Legacy

When words cease

and breath is bedecked of Elysium's air,

eternal shroud cloaks soul,

fibers woven in light song,

legacy from life's behavior

echo each second's meaning

wrapped in truth's enlightening arms.

 

Suspended sky in ethereal sky

hovering on translucent current

of immortal transcendence,

learning lessons

undiscovered during heartbeats,

until only love remains

and spirit is freed

for everlasting purpose. 

Towers Of Babel

Endless ephemeral edifices

erected in existential erudite efforts.

They are the solidified theorems

intended to capture the astral expressions

for a visionary concepts in ethereal lattices.

To be able to reach over the tangential tides in eons

and craft quintessential utopian artistry,

like an abstract sculpture of metaphor lucidity,

defiantly declaring self deified desires.

 

Of timbers used are pride’s hand framed and stretched

across the illumined layers in reality

filled with the quandaries and quagmires in paradox plains.

It is where the mind must face life’s mirror

and search for the deeper veracity

about what gives the heart its plasma throb.

 

Irony blows its zephyr wind through the sky

until the architects of panaceas

seek to construct their own celestial frameworks

by the planks of whim and arrogance.

 

Only the reverie molded majesty

never has the finger print of eternity,

so it rusts and decays under the season’s tongue,

at last becoming a fleeting and crumbling icon

from man’s quest to sit on heaven’s throne.

 

Alone and abandoned

the artifact of arrogance silently sits

amid a haunting breeze of yesteryear’s legacy.

Ever conveying the ageless curse of conceit

that thinks a creature can the creator.

 

Refuges

Beneath the tarnished tints in terraced terrains

the heart keenly discerns a deeper beauty,

so knowingly able to intensely savor

a peace that dwells within any scenery

when the gaze inwardly explores

the refuges of truth residing in the soul.

 

It never comes instantly

upon the path of pilgrimage

through the many labyrinths and lairs

along the way to any sanctuary of light.

 

Doesn’t matter if the abode has a kingly ambience

amid its chambers of veiled clarity,

for it is the view intently taken

that learns with an inquisitively passionate pursuit

to always delve for the real quintessence

even if the façade before the mind

has an image dilapidated and decayed.

 

For the seeker who craves an astute sojourn of enlightenment,

real serenity comes not from avoiding what inspires irritably,

but by harnessing havens within

regardless of if the sight that surrounds

is interestingly intriguing or just a listless image. 

A Hiding Place

Cinderella plays a toy piano

in the hiding place of the mind,

the shelter of fairy tales

with frail porcelain wall

that easily fracture like egg shells

because they are creations

of life a princess lives

crafted in pillow confession

lived in a castle,

kept in the closet

where the light never touches.

 

Furnished with thrones and crowns

collected while window shopping

at the fairy godmother store for glass slippers,

which exists in slumber land.

 

Gazes so addictive

into the play house of wishes,

for a while to slip inside

and be the china doll

who breathes paradise,

exhale the scents of refuse

from spoiled dreams.

 

On cold afternoons in loneliness

its door so easily open,

sometimes able to carry the furniture

back to the living room,

they glow in their apparitions

to keep the heart warm

until the night evaporates their presence.

 

 

Between The Drifts

Between the drifts of blizzards

that come in the wintry fury over the heart

as those snowy sayings that chill the soul,

I built my shelter in my head

of the timbers from wisdom’s wood.

 

And though the day summons its frigid winds

from the many who come as snowmen of icy phrases

meant to cover with criticisms like frostbitten effects,

still I huddle in my isolation

not letting their frozen kiss

deny me the refuge for my peace.

 

Because in the solitude

can I hear that inner voice in reason,

the simple sounds of clarity

like a sun that light in the midst of January habitations

to grant the warm within

against those harsh and brutal seasons.

 

For even when the day only affords

the bite in chill from the air that is breathed,

it doesn’t have to force a retreat

into the hibernation from truth or time,

a surrender to challenges that test

by hiding from the weather.

 

Instead it is a place of discovery

where there is heat from enlightenment,

which is a fire that outlast the seasons

when life grows so intense in its storms.

Courage

I am the king of tomorrow’s crown,

my prowess and power I practice talking about each day,

because I repeat each word of confidence I was thought,

sure hope if I say them long enough

that I will honestly believe it is true

since a ruler must rule with vigor, valor and vigilance.

If only these feathers of doubt would go away

then I could really feel what I’m saying was me.

 

Still I’ve seen dad and grandpa acting so brave

right after they speak all the things they taught me to say.

So must work on me I hope if I try it long enough,

though pray it happens soon since inside I have so many fears,

otherwise if it don’t work out then I might listen to mom

for she always makes dad tremble when she roars.

Where Our World Begin

 

I hear the star’s song of your dreams

sing its shine from the look in your eyes,

and I shall be the key unto your every longing

to open the door unto a paradise for two,

a banquet that I will make

of every entrée in love that your heart craves.

 

For you are the sun in my soul,

the day that keeps me alive at night,

now I can only know happiness

if I stretch a canopy with my arms,

spread a table of fulfilled wishes for you to feast

where every desire and whim has life

that I might drape you in silky happiness,

make every second like a stroll along the beach.

 

Because, my darling, you are my home,

my very existence,

out of my essence springs only joy

when I know I have given you such pleasure.

 

Let me the sky over your hope

an ivory cabana of promises to shelter you worries,

each second would I live to see a smile on your face,

every moment just to make our time a blessing

 

Before those who see our bliss

will I display the depth of my devotion,

so in public shall everyone see

how my greatest thrill

is having you in my life.

 

Take my hand and walk with me

beneath the noon of our delights,

upon the soft grains of time

where you can whisper every need,

speak what will silent any sobs,

until our lives are one

in the radiance of your joy.

The Taste Of Wind

The world at sunrise unfurls its silent scenic scroll

of sights that hold their secrets in the air.

You can’t ever truly appreciate the depths of their beauty,

know so intently their inner quintessence,

until you have with every fiber of clarity

tasted of the wind

with the lips of the soul.

 

For it is the eyes that dwell within

that only have the gaze to peer through any veil,

intuitively touching what isn’t seen,

felt more than sensed

as a gossamer murmur from creation's ageless voice.

A resound that reaches out from the inside

what stirs a reaction like a haunting specter.

Aware it exists beyond our perceptions

in that layer of ethereal mists

often intruding into our dreams.

 

To surrender to the lure it summons

is to embrace with the deepest delving acquiescence

at the timeless lairs of lucid luminosity.

 

Like a icy brush against the skin

it suddenly seeps so far into our consciousness.

There it glows with its pure truth,

becomes a flame that awakens new eyes.

 

By waves of awareness the flood in trust begins

and we are immersed in the sanguine serenity,

beguiled by that breathless spell in epiphany,

which swells its fire as a sun in our spirit,

totally igniting our thoughts

so peace comes to the moment

and the stars sing their laughter

while the roses we hesitated to grasp

for fear of thorns,

no longer makes our fingers tremble.

Oh Doctor Novocain

Oh doctor Novocain hear my precious plea

root me some molar magic

with that blessed anesthesia therapy

before you drill and thrill

and send that chill through my jaw,

let me fathom tooth fairy mercies

while you hold that needle in your hand.

 

Can you forgive my floss floundering,

do you have a soul for detecting decay

that can caress my enamel,

bewitch my bicuspids

so I don’t dwell in pain’s pit?

 

Woe to me that I should confess

all the tooth transgressions

of my mouth’s misguided ways,

for I sit here before you

a mere mortal of marred means,

just clinging to this frail hope

there is grace in your implements,

forgiveness in your tools.

 

Now take me to that numbed bliss

let me lie in its layer of comatose illusions,

tell me sweet lies that it will all be okay

until I wake to the swollen gum consequences

over my failed vigilance in dental proclivities.

 

 

Vintage

Chianti paramours,

fermented passion panaceas,

spilled during interlude toasts,

hemorrhaging vinegar.

 

Sheets changed,

Claret hues

linger in eyes,

vintage despoils taste

for discerning

between heart champagne

and lust's tainted label.

The Wings Within Her Words

I feel the feathers she shares drape my heart,

each time her words give me flight

through the shear nakedness of my thoughts,

beyond the soil that holds my mind as prisoner.

 

And when I can barely stand

love’s solo from her lips

is like a harp of angelic strings,

slowly lifting me by the sounds

of soothing, airy assurances.

 

Higher and higher I ascend,

constantly spiraling and twisting in my  soul,

so utterly whirling and out of control.

 

Moments spin me by the way

her voice can sway in such soft melodious tones,

they resonate from so deep inside,

a symphony in pure, sweet notes

from that beautiful spirit she possesses

that can ring out the harmony that caresses,

holds me captive and in a dream,

until I am weightless,

as a mere breath upon the sky,

gently drifting upwards

unto heaven’s terrace in bliss.

 

It is a smooth, silky soar

along that satin ribbon of her sayings,

those tender touches in affectionate phrases,

which leaves me dizzy and suspended

in euphoria’s swinging hammock,

totally transfixed by how her mouth

moves me so serenely to a dance upon clouds.

The Windowsill

 

Roses wilting in the vase,

sat to face the street,

a welcome home gift

placed in love

for a returning soldier.

 

His eyes

would never see them

from that pine box.

Layers

Electoral magicians

waving their silhouette magic

over the living labyrinth

collecting dust

from the winds of discontent.

 

Creating the layers for hiding plots,

coating with messages

having their own subterfuge.

 

Zombies are born

from inhaling the pollutants

swallows by the terraces

where a demented orchestra

plays a dirge unseen.

 

Felt crawling in the marrow,

ignored while scratching

beneath the facades

where lies tint and denial thrives.

 

Dreaming mirages of storms

to drench the screaming suffocation,

resigned to bury all lusted tinker toys

where their form still hint at hope,

but corpses kill

the laughter.

 

 

Managers

The wind sings the ageless rhyme

of the coos and lowing in creative cacophony,

felt as the natural tendrils in resonant pleas

to summon the spirit towards that earthen manager

seen by vigilant eternal eyes as the conscience’s ledger,

the beating parchment in need of feed.

 

Fingers swell from that inner tide,

an intuitive surge in love’s voltage,

while listening with heart ears

unto the melody in custodian legacy

when visions stir through that melody in beastly tongues

so commanding by its subtle dulcet sway.

 

Amid those weaponless hoofs, wings and claws

arises the symphony in ancient serenade,

ever beckoning by instinct’s spell

unto the sense in deepest harmony,

It is when the shepherd awakes in that planetary yard

and takes up the ancestral staff of guardian/keeper,

obeys the oblation of impulse,

stands as protector instead of predator.

 

Within the scents that arouse in that communion

is the balm in pastoral perfume,

which spreads as incense unto the mind

until all living things become a cherished gift.

 

Then hands take up the caretaker’s vigil

willingly extending vital nourishment

so that anything that breathes

has a chance to thrive in teaming streams of compassion.

 

The Park

It lies near the edge of this bike path I follow

and for me it is a symbol of my health,

however strange it seems,

but the moment I reach that place

see the restroom and sprawling lawn,

there is that sense that I made it again

a wave of relief that despite the pains and problems,

I was still able to reach that goal

be assured I was alive and had one more day of hope.

 

Then I can look out over the river,

the thickets in foliage that create a scenic emerald landscape,

inhale the fresh air and sense of being so complete alive,

within it gives a glow, the time of renewal

where that simple word, park

becomes my personal metaphor for surviving,

this silent habitat in grassy amplitude,

which sinks into my soul as a balm,

softly soothing my pains and worries

as I cherish is essence in the spell it provides

for in that solitude it is the reminder

life is precious and to be celebrated,

before I pedal off beyond its boundaries

mind filled with vibration images

of how I have yet more time to breath, love and savor.

 

Chambers Of Crystalline Catharsis

I amble across the silvery bed

beneath the endless cosmic sea,

confined in my shell of luminous tinctures

that resonates in karmic lullabies

and the melodies of celestial mariners.

 

It’s my chamber in cerebral iridescence,

yet one I can never leave,

only whisper from it to the world

those soft murmurs in effulgence

haunting from my fire pit of phantasmagorical visions

who flame my tapestry in darkness

with their sanguine sapphires in sagacity.

 

Then I let got the sandy grains in surety

to drift through the morass in murky depths

of that ocean in veracity that calls unto my crab quintessence

slowly groping its enigmatic currents

ever riding the tangential tides

through the shoals in paradoxes and reverie reefs.

 

What odyssey unfolds with my voyage

in dalliances with quixotic mermaids

before the humanity beckons to their beach

and linger in hesitation to obey that voice

for despite the incandescent passages,

part of me is crippled by apprehension

over the light in other’s eyes.

 

The Perfect Romance

I saw her from the patio table of that beach restaurant,

she strolled so causally along the beach,

head facing the grains as if in contemplation,

her long blonde hair flowing in the breeze,

tanned skin hued in golden brown

accented her lemon yellow bikini.

 

The waves that stunned inside from the view

sent those powerful crashing strokes

through every inch of my body,

they nearly caused me to shiver

uncontrollably from that vision.

 

My mind swirled in a sauce

of dizzying thoughts,

flashes of incredible intense magnetism

riveted me with drunken sensations,

while I found it so hard to breathe

from watching her walk so slowly and barefoot

across the sands and leave her footprints

deep upon the beach in my heart.

 

Then she slipped into her car,

a small red convertible,

drove away while I sat paralyzed.

 

It is always today in the memory of that moment,

a few precious seconds

that never die no matter the passing of years.

What Writes The Sky

What writes the sky

above the pillars of corporate suites

is the color green and paper clouds

dollar suns and profit lights,

they all shade the terrain that turns wasteland

in order to grease their fiscal machines.

 

When oil soaked so many soils

it fueled a monster to control our lives,

eagerly devouring resources,

happily spewing out pollution as its exhale.

 

But how do you kill this economic Frankenstein

without creating cataclysms to so many lives

who live in that shadow and depend upon it for survival.

 

Though the rain forest wilt in its path

the oceans and rivers bear the stains of its toxins,

this behemoth is never easily tamed

because it has tentacles that hold countless sources.

 

Can somehow there be a wisdom that strikes the soul

beckons to a new way that will bring change

through ways that give some balance to the transition.

 

Poetry and fervor vent the obvious truths,

yet they will not dent an armor wrapped in gold.

Perhaps before the world sighs its last breath of fresh air,

before the ecological system is completely ruined

and prior to the time this global is draped in a new ice age

we can act contrary to our history,

act out of prevention

instead of threats to survival.

Thoughts

Embers

smoldering ache

lies behind flaccid eyes

rage's stew simmers in the heart

waiting conflict's spoon to serve a helping

speaking softly seduces charade

lips restrain boiling tones

burning scars mind's

embers

 

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.

 

The Flour Of The Heart

What shifts in the fine, delicate ingredients

found within any given heart

is the flour ground by each fresh experience

sometimes its gets granny and hard to use

if tainted by something that truly frightened,

others it can be so very flaky and fluffy

in the texture felt

should love’s water be added to the mix.

 

When that throbbing sack inside

is opened with gentle hands

and each ounce encourage and cared about,

just seeing good in its essence

then the get made into a loaf

so frail in its serving

that any sounds of criticism

can cause it to end up flat.

 

But to the baker

who always uses inspiration’s oven

for a creation that is truly rich and colorful

with a flavor lasting and satisfying

each person is a raw dough in worth

capable of becoming an incredible pastries

which will be a meal to fill another’s hunger

because it was made in compassion’s bowl.

 

Bottomless Holes

I fell

into that black depression,

utterly lost in darkness,

learning to never

expect answers

about crashed computer chasms

from a programmer!

Edifices

In want’s wilderness have I wandered as a nomad,

steadily stepping the strides of searching

through the acrid acres in arid acumen.

My eyes glazed by the harsh light,

inside baked by the furnace breath in blistering breezes,

just looking for those erudite edifices

that stand out among the vast sands of monotony.

 

Though weathered and worn by the winds

what rises from the dust and dirt,

remains solid against any season

are the rocks in wisdom that never crack,

those anchors for the spirit in any climate,

ageless, matchless gems in stability.

 

Among the vagabonds in wayfaring wonder

who walk on treks through undisturbed landscape,

yet let their scenery truly speak its message,

each pivotal spot that is touched as security

summons an oasis in enlightenment.

 

While the wisps of enigma stalk the dunes,

even when the air holds the voices of doubt’s ghosts,

within those foundations found upon that desert

are the quiet refuges in reality.

 

A place to stand above the raging elements,

which burdens thinking and plagues the heart,

always feeling lost while on the journey,

unable to find a direction away from the chaos.

 

But once those pillars are discovered

they hold the tranquil tones that soothe,

summon a calm in all the anxiety

for they become like a refuge.

 

Along those paths often take alone

are find those rocks of truth

upon which to built,

they transform  barren land

into a garden for the mind.

No Problem

Lips rehearsed to reply the standard rote response

as if words alone can convey

what bubbles in the heart with scalding swirls

stretches the mind to the precipice

where a single second in variance

might suddenly inspire a volatile eruption.

 

It is the eyes that betray the secret storm

buried beneath what is spoken,

their gaze can shine with a light

that hints to fire or gold inside.

 

What grips in tension

is when that phrase spoken

of suppose serene stability

comes from a spirit with hurricane history

who speak in soft assuring tone

how some wound didn’t really cause pain.

 

Only the time bomb is moving inside

and you can’t hear the ticks

because the voice said all was no problem,

which merely mirrored what was expected.

 

To dwell around the minds of suppressed sensation

is like walking through a mine field,

never know when you’ll step on someone’s trigger

because they keep them so well hidden.

Monopoly

Saturday night and didn’t have much to do,

nothing, but reruns on the television

just bored and in need of some thrill

in desperation dug out the monopoly game

as several friends came over,

they looked that board with indifference

for none of us was the least bit power hungry

or had egos the were filled with a winner’s lust.

 

So we sat down and picked our game pieces

smiles on the faces and kidding about the game.

For a while it continued to be just distraction,

but slowly the expressions turned dark

when those hotels got added to each place.

 

Oh tried to smirk it off as not mattering

only the comments went for casual and calm

to sneers with vows of vengeance

over those exorbitant play money rents.

 

Really wasn’t my idea of cool

when two of my pals

started to strangle each other

because one had added two hotels to boardwalk,

made worse by the others taking bets on the winners

with those darn fake dollars.

 

Got so absurd as insults got hurled in the air

names like blood sucking greed vampire

or miserable rent hording creep

did nothing to improve the mood.

 

Somewhere in the lunacy

sanity eventually returned

put that game away and ordered a pizza,

slipped a DVD into the machine

of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,

seemed about as much reality as we needed

happy to finally remind ourselves

stress was never a victory

since no contest ever was forever

so might as well be content with a laugh and great snack.