Camouflage Envy

Dave was a hunter, a sage of secrecy,
guru of covert conspiracies and expert
on the end of the world,
providing it happen because
some invisible “they”
finally worked their diabolic plot
to ruin live for their own gain.

He drove a dark blue van
never let anyone look inside,
but hinted at it containing,
boxes of canned goods,
enough water for ten days,
then mentioned casually
how he had protection
to ensure he outlasted
any form of crisis or emergency.

Sometimes as he left work
for a moment he would
sneak into his vehicle’s back
then appear behind the wheel
dressed in green camouflage,
claimed it was practice
when the time came that cannibals took over
after a nuclear war.

None of that concerned us
as much as his detail description
of some bazooka and hand held rocket launcher
like everyone had such knowledge
with that curl at the corner of his lips
suggested he kept those in his van too.

Eventually, the state of the world
convinced him to quit
so he could take off for his private preserve
intended to outlive any holocaust.

Hoped I didn’t hear him right
since he said it was in some outhouse,
insisted it was bomb proof,
only worry was finding
armor plated toilet paper!

Storm Warnings

You hear the details on the radio,
hurricane coming,
prepared hearts face its risk,
planning every defense,
making sure nothing is destroyed
that can be preserved.

Others turn off the news,
figure they have plenty of time,
think the damage won't be so bad.

Those who listen, survive
their world was ready for the attack
while the others stand in the ruins
that once were their homes.

Minds who hear the distant thunder
of cannons and threats,
take time to pay attention
ready with shield,
but also words of treaty
working harder before first shot is fire,
better a wound for labor of peace
than a death from lack of concern.

Iron

Life is a forge that pours its iron into the soul,
sometimes it doesn’t stop burning
if we can’t appreciate how it helps,
others it is the Lord’s hand,
which knows our every strength and weakness
who tests us to make us harder and more enduring
as when the scriptures spoke of Daniel
and says how he was in prison
until the iron came into his heart.

Trails are never easy to bear,
but when we run from then
it only makes our weakness worse,
plus models such as family influence
what we see as our best choice in life.

Only there is no single standard
for what will make that metal
work in each life,
because we are all different
so what will add this iron to a given life
will never be the same for everyone.

And we are all like tender twigs
blown by the winds of a day,
some bend and break
while others just keep up their resistance.

In the heart is the real foundry
since it is where our real hunger resides,
which will silently govern our actions too.

How it is a composite of variety
where some overcome such amazing adversity.
Still not all stories have happy endings
there are sadly some who always wither,
but hope burns in the tales that write their lives like silver
who kept on trying until what was inside
became the covering of their lives.

 

Nibbles

Parents said it was good for me,
I figured it was another whopper,
because never saw them eat it before.

Teacher made me learn its history,
didn't care if it was good for me,
just if I remembered its name on a test.

Big brother told me he lied about eating it,
just to keep from being lectured
over taking a bite.

Then friends told me
some crazy stories about trying it,
couldn't decide if they really
ever did any of them was true.

Finally, was so confused,
curiosity pulled me out of my shell,
flavor of knowing always sweeter
than fruit of somebody's opinion.

Vapors

I feel the wind breath through the walls,
it moans with ancient lights,
ghost stars from galaxies never existing.

Traces of morning kiss with spiders
in the crypt of noon,
the moon brings luna lips
from its bathtub,
as I slip into a vortex of planetary calluses,
each blistered song of their nightmares
has plumes with eon old talons,
digging through the veil
over my dirge cauldron.

Canvas spread before inner eyes
grows barnacles from cannibal tongues,
they build a tabernacle of rainbows,
glowing as inferno among igloos.

Radiation from its combustion
turns the gossamer membrane
of my tent
transcends its fabric,
becoming a mist
spreading fingers towards the cosmos,
sewn to quilt having no seams,
dove released touches horizon
swallowed in pure, unbridled birth
where every vibration becomes a psalm.

Bend Over Because The Weather’s Clearing

Keys to castles tossed in the dirt
making you bend over to dig for their illusions,
all they ever see is a zombie,
a hunk of flesh to be treated as jerky
waiting for summer days of their greed’s sunlight
so you can be left to dry out and die
never being treated as more than a mannequin.

Somebody only deserving of wearing a sign
saying in placating cryptic descriptions,
here is a heart that has no sound worth hearing,
a life best stuffed into a file
marked for consumption and not identity.

Tired of encountering the eyes that see only clones
who decide what you are going to say
before you utter a word,
giving you maps to chances for standing in line,
calling it happiness when they mean a slaughterhouse.

Somewhere there is an exit from this madhouse
where lunatics don’t control every address
with their cold and callous plots and prejudice.

I want the ticket they never sell,
that passport to those addresses
you get a chance to do more than drink embalming fluid,
to a life riding a whirlwind and inducing screams of joy
instead of boredom over being a corpse
they already buried in their heads.

Let me have my trip to that maze filled with stars
nobody ever dares to visit
because they only want to live in a playhouse
filled with toys that everyone owns,
but I want to breath where it means I feel alive
not this sequel to mediocrity
some say is paradise.

On Fallow Fields

On fallow fields of infertile furrows
slumber the seeds of pure invention.
They hibernate in stagnant state
not disclosing their capacities
unto a simple gaze,
but blooming as fiery roses
as intense as any noon.

Awaken to spring’s vernal beauty,
when transparent and shallow hearts
are flush by their touch in claret inspirations,
they become alive and radiant in their light
shining upon what was dull
and lacking of any hint
about the power possessed by those petals.

Rising from the soil
most thought was dormant
are the most amazing flowers
when exposed to the day,
nurtured and watered
by hands who have learned
how arid facades hide their jewels
with facets unappreciated.

Wanderers who pause to cultivate
the earth of fruitless face
find the bounty gleamed
bears a rainbow of insight’s produce,
fragrant in a fury’s transformation
of what blesses as a whirlwind
forever changing the landscaping.

Could Have Been Worse

Just one of those days
is what I kept telling myself,
innocently going over to the mall,
going to shop for a new pair of tennis shoes,
no plots or plans,
merely hoping to get a bargain.

Was waking down the corridor
when this man suddenly
shoved a cigar in my mouth
said his wife had given birth to a boy
and as he lit it I felt an obligation
to puff for the sake of his celebration.

Felt so strange from that stogie
my head got dizzy,
yet full of euphoria,
before he moseyed off to share his thrills
with more people.

For some reason the world seemed different
as I got so aroused by the site of any woman,
by the time I made it to the food court
all I could think was passion!

Saw this large gal dressed in a very short skirt,
my mind felt shockwave of lust,
staggered her way and blurted out my hearts
oh I sung that affection song so loud
thought it was so poetic,
might have worked if she hadn’t scream
then called security.

While I sat in their office
slowly the fog cleared,
turned out that cigar was laced with marijuana
since they had several others detained
after catching the man giving them out,
too bad he was a drug dealer by trade,
was not something to find out this way.

Dinner Time

My world fades at sunset
as night covers my dinner plate,
I look at the meal and there is no dessert,
what I once hoped as my feast
has been replaced by dull and bland buffets.

Gazing at that pitiful serving
while remembering when I imagined
such bountiful options,
not this ordinary entrée that doesn’t inspire
or fill me with the excitement I once craved.

Oh there was a time I envisioned a life
with every meal consumed at gourmet restaurants,
sampling succulent and savory treasures,
every day a masterpiece in mouthwatering morsels.

It would have been perfect and so amazing,
but those epicurean fantasies just evaporated,
a victim of more desire than choices,
kept telling myself it would change,
only as time elapsed the hope shrank,
until now I sit with fast food leftovers
feeling that memory withering as a dying leaf,
fallen from my tree of tomorrows that will never be
as autumn comes to my reality.

Oh Brother!

How far I’ve fallen from my dream
when my brother and I were yet pups
in that cradle of a kennel as naiveté ruled our innocence.

I saw our destiny in golden spotlight moments
of pet food commercials and even a movie or two,
whoa to me that I should have the bond so blood
unto a frail and fickle fleabag sibling
who couldn’t keep from letting his teeth
bite into those possible benefactors
and the ones who could help us ascend the stardom staircase.

So family over fortune have I vowed,
no matter what course it shall take our fate.

Here we are the regretful slaves
unto the Mutant Mutt Security Guard Dog agency.
This guarding a traveling musician
not my idea of fame.

Wish the lunch time didn’t always offer
leftovers from some greasy diner,
yet I let my brother have the coffee stained egg remains
while I go after the more delectable options,
after all family may come first,
but not over my stomach!

Rollercoasters

Three decades and more
I've ridden the nuptial rollercoaster,
in company of the same person,
a journey of both smiles and frowns,
life adding its own twits and turns,
facing unemployment, deaths, illness,
they all add to the scenery you share for good or bad.

Along the way, the heart still beats,
you try to remember why this thing called marriage
became the major attraction of you very existence.

Perfect and paradise are two words
with phantom meanings,
but whether it is an amusement park
or torture chamber
is based on what resides within the heart.

Something shared in tears and laughter
becomes the stare of silent acceptance,
living most or the times when a thrill comes your way,
dreading the moments when an accidents happen.

Kids, debts and duties
all weave together as a mantle of thought,
love a place you keep redefining,
compromise the storybook of reality,
anniversaries the fragile capstone of one's glass house,
built upon a foundation of I do.

Umbrellas

Held with pride, shadows in its shade spare the eyes
from the burning shears of sunlight's slicing questions.
Vision loses capacity to gaze in clarity beyond its shelter,
but wind sensed still brings illusion of seeing perfectly,
all the world described as vivid and known.

Doesn't matter it is opened inside,
at night or even when sleeping,
a special covering it remains in the mind,
pity it doesn't guard against storm inside,
because no one else can see its presence.

Guarded

Ebony guise
armed intentions
hands knowing violence
badge
for wings.

The Next Exit

This is Los Angeles you know,
miles of asphalt rivers all snarled and jammed,
don't you worry lived here all my life,
I can tell you how to get to the nearest Arco AM/PM
for that sixty-four ounce refill using your ATM card,
understand being out of town how you are trying to save a buck.

Why there is one at the next exit,
no wait, forgot that is closed,
under construction, tax dollars at work.

So best go to the one after that,
on second thought, forget that one too,
it will only take you to that mall,
which shut down last year, economy sucks, what can I say?

Hmmm, now don't give me that look,
honest, I will get you there.
Oh wait, I just remember there is a closer one,
go back on freeway the other direction,
yeah, I'm sure there is an ARCO
if you turn to the left or um, go north,
about four blocks or is it six?
Anyway, it is there, nice one too, darn, sorry about that,
just remembered it isn't open, remodeling as I recall.

Ah, now I got it, just keep going straight,
seem to recall some ARCO sign somewhere up there,
all these places kind of blur in my head after a while,
guess that is why I never left,
couldn't find the sign to freeway heading up north,
just got stuck unable to decide if it was suppose to be
ten, fifteen or whatever for the freeway number.

But trust me, just keep going ahead,
then when you're done how about coming back to give me a ride,
need to get home, can't remember where I parked my car,
think I live not too far from here,
no problem we can figure it out, when you get back
and bring me a drink too if you don't mind
hey, you want directions to Disneyland,
never made it there, heard it is couple exits away, sort of.

Pieces

Diary’s torn pages
of dreams ripped from mind,
tossed on forgiveness winds,
writing life instead.

Vigilance

Ignorance's eve shrouding the spirit
consciousness impaled by naiveté's vines
strangle the mind, suffocating thought, smothering fancy.

Ageless centurion of celestial incandescence
soars across the cerebral plains
dueling with forces of darkness,
inflaming the torches of visions,
summoning into being
the tangential streams of sanguine thought.

Encroaching upon the will
stirring the dogs of carnal passions
infusing the comatose quintessence with empowering.

Eons has he stalked the earth with his valiant vigil
touching crystal orbs and every spiritual icon
with the light from the sagacious scroll of the gods,
discounted by those who can't perceive
mystical from myth.

It's resonances its vibrant eloquence deep inside,
until the sky erupts with a sage's song,
future and past blend in harmony
and all creation touched by his watchful spear.

Mind's radiated from his vigilance
spend their lives in pursuit of gold
found in the layers of the conscience
where Elysium's truths are held.

A Burnished Buffet In Brilliance

Of marmalade iridescence
and sanguine tides in radiant rays
are the illuminated buffet that burns in the mind
with its auras of heated tints
like the fuchsia festoons of vibrant light tendrils
strung across the late afternoon sky
as the gems of July erupting in their incandescence.

They bring their blaze into the day
where it becomes the intense expression
that sears the senses,
disrupts the colorless cerebral canvas
in stunning arrays that varnish the mind
give it power and resilience
until you inhale the sun,
feel its solar sway lure to spells
so totally inebriating the conscious,
which dips into a tangerine tease
that summons its citrine sensations,
those sweet and tangy seductions
utterly enticing to taste and devour
any fruit of day star in all its manifold creations.

Through a stroll upon those sandy shores
it all bakes the pores with the memories
about claret and magenta hues
whose effigies drift through the head
to become an enlightening seasoning
for allowing the mind, body and soul
a chance to complete savor
the natural artistry of summer’s airy canvas.

The Lagging Layers Of Lethargy

Labor lures its levels in languishing on life,
for coins call in their siren song to summon
every heart in need of provision
to come and sweat for a few shiny servings.

But how the days wear heavy on the heart
once the glisten of silver finally tarnishes
and the lure of gain loses its luster.

Then slowly there snarls the sloth seductions,
they wrap around the spirit
silently sapping the mood of its energy
because monotony’s syrup
flows in the routine and boring climate
where dreams fade and are smothered
until you languish in the layers of lethargy.

Just left in that state of sagging thoughts,
how they erode the enthusiasm,
eventually trapped in a swampland of indifference
totally sucked of every motivation to exceed.

But somehow you must continue to work,
to find a way to survive the circumstance
while pretending you still inspired,
act as if you are truly a gun-ho employee.
Thus the charade is played in such silly expressions
a smile used to cover a yawn,
a sincere look to cover the fact
inside you no longer care,
only wanting a paycheck

Blaze

Midnight screams in his soul
with fiery coffin visions,
he has tried to so hard to ignore
the voices burning in his head.

But daylight drives him insane,
the flame of its shining
possessing him with an inferno
of anger's white hot coals.

Mind trapped in hellish chasm,
demons dancing in tormenting
and slithering ecstasy
before his eyes,
moaning their vile and putrid breath
filled with such ghastly threats.

His bed becomes agony,
pain personified as macabre shaped fireworks
erupting over his head,
explosions sounding as banshee wails,
blood percolated with agony
from the evening's attempts
to consume his essence.

Shaft of silvery light pierces his ceiling
in the midst of the deepest second in dread,
eyes suddenly glow with strange azure hue,
suffering spirit finally awaken to his true identity,
angel training so severe to produce immortal warrior,
but necessary to strike the blaze of his real power,
casting off the darkness with an all knowing stare,
fingertips ready to flare at heaven's beckoning

December's Sun

Daystar swims in stunning illumined sheen
as it soars across
the Arabian brutally, brilliant turquoise sky.

Rays baking the bleached sandstone walls
of ancient Babylon,
night's freezing temperatures
slowly thawing the denizens
while it paints the dusty streets with amber hues.

Residents in their blends of dark hued robes
stir from night, before beginning their day,
congesting the narrow streets,
filled with smells of foods, body odor
and manure dropped by horses.

Inside, the small merchant's home,
dirt floors smothered by colorful rugs
ornate wooden sculptures of god's worshipped
sitting on mantle of crudely honed fireplace.

Next to fireplace, a green tree stands, supported by wooden planks,
covered in pieces of jewelry and other decor,
being a phallic symbol used each winter
in honor of their god, Tamuz,
and the Saturnalia feast
celebrating the birth of the Sun.

Meager presents tucked under the branches,
exchanged on December 25h,
when the winter solstice comes.

It is the year, six hundred B.C.,
life as always survival and harsh,
but the soul still stirs with hope
December's Sun bringing thoughts
of how this sphere of light is reborn each winter,
making their special holiday of ancient traditions
one bringing dreams
that their existence can somehow rise above misery.

Sticker Patches

Can’t get to the flowers
without stepping on stickers,
even with shoes you can feel the pain,
easier to live without petals
than risk suffering.

Nice thing about wounds,
enough bleeding kills the fear,
because the scent of blossoms
held in the hands,
makes the trip
so worth the price.

Warmth

It is the sun that lasts until the next morning,
silence from lament’s howling wind,
a place you visit between questions
where light and peace touch the heart.

Journeys taken standing still
nothing greeted,
except a friend,
nature’s tongue
licks with the rain, sights or scents
that caress and inspire,
mind immerses in a laughter
without voice or sound.

So many faces
form in the mind
bringing the pure sense of euphoria.

Like a wind it is fleeting,
has so many origins,
but for that precious moment
of inner radiant song
the world becomes a melodious piano
whose music
quiets the dogs of night.

Wisdom's Willow

Wisdom's willow,
aged and drooped,
residing in the forest of the mind.

Waiting for innocence
to climb its branches
and touch its sagacious leaves.

Winds of time
rustle its branches
releasing inspiration's scent.

Vulnerable minds inhale
the fragrance
giving eyes to see
a world abounding in possibilities.

Creativity's mushroom
sprout in the soul
until magic becomes
more than a dream.

The Heart Of The Sky

They were born at sunrise,
two lives fated by the great spirit as a single heart,
foretold to the mystic ones during their waking dreams
when the gray smoke of divine presence
rose from their tribe’s sacred fire pits.

Their births came at the same moment though miles apart,
on a cloudless day under a brilliant turquoise sky,
the morning brought a strange, lurid wind,
a blue mist appeared driven by its invisible breath,
carried across the villages with a mesmerizing magic,
deeply it soaked into those tender young souls
and left a mystical azure birthmark upon their heads.

Love exuded from their touch at the moment they could walk,
an amazing powerful warmth flowed
so able to reach every hurt and fear,
how it calmed and soothed anyone they met.

Inside they still where haunted
by an ever sensing call of their other half
at night they saw that face in hazy visions
it lingered during the sunlight as intense waves of longing,
subdued by those conversations with that ancients seers
whose ghosts were summoned by the old woman
when they used the hides of buffalo
for listening to the earth song
of what lived and cried from its suffering.

They were the ones who sang the prayers
over the hope for a return of their lost blessings
from hunts where beast were plentiful that fed them all winter.

In their teepees they wept and waited
for the divine power to unite this couple
so their pure love would bring again
all that had been taken away.

And when the autumn leaves fell upon a breeze
finally the two tribes were brought to the same river,
eyes of destined lovers seeing each other for the first time,
knew a the feast had come they were missing,

The Firing Squad

Noon sun burns its relentless rays upon the white washed court yard
murals of alabaster clouds and silver cherubs on turquoise background
despoiled in spots by stains of crimson droplets.

Emaciated prisoners wearing lamb costumes
standing awaiting execution
forced to stay at attention
while judge in gold robe sits at table having gourmet feast.
Their eyes express the horror and disbelief
selected by lottery based on incompetence,
declared as fair and impartial,
though names were chosen in sacred scripture study meeting.

Soldiers dressed as penguins ready to carry out orders
"Thou Shall Not Kill" tattooed on forehead,
never given mirrors to notice its words.

Doctor dressed as mortician
strolls past the condemned
uttering a prayer for their healing from bullets,
talking on cell phone to class of high school students
exposing the virtues of equality and compassion.
Refusing to look at any face facing death,
his mind absorbed with what he will say
when receiving award for humanitarian of the year.

Also reviewing pictures from photo opportunity
taken while helping terminal ill patience,
cameras shut off when he gave the patients
hemlock lemonade in rose colored glass
with "have a nice day on the side."

Boom of rifle folly ends the melodrama
those wound, but not dead
decapitated by a sword
held in hand of lawyer
who was in charge of their defense.

Wind chimes ring out with gospel melodies
love so proudly practiced in such vivid passion,
spent more in selective acts of assassination
than helping those in need of resuscitation.

Wraith's Race

No one travels the road by night,
those who have dared to venture after dark
always are found walking with ashen faces, sanity fled,
babbling incoherently about the demons of their fears.

While cruising even in the day
ghostly eyes often appear in rear view mirrors,
car radios wail with death moans,
cold, icy invisible fingertip scrape the neck,
muscles tighten from pure sense of something terrifying,
lurking in the woods, watching,
waiting to claim the souls,
as vehicles are made to crash into trees,
when a power takes control over the steering wheel,
foot is forced to press accelerator to the floor,
other one unable to reach the brake,
bloodied and smashed transportation discover,
but passengers always missing.

The rare survivors tell of seeing a transparent figure
standing near the road just before the accident,
what horror envelopes in crippling fright
is when the driver notices
that the image belongs to him or her,
dressed in a black funeral shroud,
eye sockets empty, mouth gaping
hand raised and beckoning for body to join the spirit.

None who live to speak of the day
ever are able to know peace again,
for in the bathroom mirrors the wraith will appear,
always clawing with eerie foreboding
to seduce another rendezvous with demise,
victim of reoccurring nightmares in which they relive
over and over the accident, but this time
feeling drug from wreckage by their own ghost,
screaming as the ground opens and flames erupt,
before sinking below the earth and the hole disappears.

Eventually succumbing to the spell,
faces flush with comatose possession,
calmly stroll out of their homes to automobiles,

Inferno Wings

Hellish blasts blow their flames over the heart
in their scorching test from life’s torturous furnace,
until deep down the empowering plumes of the spirit spread
when the dove within arises out of pain and soars on heaven’s love.

My Private Precious Paramour

I meet my love in guarded moments
never wishing to let anyone
see the intensity,
with which I am allowed to feast
on each arousing morsel
offered without restraint
unto my lips and fingers.

Delicately tracing the firm textures
of my companion's smooth, sultry flesh,
until my tongue has bathed it
through a pure wash of my passion.

Then when my fire has burned
out of control for more,
do I engulf my senses
in the intoxicating succulence
availed in the juices
so willingly devoured.

Probing deeply into the inviting places
where my desires are ravage
by gluttony's unbridled ecstasy
until my face is drenched contently
in all the overflow in savage surrender.

Letting the taste of lust's victory
drip in agonizing joy
down my throat
before my stomach feels the flavor's bounty.

Happy to have hidden our affair
from prying eyes,
for never shall I share
the intimacy with my sweet apple.

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.

Her Dream

She sleeps in heaven's sheltering cocoon
of destiny,
a soul waiting to be born,
feeling waters of her mother's womb
submersed her in maternal joy..

So long her spirit has yearned
to know the joy of a parent's hug
and walk the beauty of a day.
spending eons at the Lord's feet
with so many others
waiting to become flesh,
until Heaven's scroll was unfolded
where her name was called
for the moment on earth
when a heart beat was created
having her pulse.

Until the time arrives
for her to be united
in that body,
into a waiting pool of ethereal light
does she thrive by dreams of the future
seeing all the seconds to come
as well as memories of when
her parents were also eternal unborn waives.
images flood of memories
about all the occasion they spent together
along with what hours as a mortal family will bring,
hoping somehow through the language of love
they will all remember the golden kisses
from their immortal past.

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.