Faded Embraces

The day was never hot or hard to live
once it was seen through two pair of eyes
because so young as next door neighbors
we found a bond that gave us such pride.

Nothing would deter our relationship,
not school or parents or even distance
for we were fierce in our loyalty,
kin within our hearts
and you arms felt like another pair of mind.

It was simpler world then
with there being us and everyone else
our little chuckles gave us power
over the sense of feeling so isolated,
so very lacking in fitting into any social puzzle.

What happen to that magic?
How did it suddenly disappear,
growing up shouldn’t kill best friends,
but all I get from you now
is a silence or excuse of being busy.

Was a really just some needed pastime?
Another excuse to mock what we both hated
where one other person saw things the same?

Wish I could break this gap,
wish I could understand the way
that our connection just broke,
but to do that would require
you to spend time again
among the places we lived
while we found its secrets to share
and loved the shared confessions.

I’ll miss what we had,
ache over its death
because those tidbits of smiles and private wisdom
gave life its own special magic
only you left and took the wand.

Nasty Spills

Trash can minds,
dumping hate's garbage
upon others.

Turning lives into waste,
stench of discrimination,
the nasty side of humanity,
ever polluting love,
spoiling the hope inside.

Moldy hearts rot away
from the abuse,
until the landscape of society
becomes a dump,
political perverts preying upon trust
always a violation of conscience's
obscenity laws.

Air freshener rhetoric
spray by legislative tongues,
ever tainted by disgusting greed,
which doesn't smother the odor
of the avarice manure pile.

Mines

Nuggets buried
within heart's mine
from betrayal's cave in.

Love's miner
using trust's shovel,
finds mother lode
of devotion's gold.

Pillars In The Light

When I am in the shadows of my deepest despair
left wandering only where darkness dominates,
it is then in that His spirit comes within
unto all my withered hope and dire thoughts,
slowly He fills my vacuous soul
by the embers of His righteous flame
until I can see His endless pillars of light
that have reigned sovereign for all eternity.

While my mind might conjure so many distractions
wander endlessly with my natural, mortal eyes
and for awhile be lured by the world’s wisdom,
but with one breath of His Ruwach wind
am I lifted out of that limited vision.

To praise His glory and sense the vastness
of His power and presence,
feel it intently touch my mind
so by a heart beat I am enriched,
utterly shining in the faith He gave,
finally able to cast aside those fears
that any human plan and plot
into a waste without success.

It is the calm that comes so suddenly
leaves me is such awe of His omnipotence
truly stunned and mesmerized
by the way He takes the veil off my eyes.

Waves of peace blend with surges in joy
at the moment I am baptized by His love,
no longer with my blinders of limited clarity
where my soul can sing His glory
from a view that sees beyond myself.

Then I shudder over the immersion
ever more led to lean on Him for my day
with the added strength to know
how He truly can do the impossible

Bounty

What are the seasons of the soul
the subtle equinoxes of unveiling?
They are the ancient echoes of heritage
resounding with the quakes in the stillness
and we hear them intently with our heart
that lures us to look , feel, breath and be
all that drifts like clouds in the sky.

When our spirits know that treasure
of fertile furrows within the mind
even in the night we are rich
by listening to nature’s harvest call
from bond of being to our earthen cradle.

Then all the pearls creation can yield
get sown into our consciousness and thoughts
we no longer just dwell upon a ground’s coil,
but embrace so intently all the mystical power
rising like wisps in the magic of celebrations.

What beauty comes into our brain
during the harmony of senses and the unseen
to spread the wings of deepest probes
so we gleam all the blossoms that reside
among the many forms of gardens in life.]

It is to stand in stillness and truly feel
the time or reaping grow by its calendar
not just of fruit from a day
for it grows so more within our mind’s eye.

This is the bounty of the soul
a never ending expanse of clarity
where we cull the produce of inner meanings
out of every acre in essence
that they have sprouted.

Of love and sensual communions
we slowly strip away the garments
worn more as dark prejudices
until we are at last clothed
by those incredible discoveries
able to take us beyond the obvious
into the chasms of light,
finding in the ritual often tossed away as arcane
some truly amazing flame ,
which burns with all its spellbound sight.

Finally standing with eyes fully open
becomes the gold that is ceaseless
and transcends life to richer textures,
more peace and splendor,
others missed on their way to traditional glitz

Phantoms

Landscape moans it guarded secrets
buried under age's sands,
of messages scrawled in creation's diary,
stuffed into a scenic mattress,
wind carrying the muffled sounds
of ancient harps that are sleeping,
their notes resonating in stone, sky and sand,
they call in ghostly soliloquy,
phantoms that etched life
with melodies of light now faded,
energy of their essence
always lingering as Deja vue auras.

Incense from their vibrations
becomes a puppeteer of muse's strings,
they pull upon the fingers
that sculpt and craft their faces
hiding in time's mirror,
apparitions of breaths
tapping on the mind's shoulder,
creating the feeling of being watched
whenever hands obey the tug unseen,
unveiling the specters within, spent and vented,
until they possess the eyes of those
who are witnessed to the gems expressed,
always nagged by sense of being
stalked and never alone
life becomes a gravedigger's plight,
ever excavating the corpses of invention.

Behind My Curtains

Behind my curtains
the world expands to a karmic canvas,
ancient tolls in light
immerse my mind in their tapestry,
pyramids rise in golden sheen,
sky becomes leaden and weeps,
droplets of silver auras
drench the ashen fields with seeds shaped as hearts.

It is a moment spoken
a gaze of illumined song
opening a portal to my soul,
where heaven and hell wage war,
demons prance in envy
angels waltz in their allure,
but my mind stays on a fence's barbed wire
before spring comes to the playground.

Then all dims except of a single flame,
having language that speaks with my own voice,
summoning a symphony in my blood,
I hear the tones play a sonata of serenity,
embellished with love's lyrics,
praying for a spell to share it with others,
curtains oft being open by dawn's hands
before the music is remembered.

Chain Letters

prayed over its lines with such ardent conviction
that this message would infect the reader,
inspiring it to be forwarded with intense passions
so the energy would reverberate with waves of blessings
rippling across my life in tidal flows of enrichment.

But I got so busy writing what I wanted to hear
never gave thought to what the other person would think,
only letting my greed control my fingers,
so very persuaded if my desire had enough power
nobody would detect the truth about its selfish motives.

Oh how I dreamt of all the bounty in enhancing vibrations,
which would charge through my essence
making me a magnet for good fortune and luck.

It all seemed so perfect and an ideal means for reaping
every wish and whim my being had been denied,
thinking my ruse in words would never be discovered,
just weave some manipulative magic
with enough flattery and hope
until the letter generated reactions
and every recipient couldn’t resist
sending me some increments of compensation
in keeping with my sentence’s suggestions.

Then sitting back and waiting for the mail
to bring a harvest for my labors.
The days past and nothing came,
discovering later my phrases had brought enlightenment
about how to con others,
inflaming the receiver to merely forward that correspondence
without bothering to mention me at all,
because my lust for gain was what they absorbed
instead of my attempts at seducing,
ending up a victim of my own orchestrated endeavors
by ironically giving others the means to act out
what I thought I had disguised as offers to improve
while secretly craving to make them my pawns.

The Pearl

My first awareness
was of floating in an ocean,
no waves disrupting the smooth glass quality,
it was indigo and warm
and I could see beneath the surface.

Panic seize my insides
for I couldn’t see any land
so I worried about drowning,
but the incredibly bright cerulean sky
somehow calmed my fears.

Then for a moment I felt
as if I was going to sink into the deep,
suddenly a white hand
the size of a whale
appeared underwater
and held me in place
until I felt to relaxed and serene.

At last I notice the golden sun,
descending on the horizon,
it turned into a spinning pearl
before changing and becoming
an incredibly tall bronze block
like some towering skyscraper.

While I was watching it,
amazing and stunned,
a voice boomed in ominous tone,
“its shadow stretches from the sea,
all the way to Chicago.”

After that waking up,
feeling confused,
yet oddly having a sense
there was more to this swimmer’s vision
than I could imagine.

Real Estate

For sale sign lit under the rays of neon lights
soft spoke sales pitch offering its delights,
they spin a spell to make the eyes dance,
surely this time will be different chance.
Maybe for once there is some hope
while a wish lassos the heart like a rope.
It will make that banner so clean and nice
turn into a door that leads to paradise.

But it’s the pain of exclusions that are not spoken
with facts carefully discard like they were broken,
which causes a delusion thought to be a heavenly wind
you think is so powerful it will make your head spin,
before suddenly dragged into a hole where the air is thin.

All the rainbows never touched by a longing hand
are seldom as painful to see some unreachable plan,
as when someone offers you steps on their stand
then pulls it away like it never was there
after you start climbing and are left only with air.

Forlorn fancy is an intense inner fire
so very scorching with the heart of ire,
than the flame felt from unrealized desire
that becomes nothing more than a visionary brier.
For they stairs upon which you sought to climb
that you can never truly ascend at anytime.

Masquerade Scents

Paramour paradisiacal nostrils
inhaling Quixotic scents
as Camelot whiffs
become brimstone odors.

Manufactured Minutes

Events pressed deep into a vice,
squeezed of facts and truths,
then covered with a flow of ink
as history is cranked out in precise definition,
not by what happened,
but by the wheels in a mind.

It is manufactured moments
massaged and manipulated
into a fairy tale and fantasy
where what is preserved
seldom agrees with what happened.

Yet, the engine of invention
races just the same,
to make any period of life
any era that has drifted by,
the nostalgic tone of cherished tradition
while villains become like gods
and martyrs didn’t exist.

In a book they look so polished,
grammar and spelling
are skillfully done by the editor
who serves as robot to the cause
for preserving some image
even if reality cast it
with a much darker pallor
than the haloed and honeyed complexion
carefully crafted by a revisionist quill
so the past looks soft and endearing.

Ghost Writers

Diaries written with pen from mother's heart,
men chasing dreams silhouetted by spouse's face,
pages turned in time's chronicles,
ink scrawled by creator often victims
of fame's memory loss
who dwell in the habitats of maternal watch.

Quills coming from their wombs,
bequeathed by sacrifice, held in child's well,
the skirts of her influence
covering every field and lair,
femininity flourishing in secrets of their care,
never exposed to limelight's glow.

A world unfurled in manifold
quilts of expression,
its fabric sewn so oft by fingers
weaving out of love
all the stitches of inspiration,
who do it not for wealth nor attention,
but because the artistry of her instincts
bears her craft without blessing of equality,
having left on life's stage
a play for which others take a bow,
done without being credited as the author.

The River's Sound

My heart bathes in ecstasy's bubbling brew
swimming strokes in mesmerizing moments
each time I taste your honeyed lips nectar.
It drowns me in such rippling streams of quivering
feeling so dizzy and a drift as raft of raw exposed need,
while immersed within infatuation's waterfall
flowing from your eyes and cascading over me,
exploding my nerves in desire's fiery pinpricks

I drape my soul with your lace of heavenly caresses,
remember the touch of your silky skin as shield over my soul,
for nothing shall descend in marauding distraction
to destroy or severe the embrace of our entwined lives,
being sealed together always by God
as one silver radiant essence.

Ferried on passion's lake when held in your arms
eternity unfolds in layers of intense visions,
your angelic spirit becoming the tabernacle
where I will dwell and adore your forever,
with seraphim's wings covering us as divine blessing.

In the shadows of their shelter
we will explore such deepest, intimate treasures,
until this world and all our sorrows
become tears of joy pouring out from our union,
golden as a sun, healing as a fragrant balm,
creating a river of unblemished affection
gushing forever through time's landscape
watery sounds of our perfect oneness,
a harp's notes, singing of our love's immortal melody
that will ring out forever in celestial harmony.

Cleaving Shadows

Ebbing spirit's light
fractures as fading star
twin hearts feeling throbbing talons,
which clawed defiantly at day
now shorn and withered
feebly able to still pierce the pulse.

Tourniquet dialogues,
despair soliloquy in dismay
failed coagulation
for hemorrhaged of parting caress.

Eyes entwined
in decade's nuptial embrace
slowly bid their requiem adieu,
fingers once laced
fall in muted, longing's ache
across the distance of a heartbeat.

Cleaving shadows
cherished
as veil of private flashback embers
spent in silent soothing vigil
for satin sheet sonnets.

Quivering terminal lips bequeath
love's legacy,
tearful will written with heart's farewell
before breath flows to sky
and heirs left memories as good-bye.

Within Your Universe

Within your universe
may this birthday shine
as a galaxy of stunning silvery stars,
all aglow as twinkles of joy,
radiant from happiness
streaking as comets
through your day.

To be at peace
in the quite amplitude
of a serene space,
joyously drifting as a voyager
from one cosmic flare of delight
unto another.

Able to touch the face of planets
orbiting your inner sun,
find the beauty of the mind's creations,
a traveler between pinpricks of celestial candles,
seen by the heart's telescope,
always knowing love's astronomy
that will guide you to the constellations
family and friends see shine in your eyes and soul.

Shattered

How cruel the stones
that come from tongues,
leaving the heart’s vase in shards ,
as puzzle missing pieces,
they never cast a perfect image
made worse when trampled upon
by the feet who love to crush
another’s fragile features.

To seek the light
still shining in the ruins
gleams what is radiant
that didn’t die
when words are a meteor
crashing into your mind,
exploding as an atomic bomb,
leaving every looking glass memory
shattered and unable to be reassembled.
not able to still see the truth
after someone’s verbal missiles
destroyed one’s glass house of joy
using their insult rockets
launched from hateful lips.

Taking time to gather the remains
of the fractured self-portrait,
trying to remind oneself
it will never reflect all that is inside,
for it only tells part of one’s story,
the rest is a tale only the mind can share,
which never depends upon a face’s features
in order to be expressed.

Devotion

Sprouts of love
rising unadorned,
never demand attention.

Seek with heart
to bring beauty
into another's life.

Though life's weeds
strangle,
devotion's purest flowers
never wither
nor fail to bless.

Transitions

Life is not a brick of permanent, impenetrable predictions
easily formed and forged into a foundation
that is happily obedient unto our every will.

And so, in moments of better sanity
we accept the wind as an invisible mantle,
which spreads as a metaphor over everything
so it can’t be totally tamed or controlled.

I still have my book,
the one that I write down my expectations,
it just feels so good to see the world in ink
where everything turns out according to my whims.
But there are earthquakes, storms
even the usual shakings for circumstances,
all stomping over my house of cards
though I was sure this deck
was so much more secure and stable
to endure any dangers.

Oh heaven is perhaps the haven
filled with the hope of unchanging bills,
until then we dance, make love and dream
always hoping for a date
as perfect as we can create in fantasies
who won’t turn out to be a nightmare
since we get enough of those in life
without even having to try.

Tangerine’s Tangential Tranquility

Sips of cerebral citrine reveries,
the nectar of July fermentations
stirred in the mind’s summer vat,
distilled in the winery
that dwells behind the eyes.

Servants fan the flesh in diligence,
but the gentle brush of dream whispers
combs the heart with its flurry in stirrings,
inside the throb swells
amid the beads of perspiration
of the knight seen in the marketplace,
of the torrid and twisted passion twine,
which wrapped around the soul.

It all is repressed, subdued and rationalized
behind a stoic state of posing
for forbidden lures inspired in fated noon exchanges
are never the fodder for life’s dole of fortune.

So in the chair of composure,
in silence she wanders through fantasia’s fields,
whatever touches in tremors
kept a secret in the casual exhales,
within finding a way to allow
the tangerine tangential tranquility
laced across her skin
to cover the fires within.

Midnight's Flight

Midnight's flight in ogre screams
shadowy shrieks that shred the stillness,
pillow pants of gaping gasps,
sorrow's shroud smothers with groan in silence.

Moans and murmurs rise from closet chambers
tones of terror to torment my threads of thought,
night sewn with phantom fabric with mourner's sleeves,
kite of sandman soars towards cemetery scenes
spirit sinks into stinging cesspool of sobs
where funeral fears float as dirge musicians.

Prayer for providence release uttered
as a fleeting chant,
lost in the claptrap shouts of mental gnomes.

Fueling the fires forged by fear
chimney inside the heart burns
snorts and snarls intuitive resurge
symphony from despair's composure
writes melancholy's music
played repeatedly in piercing notes
frayed of light or hope.

Singing in guttural lament
the resonance of resignation,
awakening to a zombie's clarion call,
air bristles with sun's rejuvenation.

Perhaps a song will be played tonight
where banshee artist don't rehearse
and life is a melodious harp of serenity
instead of an off key shrill of sadness.

Shallows

Lost in tide pools of reclaimed esteem
after virgin frigate was scuttled by passion's pirates.

Ocean of tomorrows polluted and turned toxic
using wand of mermaid envy
to weave magic inventing an altered fate's anchor
for bracing against melancholy's tsunami.

Anxiety's shark fins
perilously pierce the cresting creation
clutch made for panacea's sea shells,
in search of amore's surfboard
that doesn't get sold at Valentine Day's drug emporium
specializing in Cupid nomenclature oxymorons.

Sail set with resilient threads,
dividing the marine layers of lament,
floating precariously through tempests thoughts
leaving a wake of resolve
as trace of hope's rudder
slicing its trail through the murky morass
of regret's snarling seaweed.

Rivers

Her waters seem so mesmerizing and spellbound,
flowing from her immortal well, deep into the heart,
washing, immersing,
until the eyes are transfixed and see visions in scenery
glimpses of paradise, powerful and pristine.

Then her voice drips into the head,
suddenly gripped with this lucid uncontrollable obsession,
creation and life must be defiled for it is evil,
rage is the brew intoxicating addiction
what was sane is now surreal and corrupt.

Still the taste becomes a narcotic
while pillaging and plundering the world,
uttering oracles thought divine
to make the holocaust of bloody brutality so justify.
Thinking you drank ambrosia, though it was brimstone’s champagne

Genesis

Upon the inaugural dais of patriotism’s plank
the symbolic herald of hope,
stood the living light of tomorrow,
our new guardian and sentinel.

His presence brings a ladder
to help lift a nation’s spirit
from the pit of deception
having been drug
across the thorny thickets
in fabrications.

Letting his voice and wisdom
wave a flag within our hearts,
upon a vision’s wind.

That we might again
breathe freedom’s air
feel the crisp breeze of democracy’s sky
spread over the land,
hands in hands,
celebrating a rebirth
of our lost dreams.

Once again to see our sacred soil
as the womb of equality,
where we follow our new leader
along a path
not using a rhetoric map
that was written by minds
more concerned about their own survival
than the common good.

Upon my heart

By rustic flights and vernal plumes
my soul immerses
within the flow of tranquility's tides.

Basking in the splendor
of that harmony
between soil, stream and sky,
which clings to my essence,
tracing the eagle's soar,
where I see
through the Holy Spirit's eyes,
a dove,
forming Heaven's wings
upon my heart.

Teapots

Curvaceous porcelain
always hides what simmers,
presumed it so easily shatters,
then so often it is fondled frivolously.

But how the reality scalds
when that china
truly clothes metal
and you turn up that pilot,
which boils the contents
until it brews a broth
stewed with leaves
baked in a sun.
They can scorch so unexpectedly
whoever raised the heat.

What gets served
unto that person
can be so painful
should her temperate
make the flavor
full of toxins,
silently dispensed
with a lump of sugar
for disguising that steaming wrath.

Special Beats

Heart rich seconds
calendar written in days
unblemished
by melancholy ink.

Love an epidemic,
hate a memory.

Leaders who
know the difference
People that notice.

Wheat

Upon the airy plain of morning's tangerine sky
the soul sips the savory honey of euphoria's citrus,
it seeps into the spirit as the seeds of hope's amber grains
taking sprout deep into the furrows of the heart's soil,
producing a crop of bounty in expectation's wheat,
that is milled as manna for the mind, which nurtures desire's appetite.

Inhaling the zephyr wind, scented with anticipation's revitalizing breath,
there rises over the field within the inspiring mirages of possibilities.

Reaping as purest ecstasy all the sacks of tomorrow's imagined
for baking the bread, willingly devoured as resolve's breakfast.

DAWN

I embrace the light of morn to come with eyes full of recollection's images
my heart calmly adrift upon night's sea of questions,
but peace flows in the quiet where cries once echoed.

For my mind flips through scrapbook of bygone days
and finds the lingering warm glow in nostalgia's spell,
remembering past kisses and hugs that brought hope when I felt despair,
joy coming in sweet caresses as soft strokes inspiring faith in a divine hand
that in former darkness made tomorrow a jewel instead of refuse.

By a sigh with strained smile I face this current heaviness upon my chest,
refusing to forget the power of dreams or prayer when tears dried by miracles.

Visiting Oz (Revised Politically Correct Version)

Once upon a plagiarized sitcom cliché
an impoverished maiden member
of oppressed agrarian homesteaders
is surreptitiously ferried by whirlwind
caused by irresponsible toxic air polluters.

She is deposited in world
despoiled by perennially hallucinogenic induced climate
where she meets a rehab commune of small people
under treatment for a lollipop addiction.

They give her direction for help
from the nearest government assistance program agency
run by a defrocked priest who now specializes
in slide shows for sensitivity training
and gives classes in practical self esteem whitewashing.

Along the way she encounters an anorexic schizophrenic
with a messianic straw disorder
that is out of his meds, so he decides to join her.

Next she meets a former member of the military industrial complex
who suffered a nervous breakdown and is dealing with issues
about his fear of metal. This needy person also goes along.

Finally, they meet an animal rights activists
suffering from a persecution complex that decided to seek help with them.

They reach their destination and are given aptitude tests
before being told the must first consult
this embittered matron who runs a Big Lots
selling was monkey effigies.

After a touching moment of self realizing
she submits to a special spiritual ritual cleansing.

In the end, all five and the defrocked priest
move to Los Angeles where this no reality anyway,
open a combination tofu store and Christian Science reading room
living happily less dysfunctional lives forever.

Her Secret

Feathers fluttering
in frail innocence,
aviary orbs seeing her face
in the sky.

Her breath gives flight
unto their plumes
as secret of Elysian's truth
that gravity is an illusion.

Imposed on mortals
so they won't
think they're gods.

Granting her whims of wind
unto life's airy creatures,
spell on Newton
best magic of all.

Incubated Dreams

Heaven's hatched in pillow wave,
docks of desire crafted
for vessels sailing invention's seas.

Creating sailors from the mind
for vicarious passages unto isles
where courage is a fruit one hungers to taste.

Fear's pirates felt on the horizon
seen in nightmare visions of anxiety's armada
riding the tides of longing,

Sitting alone in the cold, stormy
harbor of inhibitions
shaped as one's living room,

Ever hoping a single ship
sent by ambition's launching
will return with its cargo.

Holding onto the cracked eggs
possessing creativity's embryos
one yearns to turn into tomorrow's omelet of success,
dreading they will suffer Humpty Dumpty's fate.