Remembrance of odors that filled mewith elation and sorrow. A tempting, taunting whiffof gardeniason the breeze. Tuneful, memorable songsof youth and optimisticfervencythat follow andfill you with sad exuberanceand regret. Lying beside her,one night in watermelon season,on grassy tufts of summer,we joined together once,and never again. Reality butting its rapaciousneedwas voraciousin its passionate urging to forget. To fo...
Earth rises to the west, and a deep blackness thick as milk is to the east. Through the glass in front of you is the saddest sight you will ever see. But yet, you do not know why. Beneath you are screams of metal, crunching and crashing, terrifying your bones. They shake and tremble, holding eachother together. Losing all feeling in your muscles, all you feel are your nerves sending electricity through your body. Shocks a...
Down the middle are white birds flying against the hard, black sea. They fly past me, almost through me, and thin sun beams follow quickly past. The end of the sky is met with gray ashes that run down the seams keeping the whole scene together. A rumble under my feet reminds me of the continents shaking and growling as they moved into place. Rubber against the deep, asphalt sky rolls and pushes off the wings of the white...
Postcards have been made of the circus and it’s parade that was recently in town and are being sold on the streets, which I observed with the girl from the north country fair on the balcony at the turning of twilight as the stars turned red, and we both looked out on the sea of madness which was like either a view of the abyss or a pitching queue to the gallows. As the circus parade’s leading edge began to arrive and slow...
SoftDesertSands shiftingAs the wind blowsThe grains into dunesDrifting across the land. Sighing xerophytic dreamsCreating quartzite pyramidsAnd robust succulent greenery Singing adagios as chaste yuccas.Faint visions of fading vistas renewAncient empathies one final time Seeking to eclipse the aching,The feeling that remembersThe loss of joyous faithEngendered in youthBut still endowedBy ones trustTo loveNow.TruthLives he...
You speak to me in beautiful words. You are so well read. That is two of the things I love about you. Those are just two things pulled from thousands. You are like poetry to me. Sometimes when you speak, even I feel like a poem. It is an easy trap, covered by music and the heady scent of our favorite flower—of us. However, I have seen your cracks. I have seen your jagged edges. I have glimpsed the you behind the words whe...
Do not kneel down to me unless you care, And wish to guide my path to gentler lust, For I will know what hopes that you lay bare.Seek only that which leads to tempered trust. Caress my strings of love with tender hands,And play my heart with prodigal extremes,Thus, I will know that loving you withstandsThe foolish lashings in my fearful dreams. Your features, with their auburn hair adorned,Show dignity and grace, bright e...
Sitting here late at night and half asleep I seem to hear a voice calling me, as I listen and wonder if it is only in my mind or is it coming from someone I failed in some way or merely left behind? To sort it all out I let all of the good and bad guys I have been along with the demons and angels who defeated them come together in me now as I greet them like a cast that’s been assembled like a gathering in an empty room o...
Ariel’s hoofbeats poundingAlong the trail she fliesEscaping Hughes and heartbreakThe sorrow in her lifeAnd as the beast moves fasterHead down, she trusts her guideNo need to be seeingThat world go rushing byMane through fingers graspingLoins grip to the rideHolding onto sanityBy verses in her mindTogether they are movingTowards something, yet awayCreator of such beautyConquered by the pain.
Moving forward, as I cross the river heading down this winding road to that place beyond the pecan groves. Passing bare trees and barren fields, which has me think of Fall and the events that took place there one winter’s night, and knowing that the Fall is sometimes known as the season of dying and yet there is something truly sincere about it, with the dying leaves knowing no manner of lying and are just alive and then...
Finding myself standing outside early one hot August evening in the middle of a heat wave, and being able to feel and see the heat rising in the still motionless air, as all the leaves droop and hang down. Looking to the far horizon and seeing that summer sun slowly setting in the distance like molasses. As it seems to set both the skies and horizon on fire in this turning of twilight, as I turn and head inside. Heading t...
Sitting here once again at my favoured corner table with my back to the wall, and knowing that closing time is soon approaching and I should be leaving this place soon. Yet, I am comfortable and at ease knowing that part of the current nightmarish situation has passed, as I am now looking past those bottles that seem to stand as though on file that were killed one by one. Now looking to where the sound of a guitar is bein...
My baby is in pain.I hate that. I can't feel it.But I do, I do.I feel it. My baby is in pain.My little lover is hurting,and I want to ease it. I need to solve it,resolve it. Make it better. It is so cruel, for her,for me. She feels the pain, and my mind and heart feel the pain,the pain. I hold her close, and she cries,and the tears form in my eyes,and I feel the pain. But helpless. Completely helpless,I sigh, and just cra...
There are bars and saloons where the jukeboxes play the blues long into the night, as a peasant sits at the end of the bar crying in his glass of that pessimist wine that the autumn has eyes for. And I am sitting here at the bar with a madman, who’s telling me to look around as all are serving time. For crimes that were either committed or imagined that have never been defined in anyway as they stood trial, like what Kafk...
Making my way down this trail that follows the shoreline as I feel the rain in my face and catch a scent of snow in the air,- I seem to hear the ghostly strains of a violin and cello being played in a slow haunting style that has my mind drift back. To thoughts of one whose heart had finally run out of summers in October ’92 and questions I asked and a promise I made. Before they went to that undiscovered country from whi...
