Inspiration's Prey

Pet's owner
considered herself an artists,
carefully creating tasty sculptures
upon demand of growing customer base.

Thought it was pure genius
when she made the tuna
for a fisherman's birthday.

So proud the way she mixed real tuna fish
with the fruit
to make it look and smell like real thing.

Leaving it on box while getting cleaned up,
returning to find Fluffy purring and content,
sitting where her masterpiece use to be,
her burp the feline stamp of approval.

Never A Tale

Love is never a tale,
it is always a story.
The threads from eyes
woven around the heart,
words blossoming inside,
which are the weeds of lies.

Kisses that aren’t shadows
of one’s meant for others,
caresses in virgin anticipation
that feel like earthquakes.

Perfumed nights inhaled
by a lavender scent’s enticement,
slowly seeping inside
from a lover’s breath
upon your skin,
where you sense the unblemished touch
not carrying any deception,
laughter comes from the hollow of loneliness
because an embrace flowers the emptiness
with a bouquet of thoughts.

Joy quivers in quakes to the body
by the tremors in affection,
rising as a sunrise
to bring a glow inside
lasting constantly.

You lose the oneness of solitude
for the soul’s airy flight
where the other part of your very life
awaits to join you as a cloud,
carefree, happy and drifting,
serenely soaring in soft streams
of stunning sighs.

Wings

I ride the comets of eyes
who have died in their souls
and gone to debtor's purgatory.

Sketching the galaxies
they have dreamed,
seeing the secret heroes
they killed in their hearts because of risk.

Faithfully recording
each new addition
to lethargies funeral home,
cremation of conscience
handled
by a memo of nods
from morality's
customer service department.

It all gathers in a storm
blowing deserts into
the screaming chambers
of abandoned surrogates,
put on a layaway plan
at the mall
where they sell
paper wings with happy faces
air of their lies
the only sky being flown.

Surfing The Swells Of A Salient Serendipitous Sea

Seconds of fortune’s riptide rushes over mariner thoughts
if only we could sail this tide in life without sharks nearby.
Find a course through the swells without such curling risks,
but in the midst of our passage we must hold on still the same.

For though that voyage begets its tempest press upon the heart
and tosses the senses into turmoil amid each direction taken,
still we find peace in any gale as long as we see the shore
of the place we call our home that stretches in our heart.

What compass it imbues through any waters we must journey
if our heart is ever anchored at that beach where love calls
so we don’t lose the hope or stability inside the yields
a sense of confidence and calm in any stormy sequence.

Oh have I been taken on those dire cruises at times
where the elements of nature came in their rage
my soul nearly drowning in all the fury that visited,
yet I held onto the steering wheel of what I cherished.

Now is always the time within our conscious
where our mind’s eye is focused on that beach
that we stood in the hours of stillness and security,
preserving the abiding faith to find them again.

It gives us the hope to brace against any threat
find within ourselves the truth of what gives us meaning
then ride it like a ship against what drowns our dreams
because we keep the compass of faith as our pilot and point.

Prophets

It takes no effort
to see facts in the rear view mirror,
for saying, I told you so,
after the storm has gone.

Or to play the prophet
who only has visions
about consequences,
only never before dawn
comes as a casino.

Eyes who see tomorrow's trials
in the layers of today,
know how the dominoes will fall
once the first choice is made,
never started out with perfect sight,
somewhere learning from mistakes,
spending more time listening
than preaching.

Wisdom is the process
of stumbling and regaining strides,
seeing the next obstacle
with memory of last fall.

Not so filled with pride
that one denies
a need to discover
truth in the bruises,
so they don't become wounds again.

Yesterday’s Cocoon

out of yesterday’s cocoon.

On love’s whispering wind
we have floated.
.
Like butterflies in the sky
dancing our winged melody
through tender caresses of flight.

Midnight's Steps

Feet following worn path
wearily pacing silence
mind training senses
to listen for eve's evil enemies.

Slumber's famine felt in marrow
fatigue's demon stuffed in will's coffin.

Threatening thuds heard
fingers tightening on rifle,
patriotism's insomnia,
soldier midnight 's step in hostile lands
gives those at home sleep of peace.

Infections

Steel shrouded my cold, lifeless orbs,
a blade with precision's edge,
slicing at the world with a surgeon's intent.

I thought I could produce healing
when my quill's scalpel
carved deep into bullet holes
infliction by circumstance's machine gun.

No pain I felt while operating,
faithful to record the surgery
extra thought given to details
about patient's reaction,
methodical observations
void in muse's empathy,
excusing when calloused strokes
shredded an inanimate practice vessel
as reason to not listen
for times a verse might scar.

In the shadows of my mental morgue,
where my insides stiffen
from rigor mortis passions,
came the consumption in death watch fascination
over the sun I thought would never rise
except to shine upon my fated plot.

But then I heard the moan of another,
one I thought my stanzas had cured,
its tones bleed deep into my deafness
until I felt at last a pulse that could taste
what my comatose palate had never known.

The flush unto my sense was born,
muse's whispering song of love I finally heard,
my soul infected with thawing eyes,
pen no longer an inked ax, nor lament's executioner,
lead by hands other than my own,
suffering from disease, not seeking cure,
finding in world I thought to filet in poetic form
hearts sprouting gardens
because my desert crypt thought my destiny and curse
was opened forevermore.

The Sky Always

Though clouds should shroud the day,
hope resides in the light that never dims,
that sees the rainbows in any storms,
never stops watching
for the wings inside,
which can fly regardless of the weather.

For wherever there is an umbrella of faith
the sky always
will be seen as clear,
because the soul
is sheltered in God’s tent,
His divine canopy
covers with mercy,
so even in a thunderstorm of tears
He is there,
regardless of the lightning crisis,
the Lord does not forsake.

And in the darkness
when we are alone
does His sun ever shine,
with our eyes viewing
all the peace and promise
stretching as and endless sheet
across the heart,
tranquility’s wind breath by Heaven,
to quiet the tempest within.

Being able to rest in the tornadoes
ever seeing beyond the anxiety,
serene is His touch
we can hold onto
when all else fades as vanity.

Dotting the I

Detail vigilantes
hangman noose solutions,
passions admired,
forgotten
during coffee break
with executed.

Ruts

When the path the heart must step
feels so deeply like groves
there are no doubt or questions
preventing knowing this trail
is the one for you.

Along those ruts of ancient ways
followed by instinct through
each plain of reality,
sometimes the winds bring change
and the sky gets so dark
from sensing the inner clash
between what brings peace
and what showers its transcendence
over the heart and soul.

Yet, can’t stop to pause in any field
for the horizon calls in its song
with visions flowing through the mind
even if the air bristles with disquieting
though the day suddenly grows so tempest.

Oh that journey has so many changes
sometimes feeling the heaviness
from traveling it alone,
then suddenly flashes a thunderbolt of epiphany
as the mind digests its meaning
at last knowing you are never alone
because heaven has its matches
that strike their light when feeling so confusion.

It burns in the mind always
to guide us through any looming threat
with a touch of serenity and calm,
which are the wardrobe of faith.

Sight

Eyes
cold and alone,
bereft of beauty's gaze
has ebbed in the pulse of hope,
hollowness smothering the spirit,
life toils in solemn silent tears
dressing tomorrow in funeral's thoughts
where nothing thrives nor teems
in a promise of intimacy's paradise
until every cloud seen
only brings a risk of storms.

But when love
comes by fate's transfusion
it pumps the blood throbbing ecstasy
as every breath taken
rumbles with the thunder of passion,
leaving mind struck constantly
by infatuation's lightning.
Vision flows from the soul,
angels found in every corner
able to view even dark threatening skies
with expectation it is alive with magic,
knowing you will share it with another,
inhaling inspiration's aphrodisiac
that gives flight unto the heart.

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.

Twisted Tracks

The pre-dawn world was slumbering peacefully
outside the dreams of the impoverished neighbor,
trying so hard to hold onto their hope
in the middle such poor housing and limited employment.

No one could have imagined
hell would visit that morning
when a train derailed on the railroad tracks
that ran along the edge of the houses.

Its one car containing a very volatile chemical,
when it ran off the rail
the explosion was so incredible intense,
blowing glass out of windows a mile away.

But that gas was lethal that rose from the wreckage
only the kids coming out of their homes,
still half asleep and covered in wounds
from the shatter glass
had no idea the poison they were inhaling.

Was horrible enough between the screaming and confusion,
babies in mother’s arms crying constantly,
yet when some started choking and collapsed on the ground
they had no help arriving
since the fire trucks were racing off to the train.

In all that terrible tragedy,
life was swinging barely by a thread,
ambulances finally summon,
paramedics rushing to help,
their medical help came too late for some,
fate the sad ruler of the disaster
where one child was saved
while another died from the air.

Oh the news conveyed the details
pictures included of corpses and damaged homes,
still it couldn’t capture the pain
the stench of the vile aromas in the air
nor the agonized eyes of those paramedics
who had to watch death claim some young life
as they tried so hard to help.

No one took the picture
of the grimaced fireman carrying that dead child
or did they show the tear at the corner of his eye
it was lost in important
because the fire, smoke and ruins
were treated as more photo newsworthy to the editor.

To New Sunrises

A year when dreams
become a city
to dwell,
love becomes more plentiful
than guns.

Where hearts,
reach out
more than clutch.

Ambition

Nobody explained
climbing pedestals
is stressful
and makes
you insane.

Prophets And Experts

Oh the lips that flow with the world’s honey,
never know of heaven’s bees or eternal wisdom
where all they see and can assess
is by what their own hands can hold or make.

So when you live by faith and trust with all your heart
though the rain comes and the day is far too long
out come the soothsayers to dispense their doom
only their mouths suppress their forecasts
by simply uttering that feign omniscient, “aha, aha”
rolling their eyes with mocking glares
quietly thinking how moronic you are
for clinging to something promised in God’s word.

Unto the soldiers of the cross
who have their scars of walking with the Lord,
in the heart is held that power of His spirit
ever remembering each time some valley came
where the end was not easily seen,
but knowing that God was at the end
making sure you arrived as His hand made possible.

Now while those silly nitwits mock and snicker
over the supposed lack of wisdom you express
it is the time to just keep walking and trusting,
aware sooner or later all those who trust to their own strength
will make a mistake and fall.

That is the time a quiet curl of the lips
and mere stare at their embarrassment
is as bad as pouring hot coals on their bodies.

Then walking ahead singing a psalm
while they sit and burn in their own shame
allowing the chance to laugh a tad,
which is an echo that it always haunts them

Mirages

Expectation's phantoms appear
on the cerebral horizon,
desire's ghosts stalk longing's wind
whispering craving's fantasia illusions,
steps of passion chase
towards dreams that ripple
the consciousness's gaze in clarity.

Mind's eye sculpts tomorrow's destination
as the oasis infused by anticipation's binoculars
writing a scroll of fulfilled prophecy
for the moment of self-realization
when hands snare the scenery of yearning
and paradise is held in one's arms.

But then the seconds bring accountability's stop sign
reaching the precipice one thought was sanctuary,
finding instead it is merely a vantage point
to refuges still beyond the finger's grasp.

All the detours of plots and short cuts followed
never truly reducing the distance
between ambition and accomplishment.

Blooms

Nature’s petal vases
held within the soul
where the bloomed became the bond
in the gray realm between day and night,
the cups of awareness to hold something in the air
swirling, watching,
ever hovering to prey,
which hands try to shield by a simple way.

Perhaps only the wind was the tormenter,
but it didn’t cease the inklings and whims,
those stabs in the night from unearthly touches
always left invisible during the day.

On the ground they lie
as simple grooves and cracks to be ignored,
yet the insides cringe from an icy caress,
instinct bearing them as a presence's pleasure.

Cultivated branches become the sprouts of amulets,
a strange though fascinating lure to believe
there is more to land and foliage
than the simple creations of spring.

Peace hangs in the questions felt
each stirring wonder keep alive
a pondering about the more beyond life,
that sense of what dwells without hands
and can touch at times with some dark power.

Subtle traces of their essence
is so oft discovered in ways
unproven to other eyes,
still inside sure it is so real.

Now lives the guardian who abides by lore
to decide this time to not be vulnerable
with sleep no longer the habitat of those nightmares
thanks to the limb growths
who capture the black vision spirits
by those bottles on that tree.

Under The Sky

Under the sky
still feels like heaven,
she remembers the illusions of peace
over that time of being thought as perfect
and dressed in that gown of purity,
it felt so good inside as if it were real,
instead of the myth massaged by those
who craved to make her just like them.

But ivory plumes of whitewashed feathers
can’t soar through the darkness
without eventually getting stained,
then falling off when she tripped
to find out there wasn’t only evil in the soil,
which she was told would make her sick and insane.

In her heart the walls crumbled
the fear of forbidden collapsing,
suddenly finding pleasure
among the places she thought would only give pain.

Now she lives in that place within her soul
filled with truths she was told were lies,
no longer tasting the bitter fruit of false holiness,
forced to accept that curse of gossip’s reputation
by those who used to try and keep her
chained in a sanctuary.

Still she sleeps with so much more joy
from being undressed of that sacred robe
because it never fit anyway.

How life has such calm and happiness
when you are a sinner who is more of an angel
than a saint that ws more of a demon.

The air is always easier to breath
if it isn’t tainted by deception’s pollutions.

DUNKED

Life is perfect when the dirt never stains,
down by the riverside,
hallelujah chorus cleansing
before feet touch the water.

Reverend Buford Bellicose
bringing sins before a watery altar,
tomorrow will be dry and lily white.

Life's venue savored and sermonized
how glorious is paradise
once one's demons
are drowned by bath and vow.

Rituals dunking yesterday
into the rationalization's washer.
Donning a wet tee shirt
as hospital gown
for cancerous impulses.

Laundry done next week
bound to catch the filth
missed last time,
if not there is always
another opportunity,
because everyone knows
forgiveness is Heaven's chalkboard
that God always erases
when there are enough witnesses.

Little Flames

It is never an inferno's blazing out of control that blinds,
which we fail to see in our soliloquies of deep retrospection,
rather the matches left unlit in the darkness of our fears and doubts,
never igniting the candles which gives life to one's fingers
when we scribble our essence upon the scroll of time
in layers of actions leaving their etched upon another's heart.

Words are a banner waving the breeze,
but if they are never hoisted beyond the saluting the wind,
nothing more rises in the day.

All thought can bring its song,
however, the writing the music in psalm of change
requires the dulcet harmony of commitment's composure.

Taking steps, through stumbling, uttering forgiveness
to those how cast their boulders in our way,
acceptance is the gauze that renews
until embrace the mirror as friend.

Incarnate is the breath of passion, which drinks the sunrise,
seeing shadows as places to bridge
instead of refuges in which to hide.

Taking a step in our minds, then walking in the way guided,
finding peace in the soiled rags worn as memories,
without letting them become chains.

Freedom to love oneself, gives flight to loving other,
strolling a desert lacking a compass
doesn't mean you must die of thirst
because we let pride silent our cries for help.

Bruised and battered, we all become,
celebrating every achievements with its mars,
will give a soul another reason to still run.

With Apologies

It is so difficult at times
to understand the ways of the Lord,
but we celebrate each life He created
with apologies accepted
over the times Guardian Angels
get more than a little overworked
so they don’t have opportunity
for providing adequate explanations
about every occasion He works in mysterious ways.

It is sort of cherubim complication
they really do the best they can,
promising it will all be faithfully recorded,
including appropriate footnotes
in that scroll you get to read
when reaching the afterlife.

After all, somebody has to make the clouds,
rain doesn’t get added by accident,
then there is all that lightning to create,
thunder really takes a lot of work too.

Praying you will accept this explanation
knowing what a big welcome party
they are having in Heaven.

Just hope they don’t get sidetracked again
by those sunset problems,
smog can cause such challenges,
there is only so much a poor angel can do.

May the Lord truly bring you smiles of joy
over knowing your loved one is in His home,
and how they will to not let the festivities
last past a decent curfew hour,
though with eternity that is a tad later than here.

One Grasp

When you pause and hold the earth with concise clarity
let the timbre of its tremors truly touch the thoughts
it is no longer just soil, stone or scrub that you see,
but the resonance of life rising in all its silent stately scenes.

The heart is where the grasp of fingers honestly begins
to reach down deep below the surface to find the roots
then extended on senses upward as a tether of fingerprints
and embrace all that grows and blooms amid the air.

Oh sweet communion of mind, body and soul
in perfect sync with the world’s countless arrays of faces,
each layer that stretches its mantle of creation
before us where we can learn and embrace its beauty.

What stroll we take when walking with the focus,
which seeks to clutch from inside all that we can know
move out of the limitations of our own assumptions
unto a chance to caress some quintessential natural element
with all we are so it literally speaks its meaning.

It is journey for depths to heights made within and the without,
a precious trip through epiphany’s roots
worn like a bark in the way it covers our understanding.

Unmerited

I ducked into an adult book store late at night
nervous and not even sure why I went,
but I looked anyway stabbed by guilt,
then hide behind this one aisle
when a man entered from my church,
a pillar, a deacon and with a righteous reputation,
he bought some magazines,
stuff them in his raincoat
before he strolled outside.

After watching, my stomach churned,
shame swept over me,
leaving without even looking at a thing
or buying a single item

Sunday came and I nearly couldn’t enter the church door
still plagued by a sense of worthlessness,
greeted by that deacon who spilled all his
rehearsed religious jargon.

Dragging myself to a pew,
collapsing in a clump feeling so terrible
when a breeze blew over my face
only no one else could feel it,
inside I heard a still small voice
say, “I love you,”
peace came because at last I knew
my Lord’s favor never dependent
upon my being sinless.

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.

Our love is eternal

Our hearts are one flame,
endless, ever shining in the dark,
it burns with a star’s brilliance
for it sparkles against the long dark nights.

Though time and test have tried our bond,
ever is on our lips we speak
like a song just for us that has no equal.

Beneath the sky we still soar
by the wings of our embraces
nothing deters or diminishes
this immortal kiss we feel on our souls.

Sunrise is our ray in sweet reflections
when the words spoken at eve together
become a beam we ride all day,
there are no ruins for our dreams
they thrive and grow with each morn.

All the time as one is ageless
so like a ceaseless pause in hours,
an incredible magical gap
between two seconds
spent completely transfixed and charm
from how our thoughts melt into a single thought
of how enduring our love is in its essence
pure, powerful and so sublime.

Today, yesterday and tomorrow
become one minute when we are together,
how it is such a cherished experience
we live and breath in perfect harmony
just two lives that become a single heartbeat
and once this world passes from our minds
where me lift upwards as clouds in our souls
forever, my love, shall we hold each other
on the fridge of immortality
where we were meant to be
without any finality to what we share.

Percussion Of Creation

The sunrise comes
with its demanding cadence
a beat felt with the light’s command,
as it resonates in the vibrations
that touch the drums in any heart.

There is the tone it sets as a march
those steady paces to obey the morning’s song
or the pounding urgency of noon’s resound
to lead a quickened step towards the afternoon
and hurry before the day is gone,

It is the percussion of creation
where one is stirred and slowed
by those constant taps upon the mind
as the parade before the twilight.

Inside we are touched by that thump
how it can keep us moving
even when the sounds grow faint
and there are places yet to reach.

But still it lingers as a throbbing awareness
over the power that drives us
so we keep on that stride giving life a sense of purpose
like a soldier following the drummer’s tap.

Because without that rhythmic rote to obey
we miss out on the call for our own souls
who only listen to the notes of its throb,
which keeps us walking past
where we might otherwise quit.

Hunger

Caged desires that quietly unchain the soul
even when life has imprisoned with a tyrannical keeper,
insides ravenous ready to taste the air of liberty,
passions lick the dream of reliance’s sky,
unwilling to accept placation’s bananas for a diet,
which never appeases freedom’s hunger.

The sleeping simian snared in circumstance’s cell
awakening subtly to face realty with defiance and determination
spreading through the mind and heart to never surrender
becoming a witness to the minions sharing the misery
that at times going ape is truly natural for a famished appetite
keeping alive the spirit of oneness
no matter the cruelties served upon the moment.

Captivating

A flash upon a celestial stage,
cosmos conjurer
waves a silvery wand,
stars appear before the eyes,
illumined legerdemain
stunningly timeless.

Prowling

Predator hearts always out on a limb
obey the sway of full moon murmurs
to let the feline in the heart
seek the prey of curiosity
when others just sit and sleep away
what the impulses so magically inspire.

It’s the hunt with the hunger
easily searching for a deeper repast
the pure nutrition of the brain
with snacks of moonbeam glows
upon the world of night.

What prowls in the spirit
is the quest for the unseen
that inevitable stalking of dreams
somewhere in the eve of questions.

But it is an adventure alone
not taken by all
and when you win in your search
joy is the victory of discovery
never in the boasting.