Lying Eyes

Each day I live by forged stare
seeing with my mind's sight
a face and body, bloated and hideous,
unable to match the image
to the one staring back from the mirror.

Seven years have passed
since sickness stripped my flesh
of its rotund essence,
forced to change my life
because of health demands.

Still what I see
is the portrait from before,
never able to embrace
what is reality with more than denial
that my eyes must have lied.

Even now I wander the ordinary size sections
in clothing stores at malls
while looking over at the big and tall area
and feeling awkward as well as out of place.

Perhaps the day will come with I won't
continue to read into the looks from others
that unspoken thought carrying the word, "repulsive."

Maybe someday I'll return home for hours at the gym
without having the fear,
this change of so many years is just a dream.

Until then, I will always feel a clone of the Pillsbury Doughboy
cursed to be treated as someone to revile.

Icicle Eyes

When her stare spreads in glacier glares,
icicles eyes so frigid and frozen,
you know it is winter in her heart.

How for sake of love gone by
there is still a wish for spring again
to see that smile return
so fill with warmth and affection.

The snow over her mood
came slowly at first,
until the seconds became a drift in distance.

Upon that tundra call our home,
blizzards blew their steady freeze,
gone was the fire, the roaring flame,
December lasted all year long.

Somewhere inside I vowed
this snowman spirit would melt,
I wouldn’t let it turn life and spirit
into an ice box.

Finding the moment when I could
ignite the fireplace she had inside,
tears the sign that snow was changing to rain,
and once more we would be planting
our soil was planted
with seeds to sprout
all the blossoms we call our shared joy.

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.

Of Tightest Grasp

What is held with all consuming passion
gives the heart a throb beyond definition
drive the mind to heights never imagined
and touches with thunderbolts of incredible light.

There’s no moment or dream more vivid and alive
than the experience that makes you feel intensely touched,
for those are the love quakes that you hold forever
can’t in any way substitute or exchanged.

Oh stunning is the encounter felt deep inside
reaching into the crevices where it is so cold
ever awakening the eagle within with new life
until you fly over the darkness that held you prisoner.

One grasp of that kiss or caress of encouragement
summons its spring into any life living so infertile
so for once you have the light and strength to soar,
which is matchless power of hope’s wind.

The Patriot

I sit about this frail shell of flight,
this damaged hull of dreams,
called the, Jupiter 2,
my curse, my pox of patriotism's chore,
the myth of space glory,
which I, Dr. Zachary Taylor, devotedly dispelled.

All to spare mankind
any illusion of false hope,
that our enemies plotted
when sending this craft
and the Robinson Family,
to some distance planet in the vain fantasy,
life could find a genesis of existence
beyond earth's womb.

My environmental erudition
and skill in intergalactic psychology
knew how this voyage was cursed,
for man has too many demons,
a countless throng of paranoia's phantom pariah
who will all be unleashed
during the sojourn into darkness.

In mercy, I prodded the leaders to rethink this cruel venture,
only wanting to spare this crew
from the horror I knew would await,
but then when it was beyond my control,
I planned a sabotage to make their end merciful.

Fate made a different choice,
leaving me to watch over their souls,
now I am guardian,
forced to pay the price for my compassion,
every act of love and each deed of mercy,
reviled with mistrust.
But I am content to wave the flag of my faith in silence,
teaching them through my misunderstood behaviors,
to survival's enlightenment.

I Am Your Dream

I am your dream
the vision of your nights,
my skillful prowess with the mind
shall bless you with my mentor’s sunshine,
for I will make you see all your deepest truths,
even if it is from the office where you voted me
as your guardian of liberty.

Now never mind those rumors
from your neighbor lady,
because I can account for every tax dollar
that I have used for your welfare,
not for dancing in her underwear
as she might claim from the night
when I visited to comfort her,
her mother and sister too.

So you can trust me
now and forever
just like a child would hold a parent’s hand,
since I am father myself,
at least twice that I will admit,
my secretary doesn’t count
since she suffers from delusions
after that misunderstanding about our relationship.

So sleep in peace and joy always
your future will be so blessed
everyone can learn to live more simply and be happy
once I’ve adjusted the tax rate to twice what it Is now
then you will have graduate from my school
blissfully content in you new simplicity
some misguided souls call poverty!

Potions

Sermonized sangria solutions
served in social chalice,
recycled fabrication's spittoon.

Skipping Stones

He tossed the pebbles over the waters with furious, bent intentions,
frustration brewed in his veins, life inequities being stones in his heart.
One more throw bounced the rock farther than the rest, rippling lake for longest time.
It all seemed pointless and unfair, none one cared for his labors or how he helped.
Leaving the rest of his pebbles by the shore, sure none would ever know his pain.

One last thought stabbed his mind, leaving paper of his rejected ideas with the pile,
perhaps some wind would give it a decent burial.
Stranger came along a day later, feeling equally discouraged, found the note,
it touched him from the inspiration, he went on to start a business
unknowingly hiring its writer who had been unemployed.

Horns

Rhetoric’s resonance resounding its reason,
written to orchestrate
a cohesive symbiotic serenade
and induce a serene cathartic clarion call,
shaping the cerebral spine
into an arching ballet
as an ornamental social figurine
postured in cloned clarity,
expressing the transparency
of crystalline conformity.

In silence the soul’s is shaped into solidity,
embracing the sounds of the conscience,
becoming the vanguard emblem
for the cruise of minds and hearts.

Until the pose bears its own trumpet
having a song with lucid notes,
its music summoning a peaceful inner psalm,
becoming the tangential composition
between self and the whole.

Thawing

Morning's passions
carving dreams
in frigid white.

Sub zero fingers
trim wonderland's
artistry moments.

Shivering victory ecstasy
celebrated next to fireplace
with hot chocolate trophy.

Hours Of Ebony Drips

Coffee swirls
couldn’t wake me
from darkness,
until I saw
cream
in my heart’s cup.

Castles

Chiseled affections from quarry of groans
used as surety's marble in epiphany's staircase
so one can ascend unto the fortress sanctuary of reliance,
and accept the rule with discernment's crown
prudently clad in lace for seduction or wake
depending on if knights brandish a liar's swords.

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.

His Shine

His hair shown in silvery shade
some might take it as an aged weakness,
but inside the heart of a hunter pumped,
and his mind was ever cunning and clever
for the winters had come with their fury,
yet he had prowled enough
survived each season
those wrinkles were etchings
like scars of time.

Inside he was still twenty
the days hadn’t withered his hunger
over life or his passion that loved
searching wildernesses in life,
eyes that could gaze into any forest of faces
never rush to worry about his prey
because now he stood with wisdom
restrained of impulse
ready to use the prowess of his maturity
so he could win against younger foes.

It all was what kept him going
when others might have given up,
inside that spirit teemed with thriving power
easily ignored by the ones
who assumed silver was a frailty
instead the sign of his refinement.

The Wine of Life

Love’s sangria served
from the heart’s decanter,
lusciously sipped
as a rich and zesty burgundy
consumed for its enticing and arousing flavor.

Swirling through the mind
in such intense scarlet streaks,
drowning the spirit in ecstasy’s Chianti.

It spills over into the eyes,
which lets its claret stain
see more intently,
while the crimson glow
warms deep inside,
stirring torching thoughts.

Surrendering to
sanguine intoxication,
taste becomes ravenous
for life’s cherries,
seen as a blush upon the cheeks,
apple’s rosy tint on the face
the sweetest shade of joy.

I’m Fine

My fingers work with precision,
eyes have eagle sight,
ears can decipher the faintest sound,
I’m fine as I should be,
a contributing member of society,
serving its purposes so perfectly,
normal and being so essential.

What a pity that officer
didn’t agree with my words,
he seemed to think
my celebration of being useful
at the local bar
diminished my credibility
after one too many rounds.

Now I guess I will find out
on my court date
if the legal system
is truly appreciates
that one can still be efficient
with their brain well oiled
by all those cocktails.

Didn’t seem to be a problem
all those other times,
but then I never tried driving,
having tested the competency
of the pavement
while being passed out.

Silvery Snares

You can’t climb out of a hole
when it is the chasm in the mind
from a vacuum in self-esteem,
left feeling you are never good enough
to escape the prison in the mirror.

The lock on that cage
is made in the head
sealed by so many memories
forming bars over the image
not ever seeing who you really are,
but can’t find a way to break
their iron that was made
so many years ago,
they are the puzzle never solved
a riddle in a maze
that has no exit nor map
because it was built
over a lifetime of painful experiences,
totally keeping one prisoner
unto a view of self ,
which agrees with all the criticism received.

In the heart throbs the longing for more,
but that decreases the blood to the brain
so can’t think or imagine
ever being free this crippling restraint,
spending time watching the world spin by
sometimes crying over how much missed
and the suffering incurred,
having no one to complain to
since it is self-inflicted.

Zoos

Concrete cells,
paycheck feeding times,
mind in cages,
coin keepers holding keys.

Owning pets,
pretending Pavlov
and Darwin
wrote fantasies.

Wind

Her heart shuddered at every breeze
had so since she could remember
because she felt the breaths of many
from ages gone and lives out of reach,
feeling their tears drip on her heart
was a pain she really didn’t want,
yet it also summoned the thoughts
of love and dreams she could savor
for each vibrant passion they carried.

Being born an empathy had been so hard
for it was so difficult to appreciate
why you knew what beat inside
that eyes would convey with stares,
though lips might spill some tale
completely contrary to the truth.

Was so difficult to get through some days
when she would sense some perverted ideas
they didn’t just come with weird images
bringing such intense depraved energies,
which were like being punched in the face.

Now she dwells in her small chamber of liberty
finding refuge in ways she challenges those pangs
with all their confusion pokes are her mind.

Quiet is the mercy she reaches
enough to at times accept the breath
from one who says he loves her.

If only she could also feel those whispers
he had told another,
still he kisses and night magic
stay the anxiety from the sensory overload
so she can get through a night without screams,
which is worth those times she accepts him
into her private well of need
as it blocks out the other chaos she needs to escape.

Slopes

At the bottom of the scenic slopes
you can’t see the mountain’s summit
unable to know what lies at the very top
or be sure the climb will bring
the promises of ascension’s joy.

The mind brews in anxiety
so raging from the worry,
will this trip really be a success?

Yet, unable to focus
on the reason for reaching the peak,
it gets lost in a maze of confusion,
a labyrinth of doubts and questions
until nothing looks clear again.

Just standing and not moving
to wait for the wind to somehow
blow away the mental fog,
hours slip away in the haze
another day passes without change,

Within a voice murmurs
while attempting to reclaim some answers
over how to find away out
of this pit where life has fallen.

But just sitting back and deciding
time will somehow provide a solution
by flipping a light switch,
though not having a clue
on where it exists.

It becomes a journey in circles
one taken without a map
ever assuming you’ll find the exit
and continuing to move
so it give a feel of making sense.

Seasoned

Face faithful to its paralytic marrow,
comatose conscience ignoring nature's
intended tattooed quintessence,
lying dormant in its lethargy until fortune's chef stirs life's pot
and the soul's seasoning flavors circumstances casserole.

It becomes a crimson tale of burgeoning birth
where a heart sleeping in cold acquiesced atrophy
becomes the condiment of inspiration
bringing a fire into another palate
when they rise to add zest to the world's buffet.

Whatever you want

Whatever you want
to make the reindeer fly.
Oh I let the legend give Santa all the credit,
won’t mention those times he had flu
and I drove the sleigh,
thank goodness elves donated some beard hair
to make the fake one I wore.

Alas, Christmas is about magic
so that I always keep it going,
letting my extra help
be my little secret.

ust the internet
by a vast space of cyber lies?
Oceans of web sites
swirling with seductions,
swimming in deceptive mermaids
and counterfeit sirens.

Who offer voyages to paradise,
but they only end sunken dream ships.
Pity that truth seldom flows
through its many currents
as we sit in our harbor keyboards
trying to book passage
to somewhere truly exotic,
having spice we can’t find.

Email sails set for islands
hoping to find love’s shore,
ripped and tattered heart canvas
keeps drifting on the inbox stream,
thinking the next horizon
will bring some real enchantment.

There are more sharks and barracuda
among the seas of correspondence,
somewhere people decided
piracy of trust was acceptable
when a mariner on net waves.

The Operating Table

Can you slice a soul in deep painful strokes
with a scalpel of abuse
and then call the wound
curiosity's reward?

Knowledge learned
from a bleeding human heart
carries a price in the coins of sorrow
dropped from memory's pouch
for years to come.

Social surgeon's
performing elective operations
based upon appearance
miss the beauty that can never be seen
where their numb conscience's
are unable to remember
their prejudice's cosmetic surgery doesn't heal.

Ghosts

We can dread the sunset,
see only ghosts among the ebbing light
and miss the splendor of the scene
with all its majesty and beauty.

Tomorrow is not a cancerous occasion
just because today somebody had the flu,
allowing anxiety’s specters to haunt
every view we expect to see,
takes away the gift of sight,
which always looks for hope
among each new dawn.

Because even though life changes,
love still dwells within the heart,
some minds may look for doom,
yet others search for answers.

Humanity is a tide of thought
flowing slowly towards its own destination,
being one we can fill with progress or ruins.

So even with the times come
that mankind falls from glory,
there is always the dreamer
on the thrones of power
who refuse to see only storms.
They hold onto the candle
enduring in any wind,
remembering how often
prophets of our demise
have been proven wrong.

True gold lies in the spirit
where it shines in everlasting expectation
of moving ahead despite the problems,
standing instead of sitting,
facing the future
and holding up a vision of change
filled with blessings and not curses.

Paydays

Pieces of paper singing you dreams
holding onto the image of it in your hand
quickly rushing to the bank to collect the cash
oh time for joy’s spellbinding shopping trip!

Sales were mistress I never could resist
I craved that liaison the incredible euphoria,
my fingers caressing my treasure
sure it would give endless hours of pleasure.

By Friday night the magic fled
those trinkets were dead and had no promises left,
then came the winter of in betweens
nothing to do on a budget
except live in my desert of voids
far from any chance for paradise.

Over and over I repeated this charade
sometimes actually shopping less
just to make the money last,
didn’t really chance the thrills that I felt
since they were as lasting as the wind.

Perhaps I’ll learn and not keep making smiles
tied to how much I have,
until the next bargain comes along
when I lose it again
because I love the rush of hope
even if it fleeting and vain.

Unrequited

Lemon hearts dreaming of heaven,
but that tart taste so snarls the senses
what agony burns inside
from knowing it is all unrequited
though still yearning, craving, longing
totally wishing it was meant to be.

Taking time to try and find
some way to make it all perfect,
stumbling over misunderstandings,
little stab wounds ignore
for there is the wish, the deep desire
this could truly be a match.

Then the final departure
rots away the dream
like a cancer,
at least, with sadness and regret
aware there are only toxins
in the kiss of two lives
who together create an acid.

Sitting down and in resignation accepting
what would never thrive as one
only lead to the death of love
because it would have a bittersweet aftertaste.

New Paint

Oh what incredible sense of peace
to think I can’t remember
every foul up, blunder and error
from a different life in a different face.

Only it does make me pause and think
is there a way to suddenly get a charge
into my psyche from my other lives?
Yeah, perhaps a blast of hypnosis
would unlock those wonderful achievements
that I did in some other life.

Now this can lead to so many questions
such as could I find out I was some villain
in another age that I really hated.
Maybe I would feel so guilty
that I would need to confess my crime
like that would really prove I was sane.

But the amazing bounty that lurks
in those shadows of past times,
makes it so appealing to know
what happen in a distant era.

Sure does get fuzzy though
since I worry most
I’ll find out I was my own ancestor
and then how can I blame my problems
on my heritage
because it would be my own fault!

Paydays

Pieces of paper singing you dreams
holding onto the image of it in your hand
quickly rushing to the bank to collect the cash
oh time for joy’s spellbinding shopping trip!

Sales were mistress I never could resist
I craved that liaison the incredible euphoria,
my fingers caressing my treasure
sure it would give endless hours of pleasure.

By Friday night the magic fled
those trinkets were dead and had no promises left,
then came the winter of in betweens
nothing to do on a budget
except live in my desert of voids
far from any chance for paradise.

Over and over I repeated this charade
sometimes actually shopping less
just to make the money last,
didn’t really chance the thrills that I felt
since they were as lasting as the wind.

Perhaps I’ll learn and not keep making smiles
tied to how much I have,
until the next bargain comes along
when I lose it again
because I love the rush of hope
even if it fleeting and vain.

The Cruise

Rock sailing space,
some a love boat,
others a prison vessel,
all hoping the fishing is good.

Agathokakological - Both good and evil

Hearts swim in seas of gray
never utterly white nor black,
always tainted by powers
that lure towards the sun
and also the night

It is the war that goes undeclared
as eyes search by the tug upon the mind,
one moment looking for chapels and clouds
the next a den full of forbidden secrets.

The tongue tries to explain it all,
a prayer one second then curse the next,
but we can’t escape the spells within,
love and hate mixing together,
making each day a battle
sometimes wearing ivory armor others ebony,
ever trapped at the crossroads of in between,
not completely corrupt or pure.

How we struggle to create the fairy tales
where one of the two dominions controls life
and will be the victor in their duel.

Yet, we continue to walk in the reality
hands can either reach out to help
or to try and steal from others.
Each day stumbling over those impulses,
wanting to be so charitable and kind,
still unable to silence those murmurs
crying out within
to avenge in some violent manner
what inflames the villain
sleeping in our mental closet.

Sweet Nothings

Tell me a tale in cosmic consequences,
of thoughts with eternal truths,
where this day I live lasts always
according to my whim and will.

Whisper how immortality is a wish,
the genie’s touch upon my spirit
and assure me it was meant to be,
carved on time’s scroll prior to when I was born,
an ageless decree bonded and sealed
over my every second that I breathe.

Where tide and thorn of tried the mind,
we’ve grasp for point to ponder
why random seems to rule the world,
then ask could fate dare to play its part
in designing what we are forever?

While I can’t hold that ethereal hour glass
I don’t believe insanity was ever the creator’s inspiration,
but I do think we are the delicate composite
in choice and circumstance,
where the soul becomes the final composition
from what we did and possessed
with divine eyes having seen our decisions
before this world was made.

Ever hoping heaven has a sense of humor
to make this existence somehow explainable
other than to be given some shrug from winged shoulders
with the comment,
we’ll get back to you on that.

Without A Trace

When you’re ten you are in between
full of fantasies, yet thinking
you are so mature and grown up.

So when I was sent off to summer camp
I figured it would be so boring,
the fact that the name was,
“Indian Circle Camp,”
didn’t help my mood
for I assumed it would be some silly time
spent listening to nerds in glasses
tell me fairy tales about Great White Spirits.

It was set in the mountains so the scenery was great,
but those fake teepees were not impressive
and seeing some thirty year old accountant
with that pale white skin below his shorts
who wore a buffalo skin with horns for a hat
only inspired more snickers than awe.

Most the time was spent doing the predictable,
crafts and naked hikes
while they tried to get us to belief
us city kids were really members of some Indian tribe.

Was something we just treated as a joke,
made fun of it when we were alone
as well as the staff who all had no clue to the forest,
except for this one man,
he had an air about him
gave us the feel he was a real mountain man,
his clothes were actually genuine lumberjack attire.

One night while we sat in our teepee
talking about all the dumb things we had to do
suddenly we were silenced by his intrusion.
Sitting down on the one cot
his voice grew so serious and scary
for he told us about the forest spirit
who looked for one camper to take as his possession.

Then he mentioned how it wasn’t surprising
that most summers one child would vanish,
be sucked into some other world portal
and be like he never existed.

My buddy Jim thought it totally absurd,
so that night we went to bed
pretending we didn’t believe it.

The next day Jim was gone,
how we all panicked and told the counselors
only they said there was no person
among their record of guests.

Oh we argued and demand action,
they just looked at us like we were crazy,
our hearts so riddle with fear
before our minds slowly became convince we were crazy.

Jim never did show up
as we left camp feeling so weird
even as the car pulled way
I looked back in hopes of seeing him in the trees.