Magic

The world comes alive in any morning

where the heart paints the light with make believe,

looks for enchantment in any sky

and seeks the impossible among flowers and hills,

lets the day become a miracle

filled with happiness that glows inside.

 

It is the beauty that comes to any sunrise

when you dip the rays in the colors of hope

as they streak those bright red touches

over every shadow and thought

until they nearly shine in their splendor.

 

How it brings so much joy into any view of life

if we look for the magic among the thorns,

just treat it as a celebration of what is special

in anywhere we happen to walk,

which we appreciate for its wonders.

 

For when we feel more than think

stroll to find the treasure nature hides,

each trip becomes an adventure

always leading to those surprises

that make a moment like a dream.

WARMTH

Gazing out the window towards a pristine tundra of bleached terrain,

with the freezing temperatures creating their icy vines upon the glass,

my insides shake from an hint of 'brrr'

that stings to the very marrow of my being.

 

But in the moment of inhaling Nature's wintry artistry

from the safe, seclusion of my hearth in toasty comfort,

my mind can't escape visions about menacing glacier dwarfs

bringing forth the ice cube taste of an artic blast,

making my aching bones feel like a snowman's limbs.

 

Still, I know there is always the flame that dances in my head

as I cling to memories of summer's sizzling hope,

before lighting the traditional candles of seasonal, festive rant

to keep smoldering the embers of magic and passion.

 

While I attempt to cushion myself from the frigid gnomes

my brain imagines lurking in the drifts

using blankets, fire and a bubbling froth,

within I sense a subtle tongue of snowy dialogue

hinting at how real heat for the soul

can not be chilled by any frozen brush of January.

 

Its vitality is most alive in the textures of a brisk, frozen faire

where warmth simmers more acutely in our consciousness,

giving life a greater story, despite the alabaster coldness,

till we breathe with the essence of the sun,

no matter the raging blizzard

outside or in.

Water

Drops quench the thirst in seconds

but the soul's throat still is parched,

flood of visions soak with currents numbing,

till blood tastes of ancient flavors

leaving rings stains, eyes see with a sagacious glow.

Bargains

Was time to obey the calendar in commercialism

by a trip to that maze in materialism

where the nest of salespeople

would wait in their retailer realms

to offer you the cracked vases of dreams.

 

Course you had to be careful

so you didn’t get lured

into that labyrinth of lawyers

who lurked in layers of leech loincloths,

ready to lasso with their legalize lariats

and drag you into the den of depraved declarations.

 

If you avoided that obstacle

there still was the gaggle of gossip gnomes,

those cluster in columnists

that wanted to impale your brain

using nails of newsprint.

 

Beyond those barriers

resided the mannequins of meaningless media mystics,

they thrived on wearing masks of misrepresentation,

loved to feed on feigned facades in fashion

before bringing a banquet in baloney.

 

Once more we were placed in pits of prevarications,

happily snacking on those appetizers in assumption

served by the snakes of solicitation’s seduction,

which hewn out our heart with hatchets in hollow honesty,

gleefully charging us countless coins from our consciousness,

treated as a bargain though it butchered our bliss

by its bounty in bloodletting.

Nothing Personnel

They put me in charge of our company’s morale

now just do as I say then you can be my pal,

otherwise killer here will turn your butt into a canal

and I don’t what any whining like you’re a little gal.

 

Whatever you do don’t bother me before noon

since my dog and I were out partying under the moon,

plus the rest of the evening was spent watching some cartoon

so don’t knock on my door before 12 or I’ll treat you like a goon.

 

Course I'm always am respectful to all those military vets

when I need to borrow a buck to put down on my bets,

wish they had more so I could pay off my gambling debts,

but by padding my expense account I’ll should have no regrets,

 

Ain’t it grand how you can get a decree of some web site

for a hundred dollars you get a diploma that looks alright,

as long as you keep it in the dark since it fades in the light,

still getting this job beats being as a security guard at night.

 

Guess working for that loan shark really didn’t do me any harm

really helped to get this job when I nearly broke that VP’s arm,

to think that dumbbell secretary accused me of having no charm

can't wait to use my ways for any personnel gripe or worried alarm.

 

Won’t take long with my fist style to solve any complaints

they’ll either do it my way or end up some heaven bound saints,

one visit to my office will surely end any of their griping taints

once they see that electric chair with those steel studded restraints.

 

I heard I’m suppose to fret about something called the labor board

can fix that by driving over them with my customized black four door ford,

naturally my fee for that service will be more than the boss can afford,

but he’ll cough it up or I’ll inspire him with a noose made of an electrical cord.

 

UMBRELLAS

Confidence

is a window

to a world

one

can’t control.

A place

where we use

some romance

with our own presumed stamina

and strength

for a covering

against any risk.

Sometimes

in our vanity

we leave it at home.

Never

reflecting

upon how

one ends up protected

just as well.

 

The Vineyard Of Tongues

It’s unseen amid the many landscapes

dwelled as the various layers of life,

but the grapes of gossip grow

steadily and have no single season.

 

How one word of lurid fabrications

becomes like a match of slander’s flame,

spreads so quickly with dirty tints,

until consumes any honor,

lost is the fabric of truth

as it is replaced by the wine soaked prada

of defaming purple garments.

 

Doesn’t take long to have it clothe

an army of listeners

who accept the lies and slanderous stains,

which can take stardust

and make it seem like toxic waste.

 

Never does it draw

any weave to wear over the mind

that is the least be closer to the facts

than not wearing anything at all.

 

Even though it might look gay and happy

from the feel of those tainted fermented threads,

they never actually fit right,

always leave you uncomfortable

from the awareness they are so artificial in quality.

Though Time Parts

Though time parts the rays of the sun

so they only shine in dreams,

when love is the light over your heart

and it flames so far away,

it doesn’t darken the spirit

or filet the soul

for what burns within

between to lives,

utterly intense and radiant

shall prevail through any tempest night

and the trials of a detoured flight.

 

Because there are valleys traveled

until a touch can come,

sometimes they have shadows

where the one who holds you dear

is unable to peer into that shade,

to know it is not an imprisoning chasm,

just a temporal pit.

 

Through it all hands still reach out

lips ever long and weep,

they are the song of what is meant to be

that will remain a prefect serenade

felt so joyously once it is heard in person

when its words shall have a life,

which two will share with such lasting joy.

By The Tail

Silent as the wind

that breathes exhales in stealth

among the shadows,

the predator waits and watches

it holds terror in its fangs,

you're aware it is presence

know it will attack,

doesn’t do any good to run

for death and the hunt

always are part of its season.

 

In the bushes groped

like a doe desperately looking for escape

the mind seeks reprieve

from the blur of stripes.

 

Soon it will be too late

claws will draw their blood,

and the tiger will explode inside

cub that slept in its den

will arise by screams

from the wound,

which will bleed their victim

until the beast inside

has a taste for feasting,

can never go back to innocence.

 

Joining the prowl

infected by the tail

that curled around a new year

where the heart

pants from the virgin chase,

feels the malady of courage

in transcending shockwaves

of fear and awe.

GIVEN

It is the moment of comfort

when we sleep

in the arms of false security

hopelessly content

that our walls

will spare us

any affliction or torment.

But the mirage of control

often evaporates

if we dare

to fly

beyond the question

mark

landscape

created

by our excuses.

Perhaps

there is a joy

found

through accident or folly.

Incidental Iridescence

 

In the night of gathering conformity

when everyone draws a shade

over what they refuse to see,

the incidental iridescence

of the questioning mind

shines like a light that glows

by a pure flame in understanding

amid the ignorance.

 

It is so bright

because there is only blackness around,

which has a brilliance so obvious

and hard to deny

though it reminds

not all that is visible,

genuinely representing the truth.

 

Still those little gnats of luminescence

are treated as insects,

annoyances to the calm,

even if it is inside a shroud

intended to smother independence.

 

But insight is a natural incandescence

can’t be extinguished by pretending

that it doesn’t exists.

 

Though some try

by closing their eyes

just content to be blind

than discover what thrives

so completely alive

amid the dark veil of life

who always manage to fly.

Winter’s Edge

 

Drifts glaze the dreams

like icicles clinging to the mind,

the bite of winter

digs into the flesh.

 

There is no escape

this wretched rendezvous

when walking into that bedroom

where the snow covers

two hearts.

Petals Of The Sun

When dawn dips the morning

in its honeyed radiance

there spreads that wonderful mellow sheet

of saffron serenity.

Upon the emerald fields of California’s fertile vales

arise the poppies as the vibrant arrays in sight

when they stir a soft illumined citrus tint

and summoned a warmth

that streaks over the heart with a topaz tranquility,

 

So enchantedly they dance upon the wind

with their slow sway in creamy hued spells,

life seems to glow amid that tangential touch

as slowly the spirit floats

on the mystical breeze that is stirred

by the stimulation from the lemony shades

easily basking the moment in their saffron allure.

 

Amid the silence there swells a calm,

how it so totally entrances

through that natural floral display.

Like petals of the sun

who comb the soul

by a gentle brush in bliss.

 

They are like flares

that gives a day a special energy

you get to feel until night.

Sandman Hands

His palms possess a pillow’s touch,

carefully cradling the head

until it has such peace,

free from fear and stress

taken so far away

in deep serene sandman land.

 

Whatever came before the eyes

fades into a steady darkness,

yet there is no panic in the quiet

because he knows each secret

held in the perennial shade,

a master of the purest calm,

possessed of a skill

to forever remove any concerns.

 

Only silence drapes

by his finger artistry,

gently and respectfully

assured nothing denies

that constant state of tranquility,

which his power to control

all the distractions and sounds.

 

What a state of rest he creates

before he closed the lid

and lowers you

six feet under.

I told you so

Panicking phone call to the tow service

drenched driver rambling about his brakes failing.

 

Half asleep dispatcher listens with a yawn before saying,

"I'll take care of it,"

before he mutters about idiots and cars taking a dive.

 

Ole Pete, the mechanic, overhears the conversation,

warns, "Don't send Earl or Pete

to tow, call for a crane, or it'll be a disaster."

 

Dispatcher snorts and calls Earl on the radio,

before nodding off back to sleep.

Wakes up an hour later,

when Earl's voice comes over the radio,

"Help!" he screams before the mike goes dead.

 

In frustration, he calls for Pete to head out in a bigger truck.

Only to get another call an hour more.

 

Looks at Pete, while dialing for a crane,

mechanic just bears that know it all grin,

I told you so.

 

I Was Born To Be Holmes And Ferret Out Threatening Gnomes

Basil Rathbone is for me a paragon, icon and a god

his ghost whispers to me at night from my stuffed cod,

always speaks so astutely, wise and never slightly odd,

makes me see ever vile deed cloaked behind a façade.

 

I even have spent time talking to the spirit of Dr. Watson

who mutters to me from the broken radio in my old Datsun,

with his help have I solved more than criminal mystery

though denied any credit due to my hallucination history.

 

Hours I've spent studying the many places that evil might lurk

pity those neighbors saw me as some kind of Peeping Tom jerk,

and the cops treated my efforts as some pervert type of quirk

too bad those meds I took too much of made me go a tad berserk.

 

Rest assured that if given the chance to prove my detective's worth

nothing will prevent me from being the best Sherlock on the earth,

as my mind comes alive with sensing every plot about to be given birth

like when I prevented those alien cooties from trying to bloat my girth.

 

For no wrong can ever escape the scrutiny of my watchful stare

even those invisible maniac minds who are always flying in the air,

they might elude when I’m under another bout of therapist’s care,

yet sooner or later I’ll expose when they're try hide in some éclair.

 

So look no more for I am the only one who can truly take this job

totally make sure to end every act of some paper clip stealing mob,

because I alone have my finger on the pulse of wickedness’s throb,

which happens best right after I’ve hit my head on a shiny door knob.

Angles

World askew upon a tangled thread

barely dangling by sanity’s frayed string,

surrounded by the shards of silvery images,

the fractured stars in the dream sky

summoned after the sunset

from strolls through the snow globes,

haunted by the echoes of prophets

who ripped at the ball’s red velvet gown

and left is pasted on the mirror

like a post it for warnings

over things that never happen.

 

Still the heart consumed in want

has no eyes to care

about the boxes that snare with fear

those logic gurus that only chain minds

inside a coffin kept in a library.

 

Silence comes from knowing

how what eats at the insides,

creates hole that must be filled,

only it works at times

from looking at life sideways

though others claim its bizarre

until you find the door

out of the suffocation others call freedom,

finally finding happiness

not in the walls they say is paradise,

but from embracing what is tilted

and makes you truly happy.

 

Thunder’s Tears

Ideal's storming lips

rain passions

upon

heart's landscape.

 

Epiphany's cymbals

shudder the conscious

soul's garden blooms

in light and love.

Rescue

Their broken hearts

met in fated gaze

upon the ship's deck,

feeling hope might reborn.

 

Confusing following,

ship striking reef

and sinking.

 

Clinging together,

while allowing the current

to bring them towards shore.

 

Love's tide now washing over them

on the sand,

rescued from drowning

with passion's preserver.

Nice To Meet You

Gut still burning

from last night's millionth head ache excuse,

blue balls practically clanging to explode,

see the hottie in the restaurant, our eyes meet,

I strut over.  She says, "No bullshit please, let's just fuck."

Scramble for the door, motel down the street.

 

Naked screaming bodies wrapped together,

no names, not cares, hips pounding to orgasm,

mind full of smiles, but little more, when watching television that night,

woman of my motel climax being interviewed,

on the joys of having a sex change operation!

Faking it taking on a whole new meaning!

 

Discarded

Tears flow in the silence from a tender heart that was discarded,
as she sits in that alley, shattered and utterly crushed, behind city hall,
another child treated as refuse by the rules of government,
a statistic erased with liquid paper that is treated as doesn’t exist,
lives in that cardboard box with her homeless mom,
the convenient amnesia of the cold, indifferent bureaucratic
will never help her discard the hunger their numbers never recognize.

But I Want To Live In This Fairy Tale

Camelot came furnished with all utilities paid

the moat was a golf course and knights wore overalls,

each day would be enchanted

with the help of the free cable TV,

this was paradise according to the Time Share salesman

a world perfect and filled with affordable peace.

 

Between the brochure, video presentation,

special discounts and extra bonus package

it was magical and mystical

such a paradise to behold and sleep,

all for easily affordable monthly payments

so you could use it two weeks out of the year.

 

Course there were restrictions,

about when you could actually stay,

was given this long set of guidelines,

they were so complicated

nearly impossible to understand.

 

Each date I picked for my time of choice

there was some excuse

for why it was occupied,

somehow couldn’t get the man to appreciate

that I actually wanted to live

in this fantasy land for my paid for time

and not just hold the pamphlet.

 

The idea of occupancy

somehow got lost in the contract,

which I choose not to sign

happily leaving for somewhere

they truly let you live in that dream,

as he gave his sales pitch to the next customer

sure hope he let them use it for a change.

Adrianna

A pixie in presence with an infectious smile,

eyes that had a fire no matter the situation,

long black hair so silky and fine,

her face like an angel that was full of innocence.

 

It all worked on small conversations in passing

as long as you didn’t ask too many questions,

for if the mood possessed her voice then she would utter

strange menacing thoughts of demented delights.

 

Was hard to know if she was insane or simply teasing

when mentioning her past life in that cult,

those missing members she had helped buried

after they cooked them following an orgy.

 

Spoke it so casually like she it was a hobby,

then she would stare off in space and suddenly

look at you as there was a dinner in your organs

before moseying back to her office in the sales department.

 

She stopped coming to work one day

rumors lingered of how she went off

to run some nudist colony in Alaska

where they had torrid love affairs with aliens.

 

Actually saw a post card at the office from her once

that had a picture of a UFO over some forest

with an Alaska post mark

always inspired fantasies that made for some great dreams.

Where time stands still

Mountain forest far above

possessing a hidden valley's fern rich glen.

No eyes are there observing

how the sun seems suspended

for hours in the same spot.

 

Mortal feet have never touched its pristine pastures.

unaware how pixies congregate there.

Sprinkling their magic's dust underneath each leaf

dancing at night in glowing circles

around an enchanted tree.

where fairies give the night air

a mystical song

casting a spell upon the forest limbs

swaying so obediently with lilting sounds of flute and harps.

 

Goddess guardian of this timeless glen

sails each eve across the starry sky,

searching for souls she can touch

carrying them on a silvery thought

to spend a few precious heartbeats

among the charmed scenery,

returning before dawn to their beds.

 

Rising in the morn

heart feels incredibly renewed

as if the night had no time

and life had truly stood still.

Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day card came in the mail,

postage due and marked, “resident,”

was told it came from the heart

by a person who couldn’t remember my name.

 

Wouldn’t pay my bills,

didn’t enable me to buy groceries,

the I Love You inside,

had no power to turn on the electricity.

 

Is a feeling utterly consuming

a messiah for every pain?

Does the image of Cupid

resemble a miracle worker?

 

To have a heart

then shower its power on others

will warm and heal infrequently,

but it will never fill a void

from the countless holes in life.

 

It is a bread you miss when not there,

still it won’t completely fulfill

each shattered dream and parched throat.

 

Anchors

Among the many harbors lived

where the mind moors its sailboat dreams,

the mariner of wishes

pilots that vessel amid the struggles,

every chore that tangles like seaweed

to snarl the soul of its freedom.

 

But regardless of the tempest times

when one drifts in fantasies

across those tangential tides,

they become the effortless imagines

inspired as floats in tranquility

far from that chair in a office

that belongs to the captain of your wages,

still have to eventually dock

back at the harbor of reality.

 

What makes the land locked languishing

a bearable breath before the day

is remembering what is the anchor

unto your own private value yacht.

 

It is the sail of your mast in what you hold dear,

which is the canvas composed

of all you truly cherish and care about.

 

And no matter how often they try

to plunder your cargo in what you hold as right,

as long as the weight for your ship is truly secure

nothing will cause you to slip away

from the berth you were meant dwell,

tied by the lines of inner truth.