floodgates

its a silly suffering

to willingly wade from

the shallow waters

out into the deep

there’s torture in each step

but determination to take the

next and the next and the next,

water rising from chest to chin

a madman’s chortle,

a lunatic’s intensive gaze

as water covers the mouth

covers the nose

and then, submerged

the floodgates open,

the body exhales as the

water rushes in,

tranquility restrains violence

fading away with a smile

everything else

is silent

(unknown internet source)

4 corners

there dressed for summer

a boy bends down

to write his name on

the pavement with

sky-blue chalk

there looking anxious

a kid on the edge

exchanges skag with

a WAG in a Bimmer

he calls Rena

there in the rain

one man stands

with a suitcase

and a hitchhiker’s

thumb extended

there on a bench with

a cane in one hand

and nothing in the other

someone asks

  Where you goin’?

(Pixels.com)

karma’s always smiling

scattered as a 

smashed diamond

whose remaining value 

can no longer

be held

  karma strikes back

  with a heavy hand

  and a pounding fist

  why is she always smiling,

  why that piercing gleam

  all my mirrors are the same,

  she’s behind me in each one

in the light of the smallest sun

I barely twinkle,

smashed and scattered, as

worthless as dust

(Karma by Richard Ainomujuni on fineartamerica.com)

.

all poems end

the fragile ones

eventually break

the ones from the heart

wearily stop beating

the truthful ones,

the exclaiming ones

spontaneously combust

and the hopeful ones,

the thoughtful ones

are painfully smothered

all poems end

as I suppose they must .

(Image from soul-love.tumblr.com)

aliens

  where have they all gone,

the empty footprints are filling in

the wind covers them with sand

the ocean washes them away

and the beautiful places are

empty once again

as if they never came,

as if they were never meant to be here

in the first place,

as if any one of them ever mattered

to anyone else

  now that they’ve gone

(my photo)

I tend to tears

I tend to tears

that cannot be touched,

that cannot be seen

this intangible vacuity

has mass and velocity

but no specific direction

seemingly hyper-bouncing,

feeling each impact’s effect

as the ripples circle outward

hearing the echo of a cry

while the source is long gone,

a flight of sorrow in the void

tears

endlessly falling

(A Tear In The Fabric Of Space by Clirkus on deviantart.com)

new bones

 

  Hey,

  we’ve got some new bones here,

  wheel him on in and

  get that saw spinning

do they not know that

I’m not really dead yet,

who scheduled this autopsy,

and how did I get so naked

why can’t I scream while they’re

pulling me apart, while they’re

weighing every thought I have and

measuring every ounce of worth

they will drain me, separate me

place pieces of me into little jars

one eye forever floating above

half a brain and a pointless finger

  “Hey, I’m still alive here,

  leave me the fuck alone

  and let me figure all this out,

  I’m not ready to be looked at yet”

(Autopsy of The Soul, by Vincent Castiglia on darkartandcraft.com)

a private entrance

( for the future “I Love You”  )

this land has lost its

jubilant appearance

but I am clearing the filth

the dried blood of old lovers

the scattered words of

broken promises

the shit-taste of past kisses

these boots are unclean

and wet with forgotten tears

that linger still in puddles

because there never was a

sun that entered to

dry them away

my voice... no, my scream still

echoes here in violent fuck it,

fuck you and fuck everything ‘s,

  I still feel the wanted revenge

  I still see the walking away

  I never went numb or blind

  I just moved around and then

moved on

now years upon years and

years later

  after the prolonged silence

  of a word that’s been

  cursed at

  spit upon

  and intentionally ignored

I have returned here to

clear a path

to build a private entrance

into my heart

for the one who has brought

that word back to life

dare I say, that word is

alive again

and deserves celebration

and a home most suited

to its vibrant life

dare I say anything

but that exact word

held so sacred

in time, yes indeed

I do dare say it

in time

there will be

an I Love You 

again

(Looking For Love 2 by Jim Warren, michaelgodardartgallery.com)

phase equilibrium

whereabouts on the 

walkabout are you

but here and there

you are, but

are you

a boy confused, a boy aging

a boy balancing 

childhood / manhood

in the heat of these days

  these of 

  testimony and oath

  these of

  influence and independence

transitioning to and fro

  body, blood and breath

  struggling for equilibrium

maintain nothing, traverse

unsettled you will

move and move and move

shapeshifting, now 

one thing defined

now, another

(Arseniy Semyonov)

slide

an easy weekend evening 

slides on by

the reclining sunbathers and

the wild children leave the 

pool in a sloppy happiness

that smells of chlorine 

and spf 30

out-of-state license plates

take up all of the good 

parking spots, except for

mine because I haven’t left

since Friday

caffeine, poetry and a little

guitar playing got me through

most of the time, thoughts of

someone special filled up all

the rest

some things you just don’t let

slide on by like the others,

some things have to be

held... tightly

  the sun is gone now

  but night’s becoming

  a new beautiful

  I slide over a little bit

  and make room for

  her absence

(Image from Fravery.tumblr.com)

  

distance

sometimes

the best thing in your life

is temporarily out of reach

  so what then, if anything,

  can be done about

  this cruel distance

I’ve taken a strong vow

of patience while this

incredible love takes root

  daydreaming like a gardener

  tending carefully to the soil,

  the weather, the weeds

sometimes

the best part of your life

is what’s yet to be 

  and if there’s anything that

  this distance does provide,

  its the room for love’s gentle 

  growth

(Mariyam D Arts on artpal.com)

immersion (a dream of her)

(Alessandro Risuleo)

immersed, I taste

the totality of her

the variety of textures

that create the world of

her body

the thin and thick of

her skin

the varying degrees of

responsiveness

when kissed

the layers deep, the

tender shallows

the arid, the lush

the drenched

I speak in tongues to

penetrate, lubricate

stimulate and invigorate

blessing this ritual with

enigmatic fervor

unworded

             unguided

                         immersed

(Fineartamerica.com)

tile

by accident

or by fantastic chance

  where I make my way

  there

  I trip and fall

by push or pull

though it matters not

  the impact prevails

  and

  my way is lost

abrupt and passive comes

the acceptance of change

  as if I had a choice

  to

  ignore this happenstance

a body falling to the floor

meets the cold hard tile

  the heat transfers

  and

  a new connection is made

unchosen

mitigate this restlessness

today’s perfume is getting

obnoxiously close to

igniting

bubblewrap me in the

comfort of memory loss

when you

              were not

and I was

              not yet

the canvas still white,

the colors unchosen

(Image from the-soul-doctor.com)

in the underneath

what of this filled sky

that storms overhead

  is there not still an

  opening that shines

  with some sun

take a little turpentine and

wipe the fields of color

  what of the simple beauty

  forgotten or lost in the

  underneath

is there not still a song of

hope to sing through despair

  taking pleasure in the voice

  and the black-and-white of

  rainfall

what of this narrow road

that disappears behind me

  what of any thing has

  anything of value, is there

  one so loved

(Image from regis-chupin-photos.tumblr.com)

melancholy

melancholy

  sounds like a

  flower’s name

  that blooms at

  the ocean’s edge

  just as the

  painful site of

  sunset

  fills the bloom

  and disappears

  slowly under the

  coming darkness

  and

  lightest of rainfall

(Image from pinterest unknown source)

common pleasures

fields of grass and morning’s dew

sunrise gold, ascending blue

common pleasures hold a truth

I thought of this while I thought of you

where she wakes, I’d love to know

so I posed the question to lines of crows

perhaps they’d tell but instead they chose

to fly away, row by row

politely aggrieved, I wondered on

and asked the same to the bee, to the frog

and yet again to the ducks in the pond

but all were silent, all moved along

I’m a modest man with modest hopes

my common pleasures are simply told

she is a secret everywhere I go

and where she wakes I’ll never know

fluttering

out of armor, these

manmade facades fail

the hauberk

the kevlar

the steel mesh

the polycarbonate

the sedative veil

the fallacious word

the lesson plan

the mothering hand

all bare skin now

and delirious laughter

  naked in the

  glowing grace

  of a burning

  confessional

nobody’s listening

and there’s

no penance assigned

  the door opens -

    ashes flutter

    in an empty space

(Gif from audiokarma.org)

its just a picture

I know its just a picture

but sometimes...

  running my fingers through

  your hair

  feeling the idea of each

  soft strand

  slip between

  and fall

  tracing the delicate shape

  from ear to cheek to chin

  and up to lips

  and around those lips

  and over those lips

  lingering there

  and then ~ pulling away

  scolding my fingers for

  their crazy imagination

  thanking them for

  these delightful sensations