Glass Blowing

crystalline flames
dance subtle suggestions,
shaped into terrarium for fireflies
the star sinew of the soul

effigy expectations
drug from earthen tombs,
molded like mud pies,
to sculpt their windowsill promises
the hopelessly transparent murmurs,
blown into the form of shell
to hear the sea

though it doesn’t sing
where neon burns
a rhapsody of silicon

passed around as a Olympic torch
another sun buried
underneath a pile of used matches

auras collect on their globes,
frail pearls of tear drop Edens

look deeply into their world
and pray it won’t shatter

so rainbows don’t die
passed by lips
from one dimly lit waltz
over broken candles

but they were tossed into a chimney,
fire extinguisher held in the hand,
in case they cause as spark
and night
slid across the floor
as an melting ice cube

Oh Cruel Craftsman

What agony I bear
ripped from my fallow soil patch
without a voice to protest,
then shut in this house,
such horrible mumblings they speak,
can it be true?
Will they really butcher me
before calling me Jack?

Finally the cruelest
insult comes
all that is left
is a pie.

Dial Tones

Days of phone booths
strewn like numerous sentinels
those pit stop lifelines sprouting on every corner
have faded into a distant recollection
a simple time echo before cell phone frenzy.

I can drive miles on city streets and never find one
the few I do often see don’t work
and the no longer are a complete booth,
just this cover with a phone inside ,
lacking any phone book.

There was a moment
when those booths were way stations ,
places you could close the door,
feel the quiet against the street chaos
then call a familiar voice
all for a quarter.

Now the few I find
just are mere shells
often missing windows,
overhead lights don’t work
or they are missing receivers.

Perhaps it is progress
maybe it is the predictable transition
from one style of life to another
yet I miss those booths
as a little chamber of refuge
where you could collect your thoughts
while hearing the dial tone
that made you relax mid all the stress.
 

All Around The Hive

Those busy little bees
who are weaving their tongue honey
so happily running around
while making sure
they collect that gossip pollen.

Oh it is such great fertilizer
a bunch of crap that keeps growing
until before you know it
there’s one big gooey honeycomb
of those sweet, juicy tales
just waiting to be eaten.

Don’t even have to find
any customers to sell
that wonderful make up syrup
since so many love the taste
and can’t wait to get another
wonderful mouthful.

Inspiration

The blooms of insight,
which grow upon life’s many stems
flower in the mind
as the intuitive buds
that sprout as a creative spring
within the fingers.

They write the vernal awakenings
from within the heart
by a season in renewal
where beauty is expressed
in the burgeoning awareness
and you share the harvest
of their power and meaning
through the memorable
and passionate petals in words.

The Evening Casserole

In the night the songs served a stew of resonance,
the flavors of tones simmering in the soul,
with the scent of distant roses
slowly becoming a balm devoured for its blissful textures,
eyes supping upon the pastry of illumination
that summoned a soothing syrup,
spread as icing over the heart.

The air carried a breeze of cool caress,
carefully combing the pores with their zesty touch,
which was ingested as a serene soup,
slowly savored for its blissful condiments.

Within it became a cornucopia for the conscience
so readily consumed it each arousing ingredient
while words became the muffins of the mind,
a tranquil snack that inspired a banquet in calming appetizers
until one’s very being was wholly satiated by the buffet.

Amid the fragrant glow of the communal flicker
there was a sugar for the spirit so enriching,
seasoned by the ambience
of the quintessential sensory smorgasbord,
utterly swirling together
a veritable blend in stimulation spices,
totally entwining the moment into a spellbound entrée.

Happily dipped in that charm’s sauce,
completely swallowing its every audible and visual portion
as the staple and sustenance of the evening casserole.

Interludes

Eyes sensing something strange
along these steps that feels familiar
thought can't remember being here before,
confusion blends with curiosity
inspiring the need to look for more.

Memories still a murky stew
yet knowing inside hands once
graced this isle of breath.

Winged being first journey
through Heaven's portal of light,
making presence among the mortals,
part of transformation
when turning from soul to angel.

Former life temporarily lost in the process,
sent to Earth part of the regeneration and healing,
for the cherub spirit will instinctively travel
to the places where one's cherished in life
can be found,
interlude of bonding eternal with temporal
serving purpose to give immortal his heart.

Learning in the unfolding experience
God's most earnest lesson,
time and thought might clash in understanding,
but love truly never forgets.

Tidal Sighs

Sleeping soul drinks the crests
ocean washing their sea shell song
over the senses, drinking as elixir
swimming its spell from the shore.

Feeling as a reed, obeying life's wind,
sea gull passions soaring in salt air incense,
one blink and conscious becomes as seaweed,
floating freely among the ebb tide's frothy swells.

Calm floods with voice of crashing waves
parting the mind in tranquil curtains
sail boat dreams stirred in the pool of inhaling
nature's watery enchantment becomes love affair.

Relived as vibrant surfing seconds
when drowning in monotony's lake,
where one casts the cares of buoy existence
as rocks swept away by the currents of time.

Honesty

In an era of political corrections
tolerance and sensitive training,
daring corporation forged
its new employee relations philosophy.

Boldly declaring in blunt metaphor metal
the soul of their priority.

Erecting statue at entrance
as testimonial of their expectations
from every one that is hired.

Truth replacing executive rhetoric
not longer feeling need to pretend,
just looking for bodies to command,
no brain attached to question or challenge.

And for those with a complaint
they are told to voice their gripe
by putting lips on statue's behind.

Robbed

They always smile in such peaceful stares
when stopping to suck your seconds,
but they are in charge and rules are rules
so you must listen to every word
even if they are dribbling confusion
flowing with nothing except distraction.

The big hint they don’t care
comes when they check their watches
like they were baking some cake
and deciding when it is done.

Later they walk away
content over their robbing another life,
sad it is when one person
has no real life to live
thus must suck away other’s minutes
just for the feel,
a simple thrill of being a time vampire
while just an undead soul inside.

Scissors

Little snips slice deep into the mind
they create the image of cookie cutter lives
expected to always be like a paper doll,
one dimensional and so fragile,
never able to think or feel
other than by some pattern.

How those tailors only follow
the lines they want
and if some part of you
doesn’t fit inside,
it’s trimmed away without care
so you lost part of yourself
in order to appear
as they want you shaped.

Toss away the scissors they offer
I can make my own design,
one that won’t kill my identity
make it sliced, diced and in pieces.

Would that there were no cutters at all
and no blueprints for being
someone always dictated as necessary.

So sometimes we just have to dwell
beyond those razors and blades,
where we can craft who we really are
from what we see within
instead of what others view without.

That Subtle, Tainted Tease In Seduction

She’s the seductress living in the head,
a nymph of whims who you can’t resist
for thrives on the sweet tease to the imagination
when October offers such spells
to cast aside the ordinary
and yield to the siren song
with a witch’s howl and ghost’s moan.

It’s the season the heart
is carved like a pumpkin
easily cutting out those inhibitions
and pretend to play the minions of the dark,
if only meant to be in fun,
but never thinking she is listening
so she can visit during dreams
spill her tainted, torturous brain brew
over one’s sleep.

Blurs of images come during the occasions,
eyes entranced to possibly see
movement in the shadows
and sense monsters lurking everywhere.

It’s all an atmosphere of love and hate
allowing the thoughts to wonder
about so many possible creatures
only seen as real on All Hallow’s Eve.

What pity no one suspects
once they accept her charms
they never cease for working
so any time of day or night
another touch she might give
leading to a shiver or shake
while sensing something sinister
awaits to come and claim
your heart and life.

But how can resist her treat
since fantasies are such a great dessert,
even though we eat the so easily
learning to late about her tricks.

Neat Is Neat

“Order is divine,”
Zellug would chant,
then wail over
mixes in paper clips sizes
and toilet paper put on the role
to pull underneath instead of front!

A missed period
was cause for a funeral,
one spelling error
deserved the death penalty.

His wife went insane
after he used a label maker
on bread.

He didn’t mind
since the mental ward’s forms
were so very detailed.
Which he added his own revision
just to make them perfect.
About how his spouse
surely was loony
because she squeezed
the toothpaste in the middle!

Doors

I cover my nakedness behind veils,
but there are small holes
so you can see into my secrets.

My hands massage the illusions,
carefully moving objects
to keep them having the image
my insides have no emptiness.

When something gets broken
or I have so need unseen,
carefully I collect the baubles
in ways no one detects
how I have wept over my void.

Words strung like decorative festoons
create the masquerade of fullness.
The biggest fear is someone having a key
who will intrude to discover
the counterfeit mask I’ve made
out of what I let other’s see.
Yet I will keep up the design
barely clinging to the reality
of how it functions.
Perhaps I’ll lose control
toss aside the lies,
let the deep canyons I hide
be exposed to be seen,
will I bear the consequences?
Not if I can keep those fractured fragments
buried in a closet.

Maze Meandering

I live in a maze of meandering mental musings,
sometimes utterly lost and wanting to scream,
bruised and scarred, confused and driven to extreme,
while holding a white flag to surrender
though not able to truly identify
my actual enemies or where the war took place.

There’s a library in my head,
with so much time I’ve spent hiding there
reading books about courage and virtue
though often lacking both.

It has wall paper that dances
possessed by the images of all the things I’ve never been.
One has an image of a huge cathedral
because somewhere in the mist of it all
heaven still lingers in my brain.

Inside I keep falling down the swirling mass of chaos,
which has its opening in that library
and it takes me everywhere
except to an exit to reality.

My heart languishes in this twisting of my emotions
just feeling like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz
when she was caught up in that tornado.

Only I don’t land in Oz,
there are no munchkins there or witches,
merely more of the dark strange lands
that my imagination and fears spin together
where I keep wandering as a vagabond
sometimes feeling so alone and filled with sadness
because there is no passage to paradise,
though God does appear in the fog and smoke
as He grants me enough reason to breathe
so I keep on moving to no where defined.

The Ways Of The Crab

Each quality mentioned is there in my heart,
It rings out of my soul in throbbing chants,
I feel them deeply, stroked by their presence,
but it is all trapped in my shell
the dome of distance where I hide,
where I retreat to reflect on life
or twist reality into a twine of thought.

Inside I bleed at a word,
nearly die from any criticism,
have skin so incredible sensitive
to the slightest prick of my being.

It drives me to want more for others,
thought I get wounded so deeply in the process
then when I hurt I can’t forget,
just move outward and away from the enemy,
no capacity to deal with those
who stab me at any point.

I will hold onto those I love forever,
give them every ounce of my spirit,
not ask anything in return,
yet weep alone when they don’t say thanks.

This is the way of the crab
hard on the outside
far to soft within,
never unwilling to help another heal,
even though I will not broadcast it
from the haven of my shelled existence.

Them Darn Discounts!

Well the economy genius always look for a new turn
for some creative way to inspire new retail sales,
so what they heck, now a new offer comes to customers.

It’s an all discount, wage sales cost invention,
over the price of a purchase
based on what you think the help did to serve,
then let them show you with their behavior
how they earn that hourly rate.

It’s plead for prices at its best,
humiliation a plus if you want a bonus,
now that we live in sales slump valleys
why any trick will do.

Can’t wait till the put price labels on help,
now that will really be a beautiful option.

At least it will bring a few smiles
maybe even some bonus fun,
that way the poor pay
will hopefully find some reasons to laugh
instead of just needing a reason to cry!



 

Steel Fingers

Though the air summons any climatic knots
tying up the mind and stirring the stomach,
even when the cupboard is a hollow pit
and no horizon cavalry await to ease the hunger
my fingers might bend, but never break
to reach out and help shield you against that pain.

For what is life and its panoply of problems
but mere seasons of the heart?
None can ever rob you of a smile
or toss your soul into a dark sizzling vat
because my hands will be there
ever holding on no matter the risk
even if it means I have to fall myself.

Because our friendship is a sun
burning without end,
a brilliant star we can see in any night
radiant with how we care for each other.

Now when the morn summons fears
just know our light will outshine that darkness,
it will never end no matter what happens.

Take my hand in yours and sleep in peace
tonight I be there to whisper every assurance
until you only know my arms will be there
to suffer the scars upon my own body
so you won’t suffer another moment’s stress.

And that is the bond we share
two lives like siblings who give all for the other
with a love that will never cease
as long as there is a day or night.

Seasons Of Shorelines

Hourglass embryos of hasty drawn plans
spun upon the wind like delicate spider webs
capturing the wave song in momentary moldings,
desperately thinking they will breathe
if the hands can massage miracles.

Oh the vanity of footprints
left upon that shore
in the winter of the mind,
prayerful visits to the beaches
where sunsets are vivid postcards
and nothing ever dies,
but the waters come anyway
they rot the iron made of grains
because it is wine that seduces,
blurs and numbs.

Whispers petition for spring
with all its mirrors,
yet deep down knowing
they are too made of sand,
fading like any vision
while still strolling towards
another buoy sound
thinking summer will never end
if enough beach is crossed,
forgetting the ruination seen,
which resembles tombstones
that also decay.

 

The Doors Of Night

Darkness never smothers a dream
for the eyes can see so far beyond a tear,
can drift and float and hover
where the body is trapped in the shadows.

And inside there are the keys
to open every door of night
that often hides in the ebony space,
just waiting for the mind to locate
each place that offers escape
out of the sorrow’s cumbersome cage.

Yet they are there,
always able to be found
if one hears the keys jingle
with the ears of the heart
for they speak to our deepest need,
tell us of what we’ve lost and crave,
what we truly want to bring joy again.

So in the times of midnight’s rule,
to pause and search inside
will take this time of murmurs and echoes
and let it have its own way to light.

Just pausing in the sadness
totally reaching outside its realm,
allows laughter to hint of its presence
behind some nearby door.

Bare

A smile that isn’t a deceptive mask,
a frown that isn’t a soap opera expression,
each layer of the tongue
woven without condition or question.

Those are the instinct reaction
we often grope for in any conversation,
yet sometimes when something is naked
and truly without any covering
it comes as such a shock,
since it so agrees with what we see
there is this apprehension
that it is still an act.

What is real and truly bare when presented
is more of a challenge to accomplish
than we often accept,
because life is so lived with other decorations,
which we get so used to adding ourselves.

Perhaps that is why too many times
when something is shown
for what is really there
an explanation is needed in our minds
to make sure it is accepted as not a fake.

Only problem is liars can add that too
leaving another endless circle drawn over the mind.
So we walk those journeys around the lips
in hopes to reach an end
where what we find
doesn’t end up another detour.

The Scarlet Scribe

On donned the claret cap,
the scarlet scribe resides,
strolling in sagacious steps
across the fields of the mind!

Yup, Bubba Guru has it all,
wisdom flows from his Budwiser wisdom,
a dribble, a drab,
red eye mornings
match his hat!

It’s ya all listen now,
lend me your ears,
corn type that is,
we gonna brew some smarts,
white lightning still thoughts.

Then we’ll head down to the fishing hole
maybe even take a pole,
or be fishers of men
like it says in the good book,
only it never mentions hookers,
we’ll dang they seem to do the best
at catching men anyhow.

Never mind,
since we all is doing just fine,
gotten some pork rinds and brew,
which is a paradise that will do.

Blowing In The Wind

Pollution out of control,
air so dangerous to health,
no hope on the horizon,
so desperate scientist came up
with the perfect solution.

Forget the EPA and smog devices,
pointless to try and stop
all that industrial smoke
filling the skies.

Now the world breathes easier
each person having their own
nasal gas mask,
every ready to filter out what is harmful,
walking outdoors again a joy.

Thoughts given to everyone
changing names to Cyrano de Bergerac.
Elephants now the roll model
for plastic surgeons.

Life getting perfect
in its own odiferous way,
who needs dogs to check for drugs any longer
when anyone can smell them
ten miles from any airport?

Deliverance

Anal retentive plans
her ecstasy,
euphoric
in her accountant's world.

Until witnessing
underworld murder,
entering witness protection program
who used radical appearance
for safety.

Traumatized
by new identity,
dreaming of lobotomy,
hiding from neighbor,
a psychotic vigilante
that says a couple
they're meant to be,
offering severed ears
as jewelry.

Perception's Unblemished Aura

Plumes of matchless purity
bedecked in silent, stunning effulgence,
array in the mesmerizing gape of elegance
perception's unblemished aura.

Alabaster tinctures,
fate's gift from the womb,
beguile in their angelic facsimile.

Breathless beauty blown by nature's breath
brings its scent in spellbound charms,
but its aroma summons a blend of reactions,
turning toxic as envy's stench
instead of fragrant as appreciation's incense.

Feathers of outer opulence
never a glimpse at the splendor within,
where words uttered
expose the echoes of majesty in the soul
or the pungent perfume of hate's ugly wind.

Butchered

She hated the feel from bits of bloody flesh
left on the floor from her dad’s butcher shop
always made her nearly vomit
when he made her crawl on hands and knees
though that mass of mutilated dripping beef.

Love was the insanity of tolerating
his moods of carving and slicing
making sure she never missed any gruesome detail
no matter how it much it turned her stomach.

What was worse came with the screams
for he always slaughtered his victims
how they would cry and shout in deafening tones
from the basement where they had been lead.

If only he didn’t make her watch
as he would decapitated and then begin
removing their organs,
when some broiled meat was placed before her
that he had killed only recently,
her mind was trapped she that defenseless creature’s face
those sad eyes and made it hard for her
to truly consume the serving without being upset.

Still, he insisted she eat every bite
waste was a sin and no excuse,
so she slowly ate it even
though at times he refuse to let her wash off her body
after having helped in his shop.

Some nights she was terrified by nightmares
each somehow related to her father’s job,
always left her with horrible disfigured image,
which linger in her head all day.
The smell only made things worse
on hot days when it grew to be lot rotting meat,
it was enough to keep her from ever wanting
another mouthful of that type of meal.

Perhaps she escape soon enough
then forget this horror,
there had to be a place in the world
with a chance to live
free from a parent
who is a devout cannibal.


 

Uncontrollable

Our eyes met and it was kismet’s ticket
at that deserted juncture in life
far from the stations that lead to dreams.

One look possessed our hearts utterly lost and out on control
hopelessly aware we were on collision course,
unable to keep them from racing
every muscle tight and tense
with a pumping, pounding power,
the intense raging rush inside
that stirred our minds in dizzying daze.

But the ride was so flush with adrenaline
surely it was divine in its intent,
never worried the possible consequence
for something that felt so good couldn’t ever be bad
then came the moment the journey became an accident,
how it rammed my head against reality’s walls.

Was a jaunt that didn’t end as I hoped,
learned so painfully in long lament on that internet track,
love is a conductor who is also the engineer
that gives you a seat knowing the rails end at a canyon.

Lesson’s Learned

Life can be a very demanding teacher
when we don’t always do the homework,
think we can strut by our own wisdom
while searching for some trophy.

How tumbled are the steps taken
if running by our own timer,
though we feel a tinge of apprehension
from knowing we tried a style
truly troubled and tantamount to bruises,
because the warning signs sent a telegraph
so visible to our senses
that we ignore as inklings to discard.

Even though they come in tender hints
our inner telephone of impulse
has dialed the number for the will,
far too happy to listen to that mentor
no matter how many times it proves wrong

February Second Visions

And he gazed from that nice warm hole
out at the world with ground hog thoughts,
saw two nerds with camera arguing over if snow needed a flash,
a cop twirling handcuffs and singing some Opera ballad,
two old ladies walking their pet poodles
while holding silver pooper scoopers with smiling faces.

Then this mountain of a construction worker
stomped by carrying a chainsaw and beer,
he smoked a cigar and bellowed about roots
before suddenly pulling out some knitting
that he used to calm his frail nerves.

Three teenagers skipped by carrying a blaring stereo boom box,
they were assaulted by an angry gang of girl scouts
that were on noise pollution crusades.

But the poor ground hog just sighed
for this new subdivision they built near his hole
didn’t look so insane when it started,

Time to go back to sleep
before deciding if he will take up
his cousin’s invite to move to Punsutawney!

Dancing

She dreamt with hope’s ballet slippers
the liberty air in lofty pirouettes
on the breathes
of promises like lifting helium balloons.

They were the flights
in Paper Mache fabrications
with invisible strings
cleverly wired to howling puppeteers.

And severing the lines of legalese lies
always leaves tattoos you can’t erase.