My Undercroft Dreams

My arms reach out with all my ravenous desire
to hold the secrets of my master and his mistress,
which is why my skin of brick has no ornaments
that might distract me from watching over
all the treasured trophies laid within my space.

At night I hear the soft murmurs of voices
call from every item placed in my charge
of tales about usefulness and purpose
about the passion to serve,
but now they rest in my arms
where I keep them free from harm.

Oh my heart is heavy from this vigil in silence,
yet do find joy in my duties
even if am so modestly dressed
without the elegance or grandeur
reserved for my kinsmen
who are bless to serve
as the more regal trappings of our masters abode.

Though I don’t enjoy opulence,
the luxuriant layers shared by others
in this realm where I must thrive
my hospitality and love for those who come
always makes their visits full of pleasure.

So I am plain in my appearance
no fashions to make me beautiful
I take solace in my calling
ever content to welcome all
into the center of my heart.

And when winter comes to my popularity,
left feeling neglected and unappreciated,
eventually my admirers come.
They will commune with those I have befriended
sometimes taking them elsewhere
as I try to be happy they are being useful
while weeping at night over their absence.
It is the burden of caring
the pain of being a friend to many without homes
for a while I gave them shelter,
how it is all I have in my thoughts
the moment I’m abandoned again.

Peace Be To You

The best way to conquer is from within
maximize the inclination towards paranoia,
hiring mercenaries to coming brutal slayings
of one group, a religion or nation,
while making sure they give credit
unto their most hated enemies.

Always killing the hired butchers
before getting a new group for next acts of violence.
Bribing media to spread stories
until every nation and religion
is utterly ready to murder those they fear
and think were guilty of attacks.

Obtain germ warfare
to spread among cities.
detonate a few nukes
in strategically chosen cities
so the panic explodes,
whole world utterly gone insane,
unleashing chemical weapons in United Nations assembly,
claim it is work of three major religions
along with several key world leaders.

Cause several nuclear power plant accidents
say it was government blunders,
sink oil tankers declaring work of militant environmentalists,
pour toxic waste into certain city water supplies
making sure they are seen as work for corporations.

Then heighten the hate and rage
with selective acts of pure sadism
against offspring of clergy and beloved celebrities,
capturing it on film using people bragging
they represent peace loving religious fanatics.

Thus when enough death and broadcasted torture
has raised the tension to point
every nation is ready to destroy,
I move in to offer a spiritual offer of sanity,
faking miracles, feeding the poor
making sure enough myths are told
so everyone things I can be their deliverer,
arranging accidents for leaders who won’t cooperate.

And when they all have succumb to the spell,
how I would fan the ire to send zealot vigilantes
out to commit hellish acts against
all that I say are evil.

Once every religion has been destroyed
each leader executed and all nations made my slaves,
would I make myself the law,
changing them to fit my passions
happily sacrificing lives as needed
the whole time having the rest worship my greatness.

Bringing peace to mankind,
making sure they all dead thinking it was real.

One Minute Draft

Each episode of my life
seems written in a minute
without time for editing.

I would not have script
so much disaster or mistakes,
the endless times of heart ache
countless moments
of complete sadness,
more hours with happy endings
less composed by ink
made of tears.

Love being a poem
the ending never finished,
left just another scribbled line
hastily created
as if using a stop watch
held by the one
being described by my pen,
someday perhaps
it will turn into a story
instead of a page.

The Photograph

He holds that black and white print,
the old faded image still inspires,
just can see the house between the cracks
in the paper from it being folded.

Yet, for him it is paradise
that homestead his brother made
out in California at the end of the wagon train.

Part of him can remember when it came in the mail
all the words mentioned
included things like freedom and owning your own land.

So he let himself believe
there was a chance to start over
where the land wasn’t so infertile
from generations of being farmed
a place where taxes and struggles with politicians
hadn’t made it other than strain to survive.

Soon they will camp for another night,
the man with his fiddle will keep them dreaming
and for one more night they’ll let dark ease the pain.

Been months among the scrub brush and heat,
endless hours of dirt and wind to content,
even those rattlesnakes to watch for
as well as signs of Indians.

Still, that photograph gives him hope
they will eventually reach that end,
it will be a sweet reunion
though the scars and suffering
will been apparent in the eyes.

For him and his family
the future in a place filled with opportunity
will be worth all the pain and hard work
once that first crop comes.

Essence

In each life there is gold,
but finding it isn’t always easy
for it might be buried
under mounds of criticism
completely hidden from its truth.

Like a sunrise
we can awake the morning
let it reveal the treasures
that were there all along
only in the darkness,
a chamber where gems are sealed away.

With hands that care
it only takes a touch in a word
to open what was closed
then free the butterflies,
every bird that was caged
until it moves in its true beauty.

Then the fringe where we lived
won’t be our existence,
those places felt abandoned
don’t have to be a curse,
because the essence sleeping was awaken
into a season of its evolving
from brokenness to worth.

Quixotic

I felt a flush in fancy’s fury fill my heart
from a vision of diamonds lying on a glacier,
so I raced to claim them for my future
and by that wealth would I at last be draped in glory.

With that burning images inside I rushed to that frozen tundra,
didn’t worry about food, warm clothes or even shoes
for my passion would be a sun to inflame against any cold.

But frostbite brought its own reality in my quest
the moment that icy truth touched my throbbing pursuit of illusion.

Twisters

Melancholy maelstrom
snarls soul,
mental mirror conjures
serenity's rainbow.

Patient and acceptance,
storm shelters,
ignoring refuges
always leaves weather victims.

Taxis

There never was a schedule printed
to know when those taxis would appear,
they just came and went like the days,
waiting on the corner until they arrived
and catch a ride unto a place
beyond this cold pavement
some haven for my life,
where I didn’t miss out
on the happiness never found
wandering this cement as a nomad
desperate for some home I didn’t have
filled with love I couldn’t locate.

I knew they never came
without having to pay a faire,
anything was better than living without hope.

Each time I saw one headed my way,
suddenly fear would grab my throat,
what if they broke down?
Or perhaps some accident
would end my trip
before I reached that destination
way beyond this misery.

Just kept my hands by my side,
convinced I’d find courage
by the time the next one showed up.

Sundown came and I watched the last cab pass by,
telling myself tomorrow would be different,
but deep down I realized
it was a tale, some myth to ease my guilt,
because like so many others
that talked about escaping,
was just so much easier to discuss
than actually pay the cost of a trip.

The most experienced eyes
revealed their truths
as we stood and ignore those chariots
we pretended to want to ride,
long before we started play acting
our hearts had stopped
expecting to go anywhere.

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!

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.

SKYSCRAPERS

Conceit's towers carved and culled
from quarries of human bondage,
hoisted as idols to self deification.

Their crumbling corpses littering
the faces of mankind's identity,
always outliving their architects.

Clouds of mortar and steel
one thought could fly
and wrench a crown
from heaven's sky.

Mounds of profile icons
horded as medals
of glory's vain victories.

Lifted as arrogance's citadels
above the cerebral city
where one has a throne.

They are the ruins of pride
which leave their echoes
from the voices of their creators
upon the minds
who see their decaying testimony
to the toil of tarnished textures,
final pillar to vanity's affliction
left as the rectangular label,
marking the place of one's grave.

Heaven

My dearest love,
how can my words define
my heaven I call home that fits me like a glove,
in this email of mine,
that your eyes behold
instead of my face of youth that isn't old,
which you have yet in its Adonis gold.

For I live such opulence and splendor,
a mansion with lairs of a stunning visionary blender
the place of my family's proud legacy,
where our abodes are the radiant pride and glee
our community celebrates with praise on one knee.

How I long to have you join my heart
among this paradise, this haven of pure euphoric tart
It is the refuge for ours souls,
pristine, pure and shimmering with divine blessing's so bold.

Words can never truly do it justice,
but I know wherever our love endures nothing can deter us,
there too shall we find paradise
full of joy, peace and in passion's drink full of romance's ice.

So please my love, do not delay,
to come by winged chariot unto the Camelot I offer for your day.

Yours with devotion unto my Queen,
Buford Honest Lothario Jones the seer serene.

(Quiet sis! I'm trying to finish this email,
I swear ever since you got out of rehab I paid for with money we save for bail,
you've been such a pain. And I already told you,
I'm sure Ms. Gladys Blight will be understanding over our little fantasy stew
about our nights of playing Viking and Virgin after plenty of brew.
Now go and fetch grandma beer,
but don't drink it before getting up those steps which are so near.
while your at it, take cousin Elmo in his home above ours
the want ads I found in the dumpster between those broken down cars.
Might be nice if somebody in the family had a job before she arrives.
While I sure she'll overlook all the cockroaches regardless of their size,
but a gal with a tenth grade education is bound to expect us to have some class,
and while you at it, help Aunt Bertha paint that faded carpet we have instead of grass.)

Strangers have the best candy

Oh how my heart did leap upon the sky,
going to visit Honest Bob,
never met him before,
but heard he will give me the deal of the eons
on a new car.

So I moseyed over to his lot,
past all the other ones
with creeps who had lied to me
offering me fake machine morsels.

This time things would be different
going to get that sugar of a contract with guarantee,
positive it will taste better
than the crap fed me by all the jerks,
who sold me some mechanical snack
that broke down before I got a block from their locations,
their stupid contracts made of invisible ink!

I know Honest Bob
will give me a pure sales chocolate deal
on a sweet set of wheels
making sure I never get hungry again
for the rush of a ride
where it ends with disappointment.

I listen in rapturous expectation
as his honeyed words drip over my mind,
each one a glorious tasty morsel
from his assortment of caramel promises.

Getting high on the new car smell,
veins bulging from my gluttonous feast on mechanical candy,
my pulse pounds as I tool down the street,
behind the steering wheel of my succulent purchase.

But it stalls and then backfires two blocks later,
walking back to his sale office,
time for one salesmen of confectionary bull
to perhaps suffer loss of a few teeth!

Pustule

The stench of that oozing essence
flared the nostrils
and sneered the mouth,
while the striker stood together
spilling their venom
at those pustules of labor
who dared to cross the picket line,
those disgusting growths
deserved no mercy or appreciation.

Meanwhile one of the pustules
swallows to keep from vomiting,
for as laid off union worker,
homeless and starving,
he had carried a sign in countless strikes,
now he endures the names
just to keep his family
that sleeps in their car
from another night without food.

On Solid Rock

And still the waves have sound,
their foam and fizz
have a tide that flows over the night,
it drowns the foundation
where tomorrow was build
on solid rock
that’s just such a sinking stone.

For the heart can cease its remember moans
those gentle drifts of fluid liberty
far from the hard, cold pedestals
promising their stability
at the price of one’s fins.

Those eyes can tell
secrets in blinks ,
caresses that quiver
on metal trinkets
since it stirs embers
of touches that flow like a waterfall

It’s the sails that are lowered
to stroll that ancient jetty
and look out at the light
with squint of longing.

Inside the spy glass focuses
every gesture and nuance
motion by longing limbs
has its shanty whispers
behind the bit of lips.

So the rock dweller poses
like all those who pass by,
because they are the sea shell spirits
exhaling their own wave song dreams,’
how he smiles at the reality
they all are stranded.

Lessons Learnt

Welcome to Buford’s Bureaucratic Butt Sniffing School
where we’ll teach you how anal retentive is so cool,
why once we’re done you’ll be the perfect tight ass
having your head shove up there with red ink class.

Heck we’ll make being mentally constipated a real treat
to the point that you’ll think any crap smells so very sweet,
yep with our learning you thinking small budgets are the deal
and eat them, sleep them even want them for every meal.

So no more tossing around bucks like they were free
it will be time to hide your wallet and cross each knee,
because we’ll make you love barely being able to fart a penny
while through a hissy fit though loaded by whining you haven’t any.

Come on now and sign up for our next semester before it’s too late
since we’ll thrown in some discounts to make it truly something great,
the whole time you’ll enjoy making up BS rules to ruin others’ day
totally stressing them out in every glorious check flinching way.

For there’s no better way to end up making everyone else’s life so pissed
plus making sure you subtract in joys with an audit that you might have missed,
how it will make you love the word cheap and frugal with such serenity
as it makes you freak out and think spending is some serious obscenity.

Nothing is more thrilling than to choke the life out of every guy’s dreams
then dump a load on his head of regulation manure until he screams,
now get ready to become one of the bean counting, rear ending geek
getting ecstasy from causing most sane people to moan and completely freak.

Sauce

Afternoons spent dipping the world in wine
of fermented passions and simmering secrets.
If only the drives of the heart didn’t tattoo
every reflection with those cravings.

Oh in that stew is the image of life
each remembered encounter
that was a mere passing of a moment,
a face that slipped away unspoken,
but lingered within the mind
with wishes of touches that never happen.

It’s the journey that always takes
a life time of steps to complete,
yet inside they happen in a heart beat,
always writing the ending for those simple glances,
with the tones and textures of perfect seconds
as they bubble and boil in their claret warmth.

What time stew in that mental pot
adding a dash of regret and reverie
while allowing the “what if” condiments to season
then taking a sip and allowing it to swirl in the head,
perhaps the taste this time will be more satisfying
than the occasions it ended up with a hint of bitterness.

Differences

I never met a quirk I didn't love,
those little brilliant oddities of invention,
varieties in such demented array,
minds running amuck
in a peculiar and humorous display.

For to see the dawn
and claim it is magical,
hear voices singing on the wind,
remember the past
as if it were a coloring book
is the soul of pure imagination,
the free spirit of dreamers
who say life is more than
what we see.

By the quirks have visions come,
some view as impossible and trite,
which provided such unique changes and progress
to bring mankind its special light.

So I listen carefully to the one
others label as strange
because such have give this world
gifts no normal mind could have made.

Flames

Volcanic eyes
flaring lava
boiling from lips
in molten words.

Heart’s
inferno stoked,
teaser’s torch
flames agony
without touching
kindling.

Nirvana

Paradise is the lair
of thunder
where the self portrait
is preserved.

Once you find
that masterpiece,
you only live
to put it on display,
finding bliss
from its showcase.

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.

Nothingness

Though trapped in silence
I can hear her voice
whisper deep into my heart,
because her love
always fills my void.

In all the nights
our fingers dance without a partner,
with no touch to light our hopes,
the sun of her soul
continues to keep me warm,
holding onto the candle of our last embrace,
how it never stops burning
so intently in my darkness.

For though at times
life falls into a void of nothingness
within my head,
it never leaves me empty
since inside I will always be filled
by each memory of her caress.

Should a day lead to a wasteland
and night strips my joy completely away,
no breath I speak,
not a single step that I should ever take
will feel the least bit futile
as long as I know
she is still my horizon,
a destination I call home,
the very reason I have laughter,
able to thrive even when alone.

There will always be to me
one place that I shall dwell in joy,
passion a wind to fly upon
in the shelter of her arms,
felt so wonderfully and soothing
even though they are miles away.

Layers

We dwell in the library of our brain,
haphazardly collecting the images
taken by our cerebral camera,
developing them in three dimensional detail
capturing all the five senses can develop
adding the brush strokes that sway
with a variety of feelings
radiating our moods with peace, love, joy and so much more.

But it only is flawed portrait for the world visible
always has layers we don’t see,
those places where truths are partially cloaked.

And in our thoughts is translated the observations
carefully preserving them as fuzzy recollections
only enabling us to understand
what is known within the boundaries
of our physical interpretations.

It is when we can hear the soul’s voice
whisper as a waft of wind
that we can question what we understand,
search so deep inward for more,
listen to the murmurs of light
coming from an ethereal candle held by the spirit.

Some never grasp that wick
for they are content to merely gaze at masks,
unwilling to lift any veil,
only deciphering was is real
by their focus on the superficial,
embracing the temporary as permanent,
not granting breath to all the hosts in wispy clarity
who encircle life in their own silent majesty.

To awaken unto this realm
requires a desire to yield unto a validity
beyond our own wisdom,
which keeps the mind open instead of closed
to possibilities outside our own limitations.

Omens

Her words were such smothering shadows upon my heart,
but I thought our love’s sun would never stop burning,
even when the darkness grew with distance bringing constant night
I took it as a sign she meant to test my trust,
and when I sensed they were a warning of disaster,
my mind just pretended they weren’t true.

How I ached when those omens brought upheaval inside,
became fulfilled prophesies of our relationship’s demise,
sometimes doomsday hints are not the imagination,
learning that their reality can be a wound that never heals.

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.

Architecture

Plans prepared with infinitesimal details,
perfectly precise to the miniscule aspect,
edifice to brilliance soon to be displayed,
this towering testimony a special prove of mastery,
a pillar of pure creative genius,
his brain an inferno of raging thought,
beacon bearing the light from cerebral radiance
for all the world to marvel in awe.

Workers hired throbbing with pride,
only the finest craftsman,
expense no issue,
because the stunning sight of mental superiority
was a mesmerizing witness
worth sacrificing any treasure.

On the day construction was too begin
throngs of ardent admirers gathered
to behold the blessing of a building god
and celebrate the majesty,
intense with the voltage of elation
over being able to see this miracle in inventive thought.

Bands played and even held a parade,
marching around the land marked for greatness,
ready to worship
the temple erected in honor of the truly gifted brain
making history on this very day.

They all watched with intense expectation
as the laborers readied to walk upon the ground
and ready it for its glorious fate.

In shock and horror they gazed
while the terrified employees sunk deep into the quicksand,
barely averting tragedy.

Meanwhile the prodigy architect
blissfully moseyed beyond the chaos,
unable to understand why all the fuss,
for he couldn’t see the problem
since to him all dirt was the same.

Fireworks

Starbursts and fiery pinwheels in rainbow light
explode with thunderous ripples in the sky
and etch their flashes in vibration tattoos
upon the mind with stunning memories.

But it is the glow that comes
from how that tear of the dark silence veil
shredded the serenity and steals the calm.

Then streaking as a bolt in chills
through the heart with shuddering power
that is held with such fascinating addiction.

It is that intuitive touch that sways
to drive one beyond any thought,
willingly obey a surge within
just to know the feel again.

In that powder keg factory,
which exists in the throbbing seconds
within the inner lairs of life,
there dwells the seer of the wind,
the eyes who watch for fire and flame
not caring about logic’s laws
as long as that fireplace inside
is ablaze with heat.

How the need claws as a lion
at the chambers where life is lived,
felt so amazing in those intense eruptions
from the fireworks of any encounter.

Ever driven to find the illumination
sensed in the places wandered
because of how it brings
such a spark to the kindling
truly keeping one warm.

Reflections

Looking deeply into the mind’s mirror
for the image lost so long ago
of the person I wanted to be,
but got discarded from my grasp
because I listened to the critics
who said dreams and happiness
were not practical or realistic.

Slipping out of my fingers
was my hopes and essence
that person who truly occupied
the reflection of the me inside.

I wander so far from my real being
ended up wandering a maze of dollars
among the courtyards of cent you dwelled
in sweaty rags and desperation
never truly feeling alive or in balance.

Might have been stranded there forever,
slowly dying from the lack of inner honesty
quietly withering of joy and any dream.

Until at last I found a pen,
not the usual one for work,
the one that lie within my head,
one touch that implement’s magic
was like opening a door to life,
inside I found a world where I could dwell
discovered the heart beat I never knew throbbed.

It was a psalm of light that gave me such fire
that it warmed and inspired
even when darkness came.

And in its glow do I can see
what I had missed so often
with a special joy it brings
leaving a melody in my heart
I can hear all the time.

Sheltered

Snuggled in my liar composed of reason's transparencies
surrounded by all my surreal murals of denial,
closing my eyes when seeing any gap
that exposes the world outside.

Discomfort stabs from sensing my conscience
shrouded in a mourner's robe
while lying and wasting away in my closet
where I hide fake reality's trophies.

Sometimes a bird of fancy flees
running into a wall of excuses.
I slowly drift off to lethargy's coma
grateful it gives me a reason not to learn how to fly.

Seduction's Arches

Craving's crescent crunches
unshelled of mystery,
mouth mistress
waistline lament