Pools

And she wades
the dream waters.
immersed in their images
until the fairy inside
floats her heart
beyond night.

Flying to where
she’s never been.

Regrettable Flukes Of Fate

Oh wicked sting that has touched my innocent hands
so they must bear the shame of blunders,
can’t control how those forces collide
with the sweet desires for love and kindness.

Now I hope you will understand
how this is a sadness that reigns over me,
one that I take no delight in
while I sit here today in this courtroom
ready to explain the misfortunes of luck
that have befallen me.

There I was simply wishing
to prepare a small morsel of sandwich lunch
when all of sudden my fingers developed cramps
just about the time that woman next door
came through the kitchen door
and you can imagine my shock
once my arm flew by itself
like it was possessed due to my muscle spasms,
which resulted in the blade stabbing her twelve times.

Surely the courts can appreciate this was not intentional
any more than the three other times it happened.
And I vow that I have replaced all my cutlery
in order to help ensure it won’t happen again.

If there is any chance for the court to grant me mercy
at least you can appreciate
how I did eliminate that faulty chain saw
as well as the ax I had
after those sad incidents of involuntary butchery.

Just hope you that my making changes like that
will be a sign to the powers that be
about my genuine desire to only do good
even when things happen beyond my means to stop.

Relax

Creativity is most like a wind,
it blows so easily,
yet any barrier can stop its gust.

So stress, negative feelings
or anything that distracts
can diminish the flow of imagination
through the brain.

Now to awaken what fell asleep
is not a complicated process,
more a matter of opening up
that dam of inspiration,
which so many things can wall away,
like being constipation
only in terms of expression.

The best way to revive what has atrophied
starts with some random writing,
merely let the mind stroll the pastures
of any types of thoughts that come,
it is just to open up the subconscious
and let it become its true self again.

Just don’t build it into a demand
so it leads to brain lock
relax, breath deep and dream
until your wings return.

Fire In Paradise

Volcano sauce
on beef and cheese,
corn shell bite,
flaming taco heaven.

Bumper Stickers

Bumper stickers are the vote
not counted by politicians.

Catching The Wind

Inspiration is the wind felt
so incredibly like it is reaching to the ones,
even when sitting alone in complete stillness,
it is light from a thousand stars
that explodes in the mind
though the night is pitch black.

Inward is where creativity truly burns
and often there are so many ways,
which extinguish the flame,
stress, worry and anxiety
suck the energy from the mind,
we end up feeling flat and listless in imagination,
think there is something wrong.

Then a damn builds in the head
with all the intuitive thoughts walled away
unable to let those juices flow.

For me to break that reservoir
starts with a leak,
a simple stream in thinking
regardless of the essence,
because it cascades in ever increasing power,
slowly moving through my head
until it reaches my fingers.

Suddenly the barrier breaks,
then my eyes discover all the sights,
which were truly there all the time
only I just couldn’t see them.

Within the swirling sensations come,
like a flood they immerse
so each image becomes
another droplet in my inventive pool
totally causing ripples to my understanding
as the muse rises from expression’s lake
to once again drench me
in her poetic waters.

The Soul of Scheherazade

When the night's air kisses with warm, dry lips
and the mind escape to oasis in a mystical desert,
nomadic spirit stirs the eve with restless expectations,
moving from the simple quiet of ordinariness' tents
to soar upon dove's flight by fancy's vivid wings.

Feeling inside the soul of Scheherazade
speak the tales riveting in magic, love and hope,
able to embrace with a tease of wonderment,
a chance to experience a vagabond's unexpected blessings
or the mercy of when a pauper is graced with prosperity.

Gazing outward at the darkness
where one's problems sleep
and savoring that taste of the impossible becoming truth,
which her stories shared with such entrancing imagination.

Surrendering wholly with the heart
unto the charms that her Arabian creations
wove in spellbound sagas,
giving my wounded life such lifting thoughts,
how perhaps there is a chance in my own wilderness
for a miracle to come in the arid blackness,
unable to stop recalling Aladdin's fate,
its enchantment spreading over my essence
as a carpet, soothing and serene,
inspiring me to always think
somewhere I too
can find my own lamp of dreams.

Plastic

Amputated affinities lying as mangled reverie helmets
upon the floor of one's pulsating emotive tabernacle,
passion's piano played with desire's percolating notes,
delusion's weathering decays fervor's membrane's keyboard.

Credit card pump used as organ transplant,
beating to artificial pace maker of materialism's batteries
until ardor that once craved love's transfusion
uses malls as prescription for high blood pressure
and sales to treat disappointment's cholesterol,
plastic bi pass surgery never curing disease of depression's angina.

Forfeiture

Languishing
in melancholy's basement
phobia's skulls
clutter mind.

Realization's crucifix
glows in darkness,
inspiring transcendence's nightmares.

Lungs exhale apprehensions,
spirit forfeits morgue anticipations
rises as dove
embracing sacrifice
of imprisoning paranoia.

Discovering deliver within,
resurrected faith
sees Gospel's truth.

You Got It Wrong!

There was no mercy
in Ms. Telleson’s
tenth grade English class
for those who misspelled a single word,
she screamed and bang her ruler
against her desk,
leaving us petrified.

Agnes, Super A model student
was her pet,
her source to ridicule the rest of us,
until once she misspelled,
Tuesday.

Embarrassment
sweat from Agnes forehead,
we thought she was doomed,
only teacher called it creativity,
spelled favoritism.

The Alley Ghosts

I remember the days of being a delivery driving
in the heart of Los Angeles,
cruising those cold, dark streets of three am,
business with iron grills across their entrances,
walls covered in graffiti,
neon signs with broken letters
you had to use your imagination to read
and the endless blocks of soulless streets.

How often I would pass the rescue mission,
lines outside of those sleeping on the pavement
who weren’t among the fortunate
that made it inside before it ran out of room.

Kept the windows rolled up
because of that stench like rotting potatoes,
which often rose from the gutters
was so overpowering when I had to get out
in order to make a stop.

Drove past the cerulean glass towers
of the famous Bonaventure Hotel,
along with the tall buildings where the banks rose
as towering edifices in the downtown.

On the radio the talk show host
preached his message of charity
how proud he was of the city
working so hard to help the homeless.

But it was hard to tell when you parked in an alley
seeing the ghosts that the government forget,
always cringing inside
knowing I wasn’t much better off,
separated by my minimum wage paycheck.

Sometimes able to share some change or food,
ever nagged by their eyes,
life long ago bleed from their view,
another heart abandoned to the concrete wilderness.

Waterfalls

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

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

Umbilical

What are the nutrients that can honestly feed
that place inside, which is so hungry and hollow,
sometimes doesn’t reach our deepest, pressing need
for our fears have placed a seal over what we swallow?

Because time teaches how being vulnerable has a risk
though we know our armor can’t be worn all the time,
yet that meal we crave may be served so biting and brisk
totally aching our essence and wavering our very prime.

Still even when our worries hold a lock over our desire
inside there remains a willingness to find a feast,
since you can’t stop that craving from becoming a fire
no matter how much you try to control that inner beast.

Oh when that appetite takes on its special sultry tone
where the body is ravenous for a touch and any caress,
as that bolt of resolve over the moment starts to groan
then the key of restraint opens to the heart’s craving request.

It’s the constant clash between rules and one’s urge as wish
that has no single cure, which will end the conflict felt,
while we dream of every forbidden form of savory dish,
which won’t require wearing any type of mental chastity belt.

The Cellar

It was Tuesday and I was tied by ribbons
held hostage by a maniac dressed in white,
we screamed love songs and commercial jingles
then fell into a cellar of pure darkness
while learning to swim in stagnation
so we could explain to those drowning
why we feel asleep
when they screamed for help.

Dark Angel Of Sweet Release

I remember the cold, empty days
of beatings and cruelty,
the mastery of leaving scars on the mind,
totally violating the heart,
but never leaving a mark or witnesses.

So I walked a broken jar of being,
kept my pain inside while thinking,
surely this punishment was deserved
for some sin I committed
though I couldn’t remember
what I did so wrong.

Left a shell in my existence
Nobody asked about my hollowness,
just sitting in the high school classroom,
while watching everyone else act
like they were cool,
though to them I was some kind of leper.

Later in the pain of my waning esteem,
what relief came unto my brain
the moment that voice of divine judgment
suddenly spoke to me in the night,
then I became the dark angel,
no longer worthless and rejected,
carefully listening to those instructions
to help so many suffering lives
find a path of liberty
out of their agony.

I was confused at times
over the amazingly hideous ways of salvation,
my instructions to disembowel, decapitate
and totally mutilate those I had been told
were worthy of redemption.

Cherries

Honeymoon juices
of innocence's salvia
drip in succulence
from the trees of moments
where one savors
that first bite,
a cherry encounter,
unblemished, raw,
rush of naiveté's sugar
floods the veins
with its intense
virginal flavors.

Lighting impressions
sear the senses,
lingering in afterglow
as a residue of ecstasy,
taste buds ever craving fruit
yet touched by lips.

Tails

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

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

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

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

Respite

Driven by a zephyr wind blowing over my heart,
scents of evergreen remembered
lure me to the oasis fountain
between wisdom’s pines,
the scenic communion chapel
felt as cascading seconds in calm,
one subtle respite over my chaos
captured in a glimpse.

Nature draped as a stunning moment
of backpack encounter effulgence,
when the waters flowed through the soul
drown the darkness in their power to baptize,
utterly immersed in a oneness
between life and creation.

To reach the terrace within the mind
while my world creeps in stress bites,
conjured as flaming spiders
who crawl over the chest

Returned in an exhale to a vernal gypsy caress,
a palatial reservoir that teems
with paradisiacal phantoms,
where I touch that mirror in my mind
and feel its shadow blow over me
through the vibrant aura of golden quintessence,
that feathered flight of realization’s quixotic dreams,
as the cherub twin of my life
stirs in the thickets,
seldom appearing
except for a frail realty I paint with wishes.

Spicy

Hot and zesty
one drop can totally flame,
because life
without creative sauce
is like having a lymph taco
for your brain.

Catching The Wind

Inspiration is the wind felt
so incredibly like it is reaching to the ones,
even when sitting alone in complete stillness,
it is light from a thousand stars
that explodes in the mind
though the night is pitch black.

Inward is where creativity truly burns
and often there are so many ways,
which extinguish the flame,
stress, worry and anxiety
suck the energy from the mind,
we end up feeling flat and listless in imagination,
think there is something wrong.

Then a damn builds in the head
with all the intuitive thoughts walled away
unable to let those juices flow.

For me to break that reservoir
starts with a leak,
a simple stream in thinking
regardless of the essence,
because it cascades in ever increasing power,
slowly moving through my head
until it reaches my fingers.

Suddenly the barrier breaks,
then my eyes discover all the sights,
which were truly there all the time
only I just couldn’t see them.

Within the swirling sensations come,
like a flood they immerse
so each image becomes
another droplet in my inventive pool
totally causing ripples to my understanding
as the muse rises from expression’s lake
to once again drench me
in her poetic waters.

Dancing

Ignite the scented candles
so the fragrances waltz
soothingly through the nostrils.
Soft melodies play on the stereo
to make the heart sway to their rhythmic spell.

Fingers trace their special notes the skin
and kiss places on the passion pedals
will the soul get lost in love’s ballet.

In the subtle charmed surrender
comes the heated dance of sighs.

Exceptions

Upon the smooth, silky layers woven
lie the cracks and fissures formed
while cultivating the uniformity of texture
upon the surface sewn as façade.

What hides in those flaws
is the contrast to sublime
a hollow haunting chasm
where those exceptions thrive,
only they never die or fade away,
instead we give them life
by reaching inside where they hide
to expose their identity.

But their true face remains unclear,
all that is exposed is something unfamiliar,
totally contrary to our perceptions.

Left breathless and uneasy
from the light revealing an oddity
that creates a puzzle we can’t easily solve,
it just stalks us with its existence
left wondering if a force or power
is playing a game with our perceptions.

Some will stuff that rare mysterious discovery
back into the hole to hope it disappears,
others will write about it, but never touch it again,
but none can forget that question it causes
about why something we can’t interpret
dwells where it can tease our peace and harmony.

One Heartbeat

One heartbeat of apprehension,
one second of fear stained thought
and you feel the repercussions
for the rest of your life time.

Each day awakes in roads
a countless trail of options
where you never know the dead ends
from the spot where you stand,
no turning around after you move
no undoing the directions taken.

Life becomes that passage
across the turns taken in the mind
it is the times you live
with all the dents and dings
knowing the came
by the way you steered you car.

Looking back at where you came
can’t stop the passenger of ghost
who haunt from every stop never made
each side road you passed by
then later stung with regret
because you wish you had given it a try.

Still have to keep on travelling,
have to accept the mistakes made,
all the accidents and tickets earned
because no one ever rides through life
without sometimes getting lost.

And the hardest lesson to learn from driving
is to embrace where you are
while accepting you got there
as the result of each move you made
just being honest about where you reached
even when it isn’t always
where you hoped to be.

That’s the journey that is the hardest
spending more time finding the good
instead of complaining over
what didn’t happen,
because excuses never heal the past,
they just prevent you from enjoying the future.

Persisting Paces Precariously Performed

In the shudders and shakes of pressure phenomena
how we preserve the precious balance
between our practice and probing pains
by the devotion to progress against each predicament.

For philosophies may prioritized their procedures,
pontificating prophets proliferate their prestige,
yet it is the process of steadfast steps
against the peril and piercing pangs
that truly endures with positive purposes,
which can prove a plateau in peace.

Oh the countless constrictions that come
when all that protect against pariah and paranoia’s phantoms
is a mindset beset by pragmatic pessimism
and so seductively will preside over thinking
so it leads to the peculiar passions of poignancy,
utterly obsessed with demonstrating futility
through actions that mirror what they negatively predict.

But strip away of that dark and gloomy vision
those with eyes who see rainbows and solutions
keep on their program of possibilities
totally moving by a will that will project
success in the middle of each trial.

Inspired!

The mystery of the muse is often misunderstood
we think she’s some mystical and magical creature,
but really she just spreads her inspiration
after she gets her own type from watching life.

Which sometimes leads
to rather confusing consequences
for those times she waves a bird brain philosophy
or the simple feline feature of curiosity
though it can get blended with a hunger for rats
so what gets into the head is rather bizarre
occasionally leading to strange writings
totally unusual and other than logical,
but filled with lots of questions
only no real answers that make sense.

Alas, the final form is perhaps the worse
when it leads to expressions that a big win
they fan the air with lots of words
that blow over the mind in their breeze,
yet not always in ways that are true,
but blast you with their airy thoughts.

Meanwhile we read the results
of all her whims did produce
then wonder why in some situations
you have to question
if there was any sanity with the person
who took the time to pen that work,
well the reality is
not always when the muse
spreads her touch
after she was poking around
some litter box, bottom of a bird cage
or the dust on a fan’s blades.

Persisting Paces Precariously Performed

In the shudders and shakes of pressure phenomena
how we preserve the precious balance
between our practice and probing pains
by the devotion to progress against each predicament.

For philosophies may prioritized their procedures,
pontificating prophets proliferate their prestige,
yet it is the process of steadfast steps
against the peril and piercing pangs
that truly endures with positive purposes,
which can prove a plateau in peace.

Oh the countless constrictions that come
when all that protect against pariah and paranoia’s phantoms
is a mindset beset by pragmatic pessimism
and so seductively will preside over thinking
so it leads to the peculiar passions of poignancy,
utterly obsessed with demonstrating futility
through actions that mirror what they negatively predict.

But strip away of that dark and gloomy vision
those with eyes who see rainbows and solutions
keep on their program of possibilities
totally moving by a will that will project
success in the middle of each trial.

Towers

Bejeweled spiraling spires in sanity’s steeples
spilled in serene supplications of supplanted sayings,
oh it was the erector set of possibilities
existing in that mouth of positive propaganda.

And we drooled and gasped at the image
of the evoked ecstasy from euphoric edifices,
letting those visions build in our heard,
letting their feel be a mountain in our hearts.

So we clustered in pure ravenous revelry,
assured our hopes would soon have a tent,
a marvelous, towering haven of passion
where this life would thrive so incredibly
while we would find paradise inside.

It all felt so alive, so incredibly real,
this promised utopia that we could occupy
just by adjusting our brains to only accept
only optimistic charms as portent of tomorrow’s facts.

But it was only a fantasy,
one sad and sick conjuring of dementia,
problem with trusting to an architect of change
is not appreciating when he’s insane!

Next time we’ll have learned from the mistake
happily not thinking when he talks
to helpers that are not there
how it is some kind of comedian act
instead of his perception of what is reality!

Bomb Sites

Focused frailties fumble for a fix
in those bull’s eye obsessions
that lusts for the leftovers of ruination.

Finger kept on the trigger in the head,
mind releases the conscience,
it explodes on the innocence
instead of the fragmentation
of their lives.

Just stuffing away the view
merely content to know you could have killed
without feasting on the victims
since its enough to know you can.

Fragile

Like rose petals,
life blossoms in the wind,
but wither so quickly,
then decay
when replaced by thorns
as the heart’s flowers.

Tomorrow

If tomorrow came before my eyes
with every vivid detailed it held in its hour glass
could I cope with the sight of suffering
suddenly seeing some of the people I know
become corpses as I viewed their agony and death?

Would I thrive on seeing each new invention
while having to also watch the horror of evil
inflict its wounds upon the world
and observe each scream or plea for protection
though having no power to stop the crimes?

And what fate would I face
if I dare to warn of some catastrophe?
History shows most prophets
end up being silenced in some terrible way,
plus knowing that horrible event was coming
surely would eat at my insides.

Perhaps I would suffer the usual malady
of knowing things you’re not meant to know,
eventually ending up in padded room
until my sanity was destroyed.

Yet, how could I not dare to look
despite all those risks?
Can’t imagine I could resist
because I would still hope
that view might give me a chance
to help someone before disaster struck,
even if it carried a consequence
just never know when it might
undo what was a potential tragedy
and in the process
next time I gazed
there would be a different future.

Vacancies

The door in my mind has a key in my heart
and a locksmith in a book, yet to be read.