Bonfire

It is a convoluted thread that weaves this life,
a tapestry bearing the weight of past bones,
feathers of flight stitched between harsh twine
while delicate embroidery creates sweeping patterns. 

This cloak of life has served me well
for when the storms arrived it held fast,
and yet allowed for the fresh breath of spring
and the warming kiss of summer.

Still it is upon the searing bonfire of your love
that now this cloak is offered,
I stand naked before you as with one deft toss
my cloak is consumed in your passion.

And while my flesh does reflect the leathered strength of time,
the dark scars of life, the etched lines of passion,
my sapphire eyes sparkle still with the lust of life,
the fire for your flesh.

And you, radiant before me with but the golden cloak of your hair,
equaled in life's passion, equaled in love's embrace,
do now set upon the weaver's wheel a new thread,
and together the new cloak is begun…..

Indelible

It is the absent hand
that, with tapered fingers,
gently dances upon the soft hairs,
sending shivers to my spine.

For in my darkness I am alone.

Breathe deep of night's cool air,
with titled head allow the soft songs,
arising, as if mists,
to embrace, to be embraced.

And in solitude I begin the dance.

A madman in the mist I flail.
My long topcoat, as if a Victorian's cloak,
rises like black angel's wings
as I circle and swirl.

Tearing the cloak from my skin I shed it among the markers.

Approaching storms are felt as the brittle,
needle stab of winds assault my flesh,
my laughter released,
for the touch of pain is preferred to the absence of touch.

Among the dead I am alive.

Abruptly, as if slapped, I pause
for before me, silently shimmering by moon's light,
I find your name,
forevermore chiseled in the granite of my heart.

The weight of your absence darkens my soul.

My tears, now masked by the newly arrived rain,
descend upon the soil where you rest,
as upon my knees I fall,
my bodies' strength consumed by my sobbing.

Do you not know of my love, if so, how could you leave.

My beard, white as snow before its time,
regains its youthful brown, stain by the mud
that is your blanket,
on cold winters night.

Our love was as a child's, our passions, playful.

I damned God the day you left,
I damn Him to this day,
and in His vengeance, His glorious mercies,
he offered you my heart to take.

Truth, sometimes, is but the absence of dreams
	or the reality of nightmares…….

The Hermit and the Whore

It came this day in village near
that our story now is set,
where a Hermit and the village whore
are by chance's hand now met.

Upon a path in darkened woods
the whore did gleefully stroll,
then startled fast she did then shriek,
she thought she saw a troll.

From behind a tree the hermit spoke
with anger in his eyes,
"go away you infectious beast,
the woods won't hear your cries."

He did then see upon her face
the pain his words did cause,
his stony heart did warm a bit
and his anger for moment paused.

"I know of you," he said to her,
"in countless beds you sleep,"
"the men are always drawn to you
and the comfort that you keep."

She looked at him, this beaten man,
and gently chose her words,
"I come this day to this quiet place,
to listen to the birds."

With tears in her eyes she hides her face,
as she does now turn away,
"for men's laughter is hard and often cruel,
and alone in morning I lay."

It was as it the Gods did touch
these two who live in fear,
for the Hermit with his withered hand,
did brush away her tear.

"I know of men," he said to her,
"I hate their rancid ways,"
"they bleat like goats to hear themselves,
while nothing they have to say."

"And that is why alone I live,
apart from common man."
"Yet still I miss the company of those
who would offer an open hand."

With these words their eyes did meet,
and life again was born,
for the gentle woman did kneel to him
and took him in her arms.

And years of tears were shed by both
now safe in the others arms,
and sweet sobbing did cleanse their tired souls,
that had been so cruelly harmed.

Dawn does now break upon these woods
who hides a lover's shack,
where laughter and song are heard each day
and nights are never black.

So be careful when traveling woods alone,
when you've given up on love,
for you never know who'll cross your path
with help from those above……..

Words from the Mist

The mist of time envelopes
concealing all that is known
as the table is set

... recent advances in technology are preparing for the first cashless society in 2000 years.... individuals 
will have branded upon their right hand an universal product code which will tie in to their personal 
banking accounts thus eliminating the source of most crime...... in the event the individual is lacking 
their limbs, it shall be branded into their forehead......

we are prepared not in great leaps
small steps are taken
the die is cast

... tattoos are sweeping the nations......  no longer the stigma of biker gangs and criminals.... new 
procedures continue to take the pain out of even the most grandiose of patterns... lasers may soon 
implant painlessly the butterflies and hearts that may adorn your modest secretaries ankles....

the ancient and the new embrace
a decade but a second
when eternity the balance

...And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right 
hand, or in their foreheads: And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of 
the beast, or the number of his name...   Rev 13.16-17

That which is sacred is discarded
we seek pleasure in faith
obedience abandoned

... New Age Religions continue to rock the established order.... Vacant Churches and Synagogues are 
being rented out by Wiccan organizations... Beliefs once thought to be dead are resurrected in the search 
for the one true faith.......

what is false, what is true,
they blend to gray
when all is soiled

..... A young black child in Georgia has drawn massive crowds with her prophetic visions.....  The 
speaking of tongues, once thought to be the stuff of the Old Testaments, has grown dramatically......  
Nancy Reagan continues to back up her consultations with a well known Astrological Advisor....

Science drives the mind
faith, the heart
ignorance, the soul

... Notwithstanding I have a few things against thee, because thou sufferest that woman Jezebel which 
calls herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fortification, and to eat things 
sacridfied unto idols. Rev. 2.20.

We give unto those that we detest
unbridled power and authority
for we cannot be bothered

.... The turnout in today's election has been the lowest in recorded history... When asked which was 
more important, to vote or the airing of tonight's E.R episode, 67% favored E.R.....  Apathy continues 
to grow as voters disapprove of the candidates and the established parties...

We decide not to decide
and in that choice
we abdicate our rights

... The European Common Market unveils the coin of the realm, good throughout Europe it is one more 
step to a common goal.... The United Nations attach Iraq in defense of Kuwait.... The International 
Community continues to remove boundaries in the advent of the internet, no longer are a countries 
borders sufficient to protect its citizenry.....

and we march in step to the drums beat
lemmings all in our haste
the cavern awaits

... And it was given unto him to make war with all the saints, and to overcome them: and the power 
was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.....  Rev13.7

and one day we shall awaken
and for mercy cry
when none is deserved..............

The Path of Echos

I hear the bells upon distant hill
tolling against time,
thier muted message falls softly
	into
		the
			waiting
				valley,
then, like snowflakes on a warm night,
it disappears
	into the mist,
		silently still
			the echoes
remain.

Into the mist I once again must travel.

A staff of silence
my only companion
No cloak of comfort
	to embrace me,
		to warm me
			when the nights turn cold
	so very cold......................

I am not like the others.

They choose to be safe in worn cloaks
	warmed,
		comforted,
			secure.

I am one who walks alone
	into the mist,
		following echoes,
			that others do not hear.

Nadine

In market square I saw her there
this vision from my past,
my sight erased the streaks of gray,
gave firmness to her breast.

For Nadine she was a love of mine
her hand upon my heart,
but sands of youth in years do shift
and we had grown apart.

Yet still this ghost of love anew
had wandered not too far.
For in the whisperings of my soul
her kisses still were carved.

She was to me, all passions flames
all beauty, joy and songs,
we learn of love in our embrace
the lessons had been long.

We danced my friends upon the swells
of young flesh engaged with sweat.
We lapped the salty passions gifts,
our thirst could not be quenched.

And days to nights and spring to fall
we were as one in step,
till the morning we woke in lovers bed
and said this too must end.

And vow we took as sun did rise
as friends this day to part,
yet knowing love this fragile born,
timeless in our hearts.

She left that day to go away
to return to me in spring
we kissed that kiss of lovers known,
of promises not to be.

Leaves did bud and leaves did fall
from boy I turned to man,
love was found and love was lost
as I held a strangers hand.

I say to you with hesitant pen
these words I’ve learn to know,
that love when found does brand the heart
forever embedded in our souls.

I saw her there in market square
our eyes did meet at last,
there was sadness hidden in her smile
as we resumed our shopping task.......

Season of Man

In the absence of Deity he flourishes;
failed supplicant, ravishing his mother's breast,
a thrall no more the throned circumcised King presides,
base desires thrust between willing thighs,
rutted sheets reek of empty appetites
hand raised in anger he strikes -
his blow stalled…..
held fast by another's hand;
firm in resolve, unwavering truths known, 
the silent men approach. 
Weathered flesh  creates the canvas of their form,
honest work in day's harsh light reflected,
entitled to only that which is earned,
on bent knees gratitude offered……
And men of goodwill do this day stand forth
and reverence to women now equaled to truth,
while songs rejoice,
the season of man……

My soul quickly tarries

My soul quickly tarries, spirit uneasy in sleep,
and stilled pen rest crooked upon the desk,
there is silence in the resounding echoes
of the memories becoming grotesque.

Yet upon the days birth I do wander,
fields of earthly scents confuse,
expansive blue oceans above
reflects lakes richest hues.

A sincere, sympathetic,
melancholy man I am
waiting patiently,
impatient  pen,

So the words 
do now fade
as the pen 
does fail.

again.

The Architect's Eyes

The architects’ eye pulls from the cornice gentle slopes and lines,
from the stanchion, dimension and relative size,
from the arch placement and form,
this is where she finds beauty.

The weaver pulls her thread, 
within the course fabric she finds texture and color,
upon the rack she finds contrast and blend,
this is where she finds beauty.

The artist views the paint upon canvass, 
within she finds depth and hue,
in linear perspective she finds space and movement,
this is where she finds beauty.

The naturalist journeys through fields and forest,
the Evergreens offering their sweet scent,
mountains meet wandering clouds upon canvass of blue,
this is where he finds beauty.

The author reflects upon the words that rest upon the page,
she is transported to a place never known,
she feels emotions not yet felt,
this is where she finds beauty.

We cannot change that which we find beautiful,
a musician, tone
a chef, the blend of scents
	a dreamer, the dream

We must
 however, 
respect the eyes that differ from our own,
for beauty is as abstract 
as the many eyes 
that seek to define it.

Dan Rather

One can only be faithful
to those whom require faith,
for faithfulness is shared,
one, willing to offer,
the other to receive.

Hence, the act of faith is not abstract
it is motion:
I am faithful,
you trust in my faith,
equal parts to the measure.

I pause:

I do not trust Dan Rather,
no, that is not true.
I do not trust the man
who chooses the words
that Dan Rather reads
while acting impassioned
while thinking of scotch.

Peter Jennings I trust.

Passionate people are never balanced,
balance people are never passionate,
why are not people passionate about being balanced?

Passionate people can be found in
battlefields, churches, prisons,
and rutting in beds.

Balanced people can be found in 
bookstores, libraries, symphonies,
and rutting in beds.

Perhaps they are not so different.

The wolf kills its prey without remorse
tearing the sodden meat from the bone
unaware of the life that has ended.

I buy my meat in sterilized Styrofoam
removing the soaker pad from the back,
unaware of the life that has ended.

I think the wolf is more honest than I.

Jung believed you and I are connected,
that our collective consciousness is as one,
I bet you don't know what I am thinking now,
Freud believes I just want to screw you,
Hmm

The wolf just wants to eat you,
Hmm

We are all Dan Rather,
saying what we believe the script to be,
carefully wrapping our passions
in sterilized Styrofoam
while the wolf within salivates.

Just once I want to see
Dan Rather stare thoughtfully 
into the camera
and passionately proclaim
"screw you"

How I would smile….

It was this night

It was this night a stroll I took
into the city dark,
past hedge and house and homes alight
beyond the shadowed park.

My footfalls echoed on the lane
as silent days of past,
reminding me of those I've lost,
of love that did not last.

And laughter swept from open doors
where family's lives did share,
spoke to me of returning home
where no one would be there.

So as evening breeze began to course
and oaks did start to sway,
I lit a smoke, drawing deep,
and pondered this solemn day.

And in the dark I saw the smiles
of the women I have loved,
and there was joy in every face
each a gift from above.

The laughter that was shared
was greater than the pain,
each would leave a stronger woman
and alone I would be again.

I am not blessed with families firm
memories shared in joy,
and yet I find this poet's life
is one I do enjoy.

For I have known the passions of life
in measure beyond compare,
in ecstasy and wine and dance
and yes, sometimes despair.

So should you see on darkened street
a man who walks alone,
please offer a word, a greeting said,
for these streets may be his home…..

Gather Still

Gather still yea rosebuds bloom
while fresh upon the stem,
for dawn will crest and evening fall
and withering will begin.

For time is not a constant friend
as journeys you do share,
for with each step he does take two
and leaves you unaware.

Yet strong you are as petals soft
they crush not upon the touch,
with eyes of youth you boldly stare
at tomorrow's constant rush.

And then one day, one damn'd day,
the path ahead is short,
and notice then with blurry eyes
there's more behind than forth.

Still question then the winding trail
that here you did arrive,
and with each turn do query not
if choices made were wise.

When upon the path the grasses grow
where once you did reside,
there is still the future's trail
awaiting your dreams denied……

Cruel Kiss

Gliding from the North like some brazen thief
the bitter, lifeless breeze gives lift to fallen snow,
and I,
standing within its frigid embrace
struggle for each searing breath,
vacant of any warmth.

There is peace to be found.

For in the clarity in the brilliance of muted tones,
crystalline snow sparkles and blinds
upon the pure blanket of china white,
each sound traveling uninterrupted across the meadows
each tear frozen before release
each sob hurried away.

And I,
with winter beard upon leathered face
turn not from this cruel kiss    
for the blue in my eyes still sparkle with youth's vigor…..
I have known the Winters of my soul
to be followed by Spring's fresh bloom
each in equal measure upon my days steps

Crucifix

Dare not this day your steps delay
for the leathered drums do call,
and to the woods again to meet,
the gathering of us all.

Behold the man who stands apart
bound naked to the oak,
tanned flesh now bleeds where vines did strike,
and fall upon his cloak.

Mixed with the blood his tears do blend
from anger and his pain,
his weathered face from salt and sweat
now permanently stained.

A woman near does turn away
pretending not to see,
for she knows that flesh upon her own,
yet wishes she could flee.

He wonders where the songs do rest
that once his heart did know,
and life, its joy and measured glee
now seems so long ago.

And you, the hoard who dare not take
the cords that bind his hands,
must wait your place before this cross
and silent you must stand.

Yet still the drums do fill the void
each beat his heart does pound,
a strong man still,  blue eyes do shine
not looking to the ground.

He damns this life that God has deemed
never to be missed,
and yet his spirit strong and firm
again this day persist.

His crime is scribed  above his head
on leather bound to the tree,
in blood these words do speak my act,
for indeed that man is me.

" This man was charged and found to be,
guilty of crime extreme,
he believes in love and passion still,
and to this day does dream…."

And days to night and weeks to years
the time does pass away,
and in the woods an oak stand proud
now marker upon the grave.

The Panes

The panes rattle in their darkness,
Silence,
disturbed only by the 
calculated,		metered,
	metronomed		marker
of my grandfathers clock

silent cigarette smoke swirls
softly
	yes, so very softly
and alone again I search	
	again I search
		I am so tired
of searching

smiling blissful people living their lives
content in their complacent comfort
satisfied in their simple safety
I envy their kind hearts………..

Cannot a flower be but a flower?

Need I always discover the texture,
the flavor of
	the scent,
		the richness of the soil
	and imagine the seed
		as it becomes the wilted rose
again to the soil to be reborn.

and love,
that most divine flower
tender,
yet brilliant in its blossom

in my live I have known such remarkable love

i have danced in the arms of Aphrodite
	and enjoyed the rapturous cries,
		the laughter of passions awakened,
			the comfort of a kiss

and I leave,
no,
I allow them to leave
when they again are whole
and to other men
	and to other men
		their lives to share

for I am the gatherer of sparrows
	strewn by the storms of life
		finding sanctuary in my gentle words
and tender love in my bed

safe they find strength
	i gently stroke their delicate wings
		and bath them in lavender waters
until they again are strong enough
to leave
	to leave
		to leave…..

do they not see me when they leave
or am i too strong
	too damn strong……….

i wonder
	if ever once
		they
remember me………

Reticent

I am reticent to speak.
Oh, 
damn'ed words issued,
course,
as if scrapped across
the blackness of my soul.

He lays silent, misshapen,
twisted hand grasps,
a final futile gesture
as if in reaching the stars in the darkened night,
heaven would be joined.

There will be no heaven for this soul,
this perverse issue 
who would feed his fetish
from young girls flesh,
for the taste of his needle.

And I,
now stripped of honor
by my own bloodied hands,
in defense of a child I knew not,
now stand before the court.
The word "justice" rings hollow.

There is madness.
For when the scales are balanced
the pound of flesh must be paid.
And yet, when truth be spoken,
a moment of pleasure was mine.

I must now atone.
Even as my sweet sanity takes leave
I hear the footsteps echoing
in the concrete chamber,
they are my own.

Hearing the sobbing of a child
I attempt to issue words of comfort
and cannot,
for my flesh no longer is controlled
by my soiled soul.


So I bid you adou sweet friends,
for as the needle enjoins its intercourse
I fade into the darkness of eternity
no longer a threat to those
who would desecrate a child…….

I wandered one day

I wandered this day,
' cross stony bay
and wondered where the course of my life does now lay.

For paths I have tread,
dark alley have led,
whispers from women in dim soiled beds.

And in cool dark fall nights
silent stars still shine bright
awaiting the dawn of life's gentle light.

But for me I do roam,
still looking for home
and the peaceful companion of love that is known.

So if some night 'cross the bay
you see a wandering man look away
it's only the tears in his eyes that betray.