ripples

ripples from the wake,

a noiseless imbalance

the rolling ricochet

barely disturbs

i too am here

absorbing, adjusting

just shy of idle

against the passing day

(My photo)

shutter “ click

camera intrusion

  } annihilators {

a different kind of bullet

  > penetrators <

shutter “ click

shutter “ click “ click 

(Rafael Salazar on fineartamerica.com)

voyeur steals innocence

  a downblouse ¥

  an upskirt ^

venomous ~ by ~ theft

victims ...   ...   ... desolate

(from theodysseyonline.com)

frisson

everyday

she seems prettier

  and that’s not just

  a sentence to

  start off this poem

  its a fact

proven by the endless

eyeball tests

i’ve conducted over time

her smile doesn’t just

walk by unnoticed

or leave forgotten

it rattles my stability

it trips my gait

it disrupts the cadence

  of an otherwise

  steady heart

waves, shivers, frisson;

faltering dexterity

and the miserable dilemma

trying to decide if i should

spend my day in a 

constant state of arousal

still thinking about her

or just give in to the

refractory period

that’s necessary to

heal

repair

and be ready again

(painting by Monika Luniak on artfinder.com)

out-there girl

the out-there girl is

a woman now

and the tiny world from

her childhood is

too heavy to carry in

a willow basket

  so she drags it along

her scars have thinned

once thick with rage and

loathed reflections

they lie on her skin as

paraphrased reminders of

abandoned stories

  and nothing more

the out-there girl was

once a cry in a

curled-up corner of a

dollhouse room

behold this precious

woman now

calloused to a poise

and out there on her own

marbled utopia

they lied about

the chalk lines,

there were no

bodies in the streets

  the knives were dry,

  the bullets released

  had nowhere to go

the empty hands

that were reaching out

were filled with hands

that were pulling in

  and except for the tiny

  fires of prayer candles

  that marbled this

  strange utopia

  no one set a flame

  so nothing burned down

that bird that sang

(a rondeau  poem)

that bird that sang, from tree to tree

as happy as a bird could be

dancing, darting from limb to limb

before the storm came rolling in;

   O foul tempest, O cruelest siege!

branch upon branch, leaf upon leaf

did sway and swing, did crack beneath

the sweetest song, the softest hymn...

   that bird that sang

had i the strength i’d halt with ease

and cast that storm back out to sea

O swallowed sky, O swirling wind,

my pleasure’s lost as the hour dims;

i’m left to mourn with memories...

   that bird that sang

(Bird In The Storm by Topaz98 on imgur.com)

This is a heart felt thank you! to those of you who have visited this blog, I am very thankful for your time, and if you are celebrating... I wish you a safe and happy Thanksgiving Day!

climbers

we are climbing up

different mountains now

and i don’t know how

to get to you anymore

with all these clouds

between us and the

unknown grounds below

its a tricky love

and mostly one-sided,

from way over here

to you

way over there

i shout

and i know

that you only hear

the echo

  unaware of its

  source

but at least

you have something

  and i feel better

  letting it out

(photo from susie-moore.com)

sloven

in a corner

lost, unattainable

vibrating in his

tousled state

another dour dose

of reticence

bloats the belly and

burrows into bones

still sore from the fall

from a height that

friends once called

magnificent

  life that was

  organized

  and conquered

  and quite delicious

  trembles there

  lost in a corner

  disheveled

  tasteless

  and out of reach

lost in the smoke

wisp of a girl

thin, like a

four word sentence

and she’s messy

all the way down

to her untied sneakers

one foot smothering

a cigarette

into the ground

scanning the horizon

in slow motion

as she exhales

and then

as if answering a

question i never asked

she says, in a

voice of mixed calm

and frustration

  there are so many

  peaceful roads on earth

  i’m just trying to find

  one of them

shadows - part 2 (my photos)

keep the body

in motion

to keep the

shadows at bay

balled up tight like

a secret in a fist

will not

hide you

spread yourself

higher...

bend away from

this earth...

thrust forward

reach...

surpass...

there are no 

shadows

at the height

of existence

only

space

cooling winds

cooling November winds

are finally upon me

at last i’m freed from the

sticky mesh of those

dogged Summer months

wiping the stench of

sweat and breath with

warm hands that are

just as sweaty

has finally become

two hands in the air

and a head flung back

to enjoy the breeze

its the little things

  like smiling more often

  and opening the windows

  and women wearing sweaters

that change my mood

from gloom to gleam

and again,

that cooling breeze

finally

finally upon me

unkept

i’m not really sure

who’s been here

in my place

  the word unsaid

  left an empty bed

but under black light,

the semen

the saliva

in the closet,

tangled hangers

on the floor

in a vase

on the nightstand,

the beauty of

6 dead flowers

  its been many years

  and the dream

  never changes

the room

the promise,

unkept

on its own

her hand

  empty of companionship

finds a pocket to

hide in

her hand

  exhausted and

  supine

lounges in longing

her hand

  hopeful for

  love in the night

lights a new candle

her hand will be

beautiful enough

on its own

  when i find it

yellows

i need more yellows in my room,

something just short of fire

maybe i’ll buy some paint and

go full-on vertical Pollock

i’ll splash these walls and pull out

the chaotic gardens within me

    cursed be these

    sudden doldrums,

    always so

    unsightly grey

fourteen people walked by the

window, i kept the tally

fourteen times i prayed that the

doorbell wouldn’t ring

these are passing moments,

they usually are ( i’m losing it )

    blessed be these

    oscillations,

    never so alive

    in a grave

i’ll be a dead body for someone

to bury, find me a pretty field

with black-eyed susans and

buttercups, trees with canaries

the more yellows the better,

such a pleasant smiling color

    idle now, these

    limbic rituals,

    the cause and cure

    the same

shadows - part 1 (my photos)

eclectic shadows

upon me ~

foreign tongues

taste me ~

their licks are

smooth as fog

invading shadows

cover and penetrate

finding new ways

to overtake,

overflow...

  enter and

  consume

groups of shadows

emerging like guests

cautiously coming

halfway through the

door,

entertained by this

host and

invited to stay

shadow, shadow

devour me whole...

your silky sexuality

has become my

craving

i am unburied,

naked

and unknowing

now ~

   willing to do

      anything

slither (my photos)

your

  cursing

    blush

your

  flailing

    tongue

the bed the couch

the carpet

are all drenched

with you

and i am spent,

recuperating in this

not-so-flattering

position

as the word

love

slithers back into

this room we’ve

smeared with

lust

THIS IS A PSA...

This blog is nsfw and 18+ and has a “sensitive content warning” on it for a reason...

however, i am posting this as an additional warning for some visitors who might be offended by my upcoming posts, especially if you have arrived here from my tumblr site and i haven’t already spoken to you 

there will be artistic male nudity (mine) involved with some poems, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING pornographic, ever, however, i have been experimenting with photography and lighting and shadow play and i intend to include them with my writing

if this is something that might offend you, please scroll past, don’t visit those posts, or just ignore... 

but, this is my blog, my personal playground, my artistic outlet, and i choose to do it

the goal is to emphasize the poems with the photography

it will be tastefully done

~ thank you as always for being here~ mike

vacant arrangements

the face in front of me

becomes

the face on a screen

her skin, now the

secret touch of

aluminosilicate glass

her body, out of view,

now the naked shape

of my wild imagination

  must we all be

  a part of these

  vacant arrangements

  must we all be

  bodies by bytes

  in this hell-spun web

i will pull her out,

we will touch and

we will kiss

  whenever this world is

  real again

today

i will say less

to see more

no tongue shall

get in the way

eyes will absorb,

ears will take in,

nose and mouth

will smell and taste

existence

come rain

come sun

come wind or

gentle breeze

i ask nothing of

anyone

or anything

i am here

without judgement,

without opinion

only

to accept