile,
practiced while stumbling over the shard of her fantasia vessels,
another round of wishes consumed with lurid conversations
falling always into chasms of aftermath's disillusionments,
happy an hour her spirit never finds.

Petals among the sands

Her eyes
were void joy's flowers,
wilted by betrayal
and sorrow.

Heart turned barren,
sands of sadness
forming drifts
across her soul.

Love's rainstorm
came from his hands
that also had languished
in an arid wilderness
of despair.

Together,
passion's garden blossomed
within their desert,
affection's unfamiliar petals
bringing ecstasy,
sun warming
instead of baking
their lives.

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.

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.

Kaleidoscope

Blinder affinity sermonized as paragon optometry
cornea massaging molds black and white images,
hues of luminary prism outlines
that shine forth veiled definitions
shrouded by orbs wearing spectacles kept in a box.

Infatuation's candle melts
under myopic heat treatment
by uniformity's bleached telescope peddlers.

Blood percolating with enigmatic crayons,
flows its epiphany tones
towards studious stares at obvious.

Multi colored site festoons
drape their meaning over the mind's eye.
Discovery the hidden faces of gold
invisible to those
only wanting pristine murals
of unvarnished and dull lucidity.

Who only gaze without their brain,
kaleidoscope life and words unseen

Close Encounters of the Tile Kind

Aliens more clever than any expected,
able to possess concrete and steel,
waiting patiently until every building is in their control
before they zap occupants and make them mental slaves.

Then they will control credit cards, internet and cable TV,
be the pits when they double interesting rates
and make all personals on net a date with green, slimy mass.

They will be merciful though with vending machines,
snacks candy no longer have calories,
but it all will resemble their favorite food, puke flavored boogers

The Muse’s Observatory

I used to see so many stars
out here in poetry land
a sky of countless comment constellations
and those rating comets
just streak across the mind.

Yes, I love the muse’s observatory
even if those stars did have a point fee,
what the heck
we needed that starburst thank you,
just exploded in the notes.

Only the verse universe got changed,
while flying on the Stanza Star Trek,
Captain Kirk is off looking for his laser quill,
Spock is trapped in some error 500 black hole,
Dr. McCoy is stuck in an IM time warp
still thinking it is back before
the cosmic upgrade.

Oh Scotty where are you man
beaming up please,
take me back to that dimension
where those darn council rulers
didn’t attacked with changes
and life for a poetry space cadet
was really an enterprise flight
without having to stop
on the foggy planet, “Bendover.”

Tape Envy

Who was the lunatic that decided presents needed to be wrapped?
I smell a conspiracy by someone trying to expose
my male clumsy paws for their lack of dexterity.

Now if it needed to be nailed, I could pound that paper all day,
but I know that the evil tape makers must have contrived this
just to prove my Neanderthal legacy!

Alas, I ponder the furious filet to my soul
over how am I supposed to wrap a frying pan so it doesn't look like one?
Thank god there are gift wrappers in the store,
though I do keep from sneering because only women are behind the counter!

Oxygen of Stillness

Hushed lips
hearing the muse's voice,
creation's lungs
exhaling poetic air.

Stillness stunning stanzas
brings breath of light
to eyes.

Eyes in the field

How proud I was to plant my first garden,
going to grow all those little green things
they make into what you call salad that people tell me are healthy for you.

So I took the advice of a neighbor
our resident shrub sage on proper planting, he was an expert you see,
won a honorable mention once for writing a poem about a slug.

And what would be more necessary to protect my humble array of seed
than a pair of noble eyes of the field possessing a menacing glare?
These I gladly gave life in that scarecrow's face and form
which would surely strike fear in bird's wish to feed.

Being diligent and industrious
I created my stuffed masterpiece of soil sentinel
following faithfully the instructions I found on an Internet site.

It looked so threatening to me
standing with the help of that wooden post,
admittedly sort of sagging in spots,
but I was confident my toil to produce terror's perfect mask
could only render any potential aviary assault crippled with fright,
euphoric in my smugness at leaving it to save my fragile sprouts
from the wicked plots of ravenous feathers.

Next morning I rose to the horror
of seeing winged predators everywhere
and even resting on my creation,
finding out too late it was a big mistake indeed
to fill my crop guardian using only bird seed!

Of wind, water and sun

They dress my day in warmth and light
when strolling to where the heart meets the sky.
Places inhaled for nature's sweetest perfume
seeping so seductively into one's mind.

Angel's rake across the soul
with their loving sanguine streaks
till one feels God's breath blowing across creation.

Wrapped in a blanket of awe
each leave, breeze and effervescent tingle
creates its poem in one's mind.

Wearing nature's necklace
always makes the pulse beat faster,
its weight never a burden,
but a flight of faith.

Celebrating the Lord's rustic crowns,
which can rule our senses
making them more intense and potent.

Donning the same weave worn
by other footsteps who passed before
hearing their whispers of praise for the divine artist
felt in the rustle of leaves,
ripples of waves
and sun's rays
streaming between
the branches of the trees.

Flutter

Rainbow hued butterfly tattoo on her chest
one she had done for their wedding anniversary,
capturing his pure spirit's beauty and faith that she loved so intently
always a defiant heart vowing to rise from worst calamity's cocoon,
nothing ever preventing him from touching the sun or his goals.

Standing over his grave too stunned to weep,
drunk driver able to clip his wings that no other enemy had done,
still refusing to believe death's cocoon could hold his soul,
breeze far too chilled, brushed her face, feeling icy kiss on her cheek,
his voice whispering, "I love you," tears of joy come, knowing he flutters again.

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.

Plans

Bright and bold that day did shine,
ages of superior reckoning
flowed in its glory through my veins.
Was another day of euphoric supervision
at my company's office
where I prepared to hold court
over a customer's service need.
It was a special weekend request
and since I was the weekend Lord,
the joy of "kill" for that prey of need
fell upon my shoulders.

Oh we prepared with vigilant ardor
all the strategy that years of skilled talent
could offer.

It sound so stunningly victorious
when we discussed the details on the phone.
Somewhere in the boasting and positivism
facts got lost in the blur of overconfidence,
final period written to our labors,
incompetent moron was not a word we enjoyed
being called by outraged customer.
All the should of, would of and could of
didn't help replace the simple blunder
of having my boss leave out several locations
from the group we were suppose to pick up.
Accidentally deleted in his email,
which I never got in the first place,
our courier crown of delivery tarnished,
no amount of lies able to quite restore its shine,
until we gave the customer a humongous credit
for our day in the sun with our heads stuck up our behinds.

Bursting

Sanguine season of serenity soothing swells,
hushing the droning ticks of the clock,
mind reclines upon fantasia's carpet,
sliding into an induced, gossamer paradise,
swimming in its pool of silent and soft inspiration.

Bliss's droplet of memories expands in rising remembrance,
hearing yesteryear's song serenading nostalgia's melody,
letting the notes merge with the dream,
until it balloons as tranquility's azure sphere,
feeling immersed in Eden, never wanting to leave.

Hopes for under the tree

One day with aches and pains,
a chance to have my boss become human
instead of an unreasonable ogre.

Seeing the television news not filled only with hate
and newspaper print hope's ink more often.

To spend time seeing more beauty than ugliness,
discovering gems among everyday faces,
feeling love flow in the air
that so often reeks of harm or abuse.

Simple is the soul's need
for things not wrapped in colorful paper,
bringing joy lasting more than tomorrow.

But then too what would bring a smile,
is a simple card left by Santa,
showing receipts from all my credit card companies,
marked paid in full.

Shallows

Lost in tide pools of reclaimed esteem
after virgin frigate was scuttled by passion's pirates.

Ocean of tomorrows polluted and turned toxic
using wand of mermaid envy
to weave magic inventing an altered fate's anchor
for bracing against melancholy's tsunami.

Anxiety's shark fins
perilously pierce the cresting creation
clutch made for panacea's sea shells,
in search of amore's surfboard
that doesn't get sold at Valentine Day's drug emporium
specializing in Cupid nomenclature oxymorons.

Sail set with resilient threads,
dividing the marine layers of lament,
floating precariously through tempests thoughts
leaving a wake of resolve
as trace of hope's rudder
slicing its trail through the murky morass
of regret's snarling seaweed.

PRESENCE

Light imbued from sorrow's murky miasma
where slain effigies spewed their vile laments
as cemetery spirits moaning dire regrets.

A candle grows from one's coffers of dreams,
rising as a phoenix between contemplation's ruins.
Eyes find their inner gaze protruding in defiance,
one voice, one mind captures balance
in the smothering chaos.

Soul journeys onyx river from Thebes' silhouette,
ancient scribes given voice for awakening ears,
eon's mysteries curl in epiphany's silvery vines
through consciousness astral vineyard.

Guides summoned from celestial plain,
open veil to ethereal illumined pillars,
scroll of destiny unfurls its messages,
born is seer with karmic intuition.

Single journey to Empyrean archway
begets it anointing upon the spirit.
Dialogue christened with mesmerizing clarity,
realm of now and Netherworld blend in senses,
life born in awareness
there is no grave for the soul.

Walking in constant vigilance
surrounded by unseen host,
presence, an apparition of immortal truths,
felt in the sudden seconds
when reality became undressed
of what dwells beyond the sunlight.

A Place for Us

In your eyes, my darling,
I find my paradise,
my Eden of a thousand sighs,
the home where my heart thrives.

If I could open Heaven's gate
to flood us with our passion,
we would let our lives
which beat as one
spread a table of scenic feast
where we would write a pastoral poem,
the trees, birds, mountains and lakes,
created as gifts of our affection.

Lake would fill with our devotion
pine rising to rejoice at our entwined souls,
birds carrying the joys we have for each other,
mountains stately declaring how we are of a single essence.

At night the stars would shine just for us,
serenading with silvery psalms about our true love,
as we held each other till morning
peace the blanket draping our thoughts.

By dawn we would greet the day
smiles and kisses to celebrate another chance
for gazing into the other's spirit
seeing our own faces in the reflection.

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 fickled 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.

Conversations

Midnight's deadline for sleep looms in the mind like fearing a serial killer in the closet
sweat makes my clothes cling to body from summer's relentless heat.

Rocking my grandson, his droopy eyes so trusting, but fighting sandman's whispers,
I looked over at my exhausted son on the couch, amazed at how love has many voices.

It burrows deep into the recesses of my cerebral Kodak crypt
flashbacks of heartbeats lived in silence without a family's sonnet spoken,
that was penned this eve by sway and hugs, soul wrapped in the sensory quill's sentences.

Where Love Blooms

Where love blooms
the valleys walked in shadowy steps
become mere memories
outshined by the luster
of a heart shared with another.

In eyes finding wedding gems to wear
as necklace of future promise,
a ring from the one
who brought hope again
carries a song to drown out
any sounds of tears.

After that moment
when two souls unite
to face tomorrow together,
little smiles will warm the most
while beauty of the spirit is found under the roof
with a home covered in a purest of feelings
because happiness flows within
shining every day from inside,
blessings of Heaven drape their magic

Upon Wings

Upon her precious feathered creature's wings
she writes her heart in flutters and tears,
sending the fragile bird aloft
in the middle of the night,
to sail through the darkness and reach her love so far away.

His voice called to her in the middle of a dream,
body ravished by sickness,
near death in his castle
praying her magic and passion has the power to save his life.

How she wept when hearing his words
having traveled to answer another plea,
mother on deathbed across the ocean.

Flying upon the currents of compassion
reaching in time to give her
a golden touch that prevented a mortality's fatal kiss.

Now she stands, shivering in anticipation
too exhausted to soar this eve,
casting a spell of cure on her messenger's frame
giving it the strength to travel with such speed.

Watching it sail off to one who holds her soul,
seeing the vision of his renewal.
Sobbing as she feels the life ebbing in her own body,
trusting to her spirit guardians
that they will rescue her from a final breath.
Happy she could give him more time,
waiting till sunrise to find out
if the ethereal guardians will unite them
or call her to paradise.

Essence

Gusts of blends in salted moisture
sweep across the face in seductive sensations
till one succumbs to the spellbound serenade
slowly transforming
into a grain of awareness joining a shore of timeless melodies.

Waves wash over the soul in calming fluidity
as sun's shining vigilance flames one's darkest shadows,
lost is the distance from feeling solitude's disjointed awareness,
essence becomes another poignant part of the awe and majesty.

Crime Prevention

City desperate for change
elects new Mayor
with radical ideas
on ending crime wave.

Biggest complaint
is over pick pockets
so he initiates "no pockets in public rule"
for citizens.

Crime down, tourism up
sun block and condom sales booming.

Falling

Wandering the listless earthen aisles
where my mind is snared
by tools of pedestrian invention.

Seeing the looming specters
from esteem's black holes
lurking in so many places
waiting in promised suffocating
attention
to suck me deep
into a hearth of pure ebony decay.

Hiding from my destiny
till the arms of fate claw
finally succumbing
the tug of a shadowy hollow,
falling inward
where there is no bottom
for my angst.

Plummeting
beyond any light of promise
where the wind from unrequited desires
reigns and torments.

All taking place in a heart beat
head still riding
like tomorrow
starts with dawn.

Petals among the sands

Her eyes
were void joy's flowers,
wilted by betrayal
and sorrow.

Heart turned barren,
sands of sadness
forming drifts
across her soul.

Love's rainstorm
came from his hands
that also had languished
in an arid wilderness
of despair.

Together,
passion's garden blossomed
within their desert,
affection's unfamiliar petals
bringing ecstasy,
sun warming
instead of baking
their lives.

Wings

I ride the comets of eyes
who have died in their souls
and gone to debtor's purgatory.

Sketching the galaxies
they have dreamed,
seeing the secret heroes
they killed in their hearts because of risk.

Faithfully recording
each new addition
to lethargies funeral home,
cremation of conscience
handled
by a memo of nods
from morality's
customer service department.

It all gathers in a storm
blowing deserts into
the screamng chambers
of abandoned surrogates,
put on a layaway plan
at the mall
where they sell
paper wings with happy faces
air of their lies
the only sky being flown.

Wanted

Looking for a few talented individuals with positive attitude
for an exciting career opportunity in the field of metaphysical entrepreneurships.

Person seeking to join us should be open minded, friendly, not afraid of change
and free thinking on such things as use of hallucinating mind enhancers.

Those hired will gain enlightenment through our disciple's orgy banquets,
plus those times they can raise funds by counseling non members in motels.

Promotions available to person demonstrating initiative in loyalty
when exhibiting total cooperation in ways deemed necessary by our CEO guru.

Special employee benefit package provided to assist with relocation to eternity
for those chosen for our rapid advancement program on our altar of sacrifice.

Tape Envy

Who was the lunatic that decided presents needed to be wrapped?
I smell a conspiracy by someone trying to expose
my male clumsy paws for their lack of dexterity.

Now if it needed to be nailed, I could pound that paper all day,
but I know that the evil tape makers must have contrived this
just to prove my Neanderthal legacy!

Alas, I ponder the furious filet to my soul
over how am I supposed to wrap a frying pan so it doesn't look like one?
Thank god there are gift wrappers in the store,
though I do keep from sneering because only women are behind the counter!