Hallway's Psalm

Fluorescent shafts of light
paint their haunting dim glow of morbidity
upon the alabaster walls and black tile floors
as the sterile medicine scent infects the air
inside the hospice at midnight.

Bedridden patients serenaded by life support steady beeps,
only hear the voice within
murmur its dark lament
over every second lost to hate
and each time love wasn't spoken.

Mercurial

Inside within the deepest recesses
swirls a starlight,
the mercurial luminosity from a timeless shimmer,
that celestial umbilical cord,
indwelling with its constant migration
of ideas and visions,
creativity’s cosmic quintessence
reaching outward through the mind’s camera
placing on array
the flux in universe nature,
ever transcending and mutating,
unveiling the galactic panorama
dying and being reborn,
captured through the silent starry epiphanies,
those nocturnal silvery nectars
inspiring a tether in the conscious
to the burgeoning clarity
of oneness between all life.

We dream the comets streaking towards truths,
feel the asteroids of waking throb their presence,
until our spirits expand to become an inventive womb,
a black hole of imagination
drawing inward into a mental vortex
all the constellation songs penned over the eons.

To extend out with a cerebral finger of lucid caress
is to dip it in the slipstream of what is ageless,
allow the brain to become a canvas
for painting the tapestry of profound,
discovering the masterpiece of those who came before,
feeling the touches of the original divine artist
and embracing the love radiating
from its everlasting and evolving mural.

Captain’s Chair

To sit upon a port’s glassy sea,
anchored in a nestled watery cove,
where no swells rise to test the hull
of the vessel piloted by the mind.

How the voyages taken
by theory’s compass
can boast a sail on non-existent tides,
masts never challenged by any winds.

Oh sailor plotting course
where hands pretend
mariner skills have mastered the waves,
happily rested in the Captain’s chair,
charts awarded by those
that assumed the seaman inside
would ascend to grasp the steering wheel
once the hat of charge
was placed upon the heart.

So perfect is the cruise
spoken by the lips,
always having the dialogue of someday
uttered to impress,
not once chasing any current
nor leaving the dock,
unwilling to confess
suppressed fears
over drowning and sinking ships,
while using a life preserver
as a cushion
convinced it would never float.

Exacting

Minted prevarications,
statistical anomalies
put in bureaucratic
red tape press.


Squeezing lives
through legislation coinage,
counterfeited love
without care's fractions

His Secret Place

Hours he spent uttering the mantra
that his guru said would free his soul.

Enduring their ordeals of heat and cold
including sitting naked under an icy waterfall,
praying it would release him of the memories
he craved so desperately to forget.

Still his mind kept revisiting the moment of his weakness
repeatedly whispering, "I'm so sorry,"
to the ghosts of the families
his psychopathic mind had forced him to slaughter.

Fate bringing him to this monastery
while trying escape the police,
slowly letting his demons grow mute
under the influence of their serenity.

Seduced into believing
they could cure his insanity with their spiritual ways.

But the ordeal couldn't silence forever his deadly rage,
finally, his eyes losing their peace,
darkness flaring over his glare.

Rising and accepting his fate,
feeling their teachings had failed,
stomping towards the temple to vent his disappointment.

His heart suddenly turned mellow
after seeing the trusting look in the aged face of his guru,
falling and weeping
bearing his thoughts before his master.

Teacher nods and smiles, "At last you are now free,"
Handing a dagger to his confused disciple,
before adding with a strange eerie sneer,
"Now your heart's secret place
is cleansed of your conscience,
go and make us proud."

Tradition

Bold, defiant
declared as ageless
are the things, solidified by opinion.

Archangel presumptuously summoned by a vote,
asserted as divine vocational legacy of right
through a committee of penguin imitators,
ardently defending faith in spiritual masks.

One enters the archway hesitantly and fearful,
hearing the conformity snickers
of "got you, sucker."

Quietly hushed, by the purest resonance,
from unseen, but felt wings and harps,
vibrating so deeply with their bone marrow assurance,
Heaven is not a myth
after all.

Fall

Desire's summer bloom
blown by seduction's wind,
craving's seeds sown in heart's soil
flowers delusion's garden.

Fall brings regret's
withered leaves
lying in memory's
autumn orchard.

One Hug

I have no fantasies of gold or power,
no single need for fame,
just would once in my life
find a time when kindness given
would be end in a thank you, instead of tears.

Echoes of sobs fill the void in gratitude
wandering the desert, alone and ignored,
with the never ending dream
that someday, some how a single person would actually
make me feel other than unwanted.

Truth

Morning percolated its caffeine,
we sighed and sip the brew,
hearts dreams of sugar and cream,
but the truth
only came without condiments.

I saw that unseasoned flavor
in her eyes,
they poured out their coffee
from her thoughts,
silently I knew
from how she stirred
that breakfast cup
meant she no longer
wanted a refill.

IT'S ALL A BIG MISTAKE

Honestly, this has to be a big mistake,
I would never do a thing naughty enough
to be put on Santa's bad list.

I'm just a hard working businessman
trying to make a decent living,
was it really my fault
that the shipment of produce I ordered
had been exposed to toxic waste?
Just attempting to give my customers
a break on the cost,
and besides that warning label on the boxes,
figured it was some silly joke.

As for that nursing home,
which I acquired and then foreclosed
so I could build a mini mall,
those old folks needed the fresh air,
sleeping in tents over at the park
should be regarded as an uplifting experience.

Plus, those rumors about my employees being disgruntled
are pure myth.
They all love me and I'm very popular,
in fact I really made their Christmas this year
when I announced that I was going to give them a big raise.
After struggling for years
and getting by driving last year's luxury car,
it gives me such joy to able to increase their pay
so they will get the minimum wage.

Finally, I also wish to say,
that the tests aren't back yet,
so I don't think it is fair to hold that question
of who fathered my secretary's child
against me until then.

Gee, I sure hope Santa is more compassionate
than those lawyers of my three ex-wives
all trying to collect back child support from me,
after all, I did send them a Christmas card
filled with coupons my secretary clipped out of the newspaper

Blindfolds

Jester sight bemuses
in masked affections,
always lures into denial closet
so fairy tales promises
whispered in counterfeit confessional seduction
will not sting
from evaporation
in truth's light.

Passing out blindfold tickets
to prevarication's circus,
hoping the magic act
of canard's clown act
will not lead to intermission
of exposure.

On the road again

Can't remember a time
when this song didn't play in my head,
Willie's voice echoing the lyrics
feeling myself apart of being in some saddle,
even though mine was a bucket seat in my compact car.

Pretended I had a cowboy hat
with Willie riding shotgun
and Waylan Jennings in the rear seat
watching my back side.

Had a great time singing together,
tried to ignore their imagined stares over my monotone,
still felt great even if the other drivers gave me "that" look,
I didn't care,
for in my mind we were traveling together,
to nowhere special,
but feeling so proud
didn't have to apologize for not asking for directions.

Kind of sad now, Waylan is gone on to a higher stage,
Willie, well he's still there by my side,
only too busy watching out for those dang IRS rustlers.

Somehow imagining them lurking in the bushes
waiting to ambush your wallet
takes the joy out of riding the asphalt range.

Little Slices

The butcher knife cuts so savagely deep into the naked flesh
as the red juices flow out in such gloriously ghoulish streams that bring ecstasy
who says doing the same thing over and over is bad for you?

I can stop any time I want, but ooh, that feeling of letting something bleed --
maybe tomorrow I'll cut back to only two watermelons a day.

Oasis

Palm tree silhouettes,
sea air incense,
waves' melodiously
caressing soul.

Paradise passages
in hospital bed,
imagination's sail
floats past
pains.

Can you

Can you
hold a dream
or feel the touch of the phantom seducer
who has cast a spell upon your night?

Will you always chase passion's echoes
into dead end romantic rendezvous
when this heart I have
and place in your hand
beats so loudly and longingly
only for you

My Hiding Place

My heart feels the sweet taste of serenity
away from the perils to passion at home and work.
I slip away on a two wheel flight,
along an asphalt ribbon stretching its vein by the river's edge.

Alone, only the wind as my companion in my hiding place,
love of peace submerses my soul in the silent tranquility,
for a precious few hours I have nature as my paramour.

The witches and goblins of my life
are quiet and vanquished in the biking paradise,
Elysium enters in all its spiritual splendor
as the sky writes its own stunning melody
inside my heart.

My mistress of the moment strokes
where none have ever touched,
it isn't an affair fondled with casual flare,
but a wedding of senses and clarity of mind
with a bride that wears foliage as a veil.

The Visitor

Tapping, tapping,
spooks fingers haunting,
invisible except
for the nagging sounds.

Can't be mortal,
for none can squeeze
through the door,
giving cringes
thinking some ghastly creature
wants a new home.

Tapping, tapping,
this constant knock
besets the soul with too many
flushes of fancy's incarnations,
demented and macabre,
lurking as if summoned
by a sorceress
having need for revenge.

Still, the steady thump remains,
finally seeing paranoia offending ogre,
in the tree,
snorting in wounded pride
over letting this beast beguile,
uttering one single complaint,
"stupid woodpecker!"

Exacting

Minted prevarications,
statistical anomalies
put in bureaucratic
red tape press.


Squeezing lives
through legislation coinage,
counterfeited love
without care's fractions.

Fall

Desire's summer bloom
blown by seduction's wind,
craving's seeds sown in heart's soil
flowers delusion's garden.

Fall brings regret's
withered leaves
lying in memory's
autumn orchard.

Panaceas

Instant Quixotic concoctions
waved with reverie's wand
at the past due specters
watching Amen
media soap box reruns.

Remote control
used as stapler
for fractured illusions.

My melted ambrosia

Oh there is no taste better
than from warm melted cheddar.

Having graded it over
some tortilla chips,
letting its smooth texture
swim in the mouth
till I feel its every sensation
intoxicating beyond words.

It takes me on a journey
of unbridled cheese lust,
becoming a dairy mistress
to my chips,
as I use them together
for such a succulent
moment of pure delight.

Then wiping the remains
from my lips
with my fingers,
licking them clean,
the sensation arousing
in glorious passion of gratification.

Just a snack you see,
but one that brings a smile
of incredible ecstasy.

SIGHT

Eyes
gazing
beyond cares,
finding feathers
among cloudy thoughts
giving flaring moments
till the heart thus ignites
angels seen instead of demons
love sharing haloes instead of thorns
inwardly vision embraces new sight.

Hope's China

My mind tastes
the pungent lament
stirring the images
where hope's china
ended up shattered
and lying on the floor.

Super glue
comes in fancy's tube
using it quickly
so it will dry
before a breeze of fate
breaks them again.

Of secret steps

Of secret steps her feet had waltz
where the limelight never shined,
fans told she was taking extended vacation
to hide her private tragedy in car accident.

Months spent refusing to believe doctors
declared in their medical prophecies that her lifeless limbs were paralyzed.
But her heart refused to sleep in that cursed crippled fate
dancer's spirit battled the tarantulas of pain crawling through her legs,
never giving up despite the nights of marathons in muffled screams
at last on the stage again, her face shining most from joy of secret steps.

I Shall

Fence post impales bloodied skulls,
wind carries death moans,
barbed wire boundaries
dangling with gruesome pieces of flesh,
concentration camp stench
burning nostrils and gut.

Speakers blare their cursing oratory
swearing salvation has to kill
in order to redeem.

Gaunt body anguishes over terror,
flagellation nights leave wicked lasting scars.
Hands cuffed to treadmill crawling with vipers,
drinking toxic waste pop
to help numb their venom.

Knowing dawn will bring only darkness
falling into a crypt fill with putrid ashen mucus
having no future, mind paralysis
becomes a gospel.

Until a single light from love's phantom
whispers other than death into the soul,
rising in a breath having no fear of the mirage,
leaving it in the closet
walking out the door
smiling in the renovation of pulse
softly spoken in the words,
"I shall."

Beyond

Light with twinkling fingers
dips deeply into the mind,
softly stroking through suggestions and secrets
about life outside one's very gaze.

We spell the night with a quiet envy
wondering about
what mysteries are swallowed
by the blackness.

Listening intently with one's imagination
their stories unfold
through the sparkle of images
where we feel that most burning of questions.

Ever curious
if some other pair of eyes
looking up at the same sky
from a different alien world
is asking the same curiosity probe
reaching with thoughts,
hoping it will grace
through some sign of more.

Beyond is the hope in tomorrow
lying where only our heart flies,
nestled in comfort of believing
there is more than one pulse
as friend among the stars.

Liberated Soul

I love order, cherish is as a god,
but tolerate those who are different,
unless they violate neatness.

Every photo frame on my walls
perfectly level and precisely placed,
not a single detail in my realm
having a hint of disarray.

Faithful deep within,
even my sock drawer is organized,
bills always paid on time,
dutiful recorded in flawless listings,
schedule for the time ardently obeyed,
no time for variation or the unexpected.

Feeling so free in my path
for I inhale the joy of my stalwart existence,
paper clips kept in concise chambers,
pens arranged by color and usage,
each detail of life methodically aligned
so no mar of moment might shred my control.

Have a twinge of remorse on my birthday and holidays
when I spend them alone
wife and kids elsewhere
unable to cling to the prefect life I have created,
though I'm confident they shall return,
have it scheduled for appointment
in my weekly organizer,
only hope they bring enough napkins this time.

Heaven

Found in a desperate, revealing moment
touched inside when the fleeting paradise
one conjured from leftover magic and myths
turned into a cemetery of lies,
sky in the soul becomes the place one eventually flies
when finally tossing aside a shovel of delusion
used to dig for eternity's fool's gold.

His Secret Place

Hours he spent uttering the mantra
that his guru said would free his soul.

Enduring their ordeals of heat and cold
including sitting naked under an icy waterfall,
praying it would release him of the memories
he craved so desperately to forget.

Still his mind kept revisiting the moment of his weakness
repeatedly whispering, "I'm so sorry,"
to the ghosts of the families
his psychopathic mind had forced him to slaughter.

Fate bringing him to this monastery
while trying escape the police,
slowly letting his demons grow mute
under the influence of their serenity.

Seduced into believing
they could cure his insanity with their spiritual ways.

But the ordeal couldn't silence forever his deadly rage,
finally, his eyes losing their peace,
darkness flaring over his glare.

Rising and accepting his fate,
feeling their teachings had failed,
stomping towards the temple to vent his disappointment.

His heart suddenly turned mellow
after seeing the trusting look in the aged face of his guru,
falling and weeping
bearing his thoughts before his master.

Teacher nods and smiles, "At last you are now free,"
Handing a dagger to his confused disciple,
before adding with a strange eerie sneer,
"Now your heart's secret place
is cleansed of your conscience,
go and make us proud."

Lairs

Dawn brings visions
of a door-to-door salesman
peddling happy faces,
which place the mind in a meadow
where lightning never strikes.

In a wish's heart stroke
the gremlins come
having broken the dam of control,
letting flood the incidents
linked together with caustic glow,
taking one into lairs of lament,
one leading to another,
an endless labyrinth of angst
that you constantly end up banging your head
upon fate's falling rock.

Once footstep of seconds stumble into another.
Falling at times, but not reaching the end,
merely finding the place of connection
between anvil pounding moments of stress.

By night of such twisted chambers in torturous thought
one finds a candle, thinking it is the end of the journey.

Only when you reach it,
the flame is blown out
from some unseen breath with a mocking laughter,
rattling chains echoing into the next day.

IT'S ALL A BIG MISTAKE

Honestly, this has to be a big mistake,
I would never do a thing naughty enough
to be put on Santa's bad list.

I'm just a hard working businessman
trying to make a decent living,
was it really my fault
that the shipment of produce I ordered
had been exposed to toxic waste?
Just attempting to give my customers
a break on the cost,
and besides that warning label on the boxes,
figured it was some silly joke.

As for that nursing home,
which I acquired and then foreclosed
so I could build a mini mall,
those old folks needed the fresh air,
sleeping in tents over at the park
should be regarded as an uplifting experience.

Plus, those rumors about my employees being disgruntled
are pure myth.
They all love me and I'm very popular,
in fact I really made their Christmas this year
when I announced that I was going to give them a big raise.
After struggling for years
and getting by driving last year's luxury car,
it gives me such joy to able to increase their pay
so they will get the minimum wage.

Finally, I also wish to say,
that the tests aren't back yet,
so I don't think it is fair to hold that question
of who fathered my secretary's child
against me until then.

Gee, I sure hope Santa is more compassionate
than those lawyers of my three ex-wives
all trying to collect back child support from me,
after all, I did send them a Christmas card
filled with coupons my secretary clipped out of the newspaper.