Creatures

It’s the sounds of thoughts that roar in your brain,
they become as natural cataclysmic forces,
felt like lightning, earthquakes or tidal waves
or they come as a prowling, savage lion
who shudders your senses with his rage.

Each reaches to the heart and grabs your throat
until then the creature isn’t born,
the words just lie dormant in your brain,
but the moment they have life,
take possession of your soul and shake you senseless
then they become the muse’s fruit,
a pure, passionate dripping of her honey.

All is the life with power that strikes inside
totally capturing your mind in a moment of time,
utterly gripping all you are,
before they begin to drool across a parchment of page,
sometimes not even happening with your awareness
as fingers glide in strokes from the subconscious.

Which leave their marks for the eyes to see
where you look at them lightheaded and nearly breathless
because it shook and quivered when it came
while you deposited them as part of your essence
so they will rise from that page to snare others
like a savage, hurting beast
who is hungry for attention.

The Voice Within

I am a heartbeat
that has a sound often lost
amid the shouts and screams,
which ring out from so many sources
come with their pains into my head.

Yet the echoes of my throbbing
still linger and refuse to be silence
as I remain that voice within
every searching for my place
among all the masks that exists.

And even when the roar
rises from so many mouths,
even when machines and other sources
smother the world for attention
for me I continue to ring my inner chime
because it is part of who I really am,
so share it to be sure
that I don’t get lost while treading water
in that sea called humanity.

It’s enough at times to know
how what lies in my essence
is what I try to express,
sometimes with embellishments,
which convey some diversity of me,
but always so what is seen
really will end up being what I am.

And Though I Bend

And though I bend under the weight of the day
like a bruised reed bowing to the blast of the wind,
even if the rains come to beat down upon my skin,
the soul can still stand erect in defiance
when the Lord’s spirit is the steel within,
for there is no season to what is eternal,
no frailty to slay what will never die
when faith is the iron that flows inside.

What comes against the body is only a touch
compared to immortality,
should it bear its fingers by razor traces
still it will never stop the wings of belief
that is a shear power that treats God’s word
as a shield that can never be destroyed.

We face the dents, valleys and shadows
along the path before our feet,
but they are only steps of temporal prints,
never the place we shall always dwell.

In the mind is Heaven’s canvas,
a theater to see the image of our destiny,
just let that view be the very essence,
which gives any moment of struggle
visions to warm with their light.

So we can face those journeys through cactus
ever holding onto that sight
of that home that awaits
where nothing shall scar again.

Baubles

Baubles dangle before the brain,
spheres of sunset’s inspiring pearls,
orbs floating reflection’s memories,
nostalgia’s necklace draping the sky
like bubbles bouncing in the breeze.

The heart drinks the ambience champagne
slowly sipping its steady soothing serenity.
Holding the moment is tranquility’s glass,
pierced by the sense
that twilight has its own eyes,
as if a specter is in the scenery
silently casting a spell
from another time.

On the beach within the spirit
sands of time drift with their tales,
feet touch the grains and hope to leave a mark,
to capture the hour as more than a twilight.

And bedeck life in the jewelry of hope,
those gems that float in the mind
as gentle and caressing as a warm wind,
until the beach before the soul
is a splendor reaching from within,
precious and intense,
a siren calling forth
that takes one to places
deeply potent in the purest calm.

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.

Wading

At last willingly submersing into the tides of time
every sense washed by the streaming stimulation,
but the heart has cast away its apprehensions
for this moment calls with its overpowering sway.

Now is the vivid and intense awareness
as the tension rises from the anticipation
of how at last what was feared
shall finally be stripped away.

Peace bathes the mind and spirit
joy baptizes with its incredible feel
because for once the grasp of desire
didn’t stop what was craved was held.

It is the rush of euphoria that immerses
while inside there swells such bliss,
at the rapture, the stunning kiss of happiness
when what was craved
flows within in deep powerful kisses.

The past is forgotten
during this hour of pure calm,
wading so tranquilly
in the stillness of complete serenity
far from that place of inhibitions
that felt so cold and empty.

Band-Aids

If you don’t see the blood
you can pretend the piercing fire doesn’t exist,
busy yourself trying to forget the razor sharp blade
drawn over your flesh with a howling psychopathic laugh,
then try to suppress memories of the soliloquy of mother may I rationale
by the brutal piranha feast upon your heart
while the flashbacks leave you trembling in sobs of night’s silence.

Keep duct tape pressed so hard as a cover over the pain
that is caused by a rip in your flesh only seen in your mind,
because day by day you clutch like some seventy year old virgin
at the frail hope some stranger will end your innocence,
somehow bring a band-aid that won’t be laced with acid.

Just when the screams mellow
amid the soft honeyed glows of some sunrise
so you think perhaps there won’t be anymore agony,
and this gaping hole in your life
that has drained it of a single reason to want to keep breathing,
there comes some assassin in soothing tones of stealth
while waving an ivory cross
who manages to impale its pointed end you didn't see
deep into the corner of you scar,
it works so unmercifully and intensely
to create a crack in your frail sense of calm.

Like a web, the suffering regurgitates its stabbing sensations
until you are the victim again,
murmurs of forgiveness arise from a tomb
in a graveyard where serial sadistic abusers are buried,
yet never truly die,
they are a giggle at your moans
over the wretched rips to your silence,
as you think cannibals and demon surgeons
must be the only lovers you’ll ever have.

Deaths At Midnight’s Table

Hiatus of reverie’s reclamation
blows over the mind at midnight’s table
like a breeze with Nirvana scents.

If only it could truly summon evolution
end the madness inside,
but it couldn’t prevent
that angel at the bar
from turning into a whore
and the wings added to one’s nakedness
from not allowing you to fly.

So at midnight with lips around the top of bourbon bottle,
flashbacks of commissioned trip into a sexual paradise
never purged the mind of those portraits
of that unblemished pious mannequin
who you thought lived somewhere within.

Just twirling the single quill from that airy plume,
which truly was an illusion in the first place,
quietly accepting the truth,
there are no honest righteousness peddlers,
merely dreamers and those who try to pretend
every poison consumed from tainted wineries
is somehow blessed as a nectar
when served in a cup of immortality
manufactured by a blind man
with an expiration date on the bottom.

Across The Desert

Across the desert of rituals, dogma and traditions
have I tread as a wounded soiled soul,
clad in my filthy rags, always stumbling,
always straying from the narrow path
even though in my heart
I wanted to be different and less flawed.

Oh, the sin inside never ended
no matter what I learned
or what I did to feel it was gone,
it just left me feeling so dry and brittle,
totally unworthy of my Lord’s attention.

Years spent in that wilderness
have never rid me of every mar to my heart,
they still cling to my life
until at nights I feel that heaviness of my inadequacies.

But the Lord’s spirit comes as a soft, cooling wind,
He breathes over my wounds and doubts,
as I hear His voice speak that wonderful word of grace,
then I am renewed in my strength,
comforted in my failings,
while reminded that of how
perfection is never the path to heaven
since none of us capable of being sinless,
instead He opens His gate of unmerited favor,
the amazing blessing of His unconditional love.

Then I feel the peace comes
within my ache
happy to hold onto his promises by faith
not because I am deserving or righteous,
just because I take Him at His word.

Solos

Perspicacity’s illumined plumes
spread as a glider
towards epiphany’s sun.

Cerebral chaotic flutters
stilled by listening
to the winds of revelatory current.

Solo in serenity
comes by self acceptance’s wings,
flying by peace instead of appeasement,
which find the inner sky
where soaring
is a oneness,
tranquil and sublime.

. Everything I Know Was Your Words

You heart has spoken such mesmerizing eloquence,
it has undone the impatience from my anxiety over loneliness,
so amazed how this angel had come into my life
and spread a cloak of love’s delicate gown,
making my day a commune in calming soliloquies,
the peaceful dialogue inspiring such sweet reminiscences,
while I lie in the shelter of her arms,
her voice the hammock of my soul,
swaying with her siren song
she sings so soothingly just for me.

Until I drift away from the caverns of my fears,
lost in the inexorable ecstasy
of each passionate verse written by her lips,
which is written upon my life’s scroll.
How that poetry she creates with her magic
charms my every snippet of sorrow,
able to answer every doubt,
no more seeing my hopes as impossible,
instead surrender to a beautiful forever,
happily accepting her promises as the only reality I need to know.

Laughter

It echoes in our hearts and always stays alive
from the days where the world is fill with light,
those are the treasures, which make us rich,
give us smiles and we hold as a warmth so cherished.

What beauty there is on the joy that comes
while we remember the gold in another’s life
that shines constantly inside to bring happiness in any quiet.

Transcendence

Thoughts trek through transformation’s terraces,
they traverse time’s thin thorny threshold,
to train the thinking towards touching terrains,
those temporal tiers that transmit teleological tails,
transmuting terra tints thus terribly tainted.

These tenderly transfer their tempest tensions,
till thickets turn temples teaching therapeutic texts,
training theoretical third-eye theist thespians,
theatrical theology threading testimony testaments,
telling throngs terrific thanksgiving trilogies.

Trauma’s terror totally transcends televised taunts,
tabloid tainted tempting truths tattered,
temple tenets touch totally telegraphing teeming tones,
tedious telepathic torment tentacles tied,
tangential theorem tents table taboos.

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.

Leap Frog

Gazes out of the pits of conformity
where life is a maze in claustrophobic cubes
with identity is smothered by the bland sameness
of being trapped in oblivion.

But the mind leaps by intuition
out of the slow death in monotony’s crypts,
seeing and believing life is more
than the hollowness felt
by the anonymous fate
spent singing the sad song of oneness.

While some languish and only end up prisoners
others look for ladders and ways of escape,
moving by logic’s pragmatic steps
with one step at a time
even when slipping and failing.

For the sky is endless
and so are dreams,
so the one who never stops trying,
never ceases in the search for solutions
embraces any place that seems a cell
as just another point of departure
unto something truly more empowering
at a higher level of achievement.

Eventually looking back
once that effort has been rewarded
to see many options for improvement
often missed while trying to rise
that those still stuck in their dark crypts
have yet to even notice.

Bread

Heart's palette groans in deep awakening
its ravenous craving
for reliance's wheat,
having threshed the grains of confidence
from doubt's chaff,
milling it into hope's flour
for making the loaves of esteem.

One addictive taste of its flavor
consumed
during a famine in belief,
bought an everlasting
passionate appetite
to never lack the taste again.

Amid the amber waves
of self assurance's crops,
the mind weaves conviction's parasol
out of the gleamed fiber.

Walking in the sunrise of rebirth
finding contentment
underneath
the shade of self image's
harvested canopy.

Envy

In silence they sit on the screen
embedded with their program personalities,
Word sneers a the Internet Explorer
because it was used to often,
DVD snarls at Excel
how dare a graph
have more appeal
than a chance to watch a movie.

All the others mumble
for its time for Icon rumble!
It is a logo mess on that monitor scream
because they will duke it out
with their software show off boast.

Meanwhile the recycle bin
just sits back with a big smile
since it gets all the leftovers
feels so proud to be
the computer’s grim reaper.

By morn they’ve all lost
their energy to battle
mostly was a lot of insults,
frozen in place
from their little strut and dance
to await the next night
when they’ll wrestler again
because graphics got pride
even it if only happens
while the keyboard sleeps.

Tans

July radiance on the heart
leaves its tans in muted touches,
forgotten in the haste of August
until the cool of fall blows it breath
and suddenly that warmth remembered
blossom in the intensity of October’s tones,
They softly cast a spell of caresses
as the leaves, which grew in summer
by so many countless kisses ,
feeling like floating on a wind,
mind so swept a loft in the airy drift
where that sweet balm of longing
flows its power into the nostrils,
inhaling it with all its spell.

And all around the landscape and sky
bring their own fall magic to each sight
until you can’t gaze without throbbing inside,
unable to stroll that it doesn't sway
so insides feel like dancing on the breeze
on the current of love’s thoughts.

How deeply grows the urge
for holding what burned so hot
under the sun of the long hot season.

Now it haunts with its own vivid charm,
happily accepting its power
as a harvest of heart beats.
Ready to move deeper into the magic
created by the way each scene observed
becomes its own silent reminder
of days filled with quivering quintessence
giving unforgettable fiery tremors
so craved to duplicate
during the moment s of being
apart of September’s canvas.

Pretense

Weekend laundry
lying on the line in the head,
soiled and soaked,
still embossed with weekday images,
some day they get washed away,
someday they be turned into yogurt
or ice cream, perhaps rocky road flavor,
when Sunday becomes paradise
and all the liars are tortured,
but that is beauty carved
while taking aspirin and sugar.

Laughter

It echoes in our hearts and always stays alive
from the days where the world is fill with light,
those are the treasures, which make us rich,
give us smiles and we hold as a warmth so cherished.

What beauty there is on the joy that comes
while we remember the gold in another’s life
that shines constantly inside to bring happiness in any quiet.

Equality

The world is made of many thorns and sharp edges
as you stroll to grope for your own seat to perch.
Just consumed in the male's quest for a place to boast,
to feel that rush of glory kiss the veins and heart
and make that spot a throne even in middle of nowhere.

But life has its porcelain truths to humble
when the mind swells too much with ego,
forced to stand just another sum of bone and flesh
instead of as a little god who deserves to be worshipped.

That’s why the sign always reads, “men,”
never man, or enter the greatness,
because by deeds and labor we might feel so special,
yet quickly are forced to face the truth,
sometimes even the hero is just a zipper away
from having to leave behind a mark,
which will not last after he has gone.

In the silence if alone the thoughts will accumulate,
exhales will mask the moment of equality
of that rendezvous with being imperfect,
which has its power to remind
how we are mere mortals after all.

Meanwhile for some it is the time,
a few seconds of contemplation,
where the graffiti of arrogance is invented
then written by the tongue later
on the minds of those encountered
so it takes this simple time of spilling juices,
always turning it into a might clash of strength and will
that is only true when there were no witnesses
unto the facts that have been stretched out of shape.

Peace

Silence soothes the spell of sleep,
allows the mind to slumber,
which deafens the ears
to the sobs and screams,
sounds of bullets
and cries for victims.

Hearing the voice within
rise as trumpet to blow a warning
where no one wants to know
the world around them is falling apart
because they own all the hammers,
only makes enemies out of abusers
who treat critics as criminals.

But they aren’t the ones
that are the most likely to rage
against the song you blow,
it is the ones who are your neighbors,
so busy pretending peace is muted realty,
ignorance the perfect music.

They will arise as an assassin
to what reminds they are surrounded by wrong
because it is easier
than trying to end the melodies of tyranny.

The Glow

Rings shimmering when vows are a flame,
heart feels the mix of joy and anxiety,
blurred in the gaze into the pair of eyes
that took one to a heaven
far from the storms,
which burdened the life spent alone.

All the seasons of nuptial embrace
come in many memories,
spring's flowers of passion
growing in the heart's gardens,
summer stirring intimacy's heat,
autumn's cool calm of quieter reflections,
winter's shadows sweep over the hours
when longing comes during separation.

Each new celebration
of that golden time when gladly said I do,
hands remember best of all
soft touches of faithfulness and devotion,
the glow from the fire started
during those seconds when one knew
in every fiber of one's being
this other soul, this angel so adored,
was not a first date kiss
nor a fling for any eve,
but the one who would always be
a sun that warms where only lover's touch.

Words are spoken in affection's stare,
smiles holding shared secrets of gasps and tears,
cherished because true love is a glue
made in heaven.

Starlight

A hundred times the twinkle has been laid across the sky,
the immeasurable space within the mind were imagination shines,
those stunning insight pinpricks from the muse's fingertips
erupting in visionary fireworks of fancy sprinkling the head
in cosmic array of image constellations stirring their song of light,
all the poetic tales shining inside that give birth
to hope and magic through any night.

By quill they are intuitive dots connected in verses,
splendor's glaze combing the spirit,
igniting a shimmer of ecstasy
where only blank pages was once spread.

Fairies arise upon the ivory sheet,
unicorns and elves make their presence known,
though the heart is where it all becomes a universe,
love flowing through the summoned spells of imagination,
finding jewels in every expression,
daring to belief in the impossible.

It is the starlight of pure invention,
galaxies touched by the soul's fanning wings
told in precious stanzas rich in the honey of elation
by an embrace of life,
dwelling beyond the pillars of reality.

Not the gold that lines the pockets,
but it gives wealth to one's passion,
reminding how as long as there is fantasy in our ink,
that child who never grows up
will always bring enchantment to our day,
called a dreamer by those who are dead to tomorrow,
ever clinging to the pure euphoria of enlightenment
is to have the vitality to never stop chasing rainbows,
just because it is better than worrying about digging graves,
and all apart of the poet's joy
from the many contests you've hosted,
which are ladders to our inventive stars.

Echoes

The music of the lips
resounds in the mind,
it echoes its truths and deceptions
becoming a mask or seal over the heart.

For some this is a psalm,
so sacred and sanctified,
ever aware the words are heard by Heaven’s ears,
driven by the simple joy of harmony
between mouth and hands,
not worried what human eyes are around as witness
because every promise spoken is viewed as a holy land.

It is the willingness to obey the balance
rising from the conscience
that only finds peace in obedience
even when there is a price for such a choice.

Some walk in the shadows over their thoughts
darkness is their joy
since it hides their deepest desires,
only willing to act when it is for show.

But the person who resides
with a sense of Divine presence,
always races life’s marathon the same,
though at times totally alone
never halting from being faithful in every stride
for the finish line always is reached in the head
long before the last step is taken.

Pressing Buttons

Esteem's membrane, cold and bleached,
always seeking affection's sun,
to feel the warming tan from passion's pigment.

Transient vows of redemption scrawled by fancy's quill in diary,
mind gazes at tomorrow through hope's foggy window,
riding life's elevator desperately praying for chance seductive encounter,
hiding the hollowness haunting inner essence,
shell of truth within covered in denial's masquerade.

Pressing button for expectancy's basement
while praying another rider's heart will take her to penthouse.

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.

The Eyes Of Night

She collects each sob and tear
tossed on the baneful breezes of sorrow,
for she is the goddess who holds
the eyes of night,
those mental spheres of inner sight
where fantasy’s world’s reside.

Across the dark endless sky
her ethereal wings silently soar
while she listens to each cry
then showers her dream spell dust
upon each wounded heart,
gently ferrying them
by a enchanted zephyr wind
unto the places that mind imagine,
which swirl in that crystalline globe
formed in the sleeping soul.

For a while love floats the slumbering spirit
to the charmed celestial terraces
that summon the soothing kisses in serenity
so what burden in dark despair
is slowly stained with magical mist in calm
and in that realm the heart is given hope
softly caressed about its every sadness
by in the morning there remains
a sense of anticipation to replace the emptiness.

Each eve she gently helps so many
who never are aware of her blessings
until the time comes when the heart ceases to beat.
Unto the moment she brings her special power
forever guiding that life
far beyond any pain
as dreams finally become the person’s eternal paradise.

Near Sighted

One blink and you are convinced the world is gone,
everything you knew and believed was vaporized
and you are trapped in an abyss filled with yellow mucus
swimming with carnivorous purple slugs.

Then the walls ooze with vomit as you sink deeper into the slime
when ashen hands reach up from beneath to drag you under.

Screams sounds like a hyenas laughter
skin crawls as if covered in cockroaches,
head throbs as eerie, raspy voice inside
speaks of hideous ways the demonic beasts waiting at bottom
will violate one's body and infect the mind with maggot larvae.

About the time the last thread of reality
is frayed beyond any hope of it ever knowing normal again,
everything abruptly fades to black,
last thought about image of becoming an emaciated corpse,
being dissected while still alive by used car salesmen
resembling zombies.

Vision returns as one opens eyes
in the optometrist's exam chair
remembering warning
that new dilating drops had side effects.

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.

Triumph In The Valley Of Jezreel

And Gideon dwelled in the shadow of invaders,
he hid in a wine press to try and survive.
A man of ordinary desires and weaknesses
who God chose to deliver Israel
out of the hand for the Midianites.

In the moment of his calling
from an angel of the Lord,
doubt was his vocabulary,
fear his garment,
just a mortal who seemed so unlikely
to be a warrior against an overpowering enemy.

What precious patience has the Lord
with one who He so calls,
gently He moved Gideon
out of his anxiety and worries
where he would finally accept his destiny.

When he question being called,
the Lord gave him witness
by watering a sheep’s fleece
when there was no rain.

At last his spirit found the iron,
slowly and nervously he collected the men
out of the tribes,
then moving at night within vision
of the enemies pitched tents
after those who were afraid,
those not guarded or prepared
returned home.

Out of twenty-two thousand
only three hundred stayed.
Then they stood in the dark
with pitchers that had lit candles inside
along with trumpets.

Once they broke the picthers and blew the trumpets
one shout was made in unison,
“The Sword Of The Lord and Gideon.”

That eve God worked is power,
the enemy awoke in confusion
and dueled among themselves.

In the end, the victory was won
through a small company
against a mighty horde.

All by the leadership of a man
whose humanness is so inspiring
because it is the message of God’s boundless grace
where with Him nothing is impossible.