Morning Magical Moments

Sunrise streams such stunning, shimmering sights,
beheld breathlessly before becoming bewitched.
All around an artistry allows ascending assertions,
carefully crafted cerebrally, cautiously celebrated.

What wonders work wands within
when wandering where we wave with wisdom,
how hope hangs heavenly haze
inwards in interesting insights incredibly intense.

It isn’t immediately increasingly inclined
through time’s tenuous through thread,
silently stirring seconds so serene
suddenly surrendering such sad sorrow soaked sayings.

Now noise nears nearby
generally giving great grating gestures,
defiantly denying demands dictating distraction
to touch those tranquil timbres thoroughly taunting.

Snacking

Spiritual lips
biting into
ethereal chocolate,
sampling what soul can taste,
transcendence’s nutrition,
consuming calories of light,
a pure eternal candy,
which melts in the heart,
becoming love’s confection,
adding sugar to life.

I Can Explain That

Hello Dr. Um, Fartsworthy right?
No? Sorry, just all the shrinks where I come from
have fart in their name, so…
And where is that?
Well I know this may surprise you,
but you see I come from the year 2525,
yeah, like in the song, remember?
Anyway, it is very nice there,
I live in a suburb called, Crapozania.
Actually, we don’t have cities any longer
so everyone lives in a suburbs,
gave up cities, too boring and time consuming.


Why do you have that odd look on your face?
Now the thing is you see,
everything got so much easier after 2319.
That is when this guy, a real genius,
Blutark Upyour-anamus-slime,
really changed things.
He had this revelation,
decided all life’s problems
were caused by either religion, politics or money.
Once we got rid of them,
along with lawyers, evangelists, politicians and salesmen
it really made everything so much easier.
Sadly, he sort of cracked up after that
concluded weather was the result of insects
controlling the seasons,
had to send him off to a loony bin
after he claimed spiders were mating with rainbows.

Oh the world sucked for a while,
then the aliens took over,
was nice they just wanted franchise rights
to convenience stores, escort services and fast food places.
In return they solved our energy problems,
made everything powered by methane,
course we had to accept these insert in our rear-ends
for collecting the fuel, but it is a pain, literally,
yet we can use our vehicles for free.

Yep, life in 2525 is just fine,
spend most of our time just having sex and watching cable.
Lost our creativity I admit,
which means we come back here for anything we can’t produce,
personally I was here fetching a dozen Krispy Kremes,
my time mogrifying thingie messed up on coordinates,
landing me in that girls restroom stall at that junior high,
honestly if I had known, I would have put on more than a raincoat.

Now about that water fountain,
the reason I freaked
is because in my time they are all accounts,
which is really tough since we only use credit cards,
darn aliens run the charges, have to work off debt in trade,
can imagine that you would see my behavior as odd.

Yes, I can explain those other things
such as grabbing that woman’s crotch,
where I am that is a form of greeting.
Is this going to take long?
See I do have a hot date waiting for me back home,
hey you can’t be serious!
Very well, we can talk about the vending machine incident,
honestly where I am all the hookers look like them
surely you can understand my confusion
and why I thought it, er she, was trying to help me get a thrill.

What are those two men here
and what is that needle for?
Strange looking jacket,
no holes in the sleeves.

Finis

There was a time that sadness
might have ripped apart the heart,
tears would have flowed
over the end of life,
but that was before reality
became a daily feast of insanity
and everyone I knew
sold their brain cells for food.

So here we stand
at the threshold to finish
the finale chapter in the world,
my neighbor holds onto the rotting severed limb
of his dead wife,
all the rest of her body
was eaten by a cannibals,
his saving this one part
somehow his idea of love.

Next to us there is a former cop
he keeps his badge attached to a decapitated head
that belonged to a man
who was trying to protect the guy
from a gang of those that saw
eating heads as a form of religion.

It is no longer of much value
to go over what any of us should have done,
how it wouldn’t have mattered anyway
since death was coming just the same.

Above in the gray ash sky
there is the brilliant glow from the avenging creature
we were all warned would come,
should be panic, but there is no feeling at all.

When we see that incredible flash,
one of many that will destroy all existence
as some form of divine judgment,
nothing is left inside to care,
sort of like going to the doctor’s office
after you have a terminal disease,
happiness only comes from the final end
unto all the hours of futile hope.

Ears

It is easy to be deaf
when someone wants to babble
about the sky, fear and ghosts.

But the one who counts,
the one who really lights the night
is the one who still love you
when dragons roar only you see.

They don’t carry a watch
for there is no time on friendship
because true friends
don’t keep tract of their seconds
by the sounds of sanity.

Shelves

Scrapbooks of life’s snapshots
collected in the cerebral library,
sorting , analyzing and defining
by how they felt in the heart.

The ones that brought tears
filed in a tome of warning labels
while the ones that summoned ,
incredible gasp in vivid vitality
leaves its imprint in the mind
unable to forget its combing of the soul.

Sifting through those pages
meticulously digesting their deeper truths
then embellishing them from the personalized portraits
preserved by scars and wounds.

And whether the portraits are beautiful or hideous,
eventually they seep into the fingertips
where they flow as profound passages,
some fantasy, others biographical,
but always preserved like a sagacious scroll
with the goal being to quill the enduring quintessence
so it might serve as a literary gem of acumen’s shimmer
that could be a guide to readers on their own journeys.

What an artwork when it glows as a testament
from the evolution of clarity and understanding,
what a sadness if each chapter
is another tale with a sad ending
because the reflections encountered
were never truly allowed to impact one’s future actions
just record, OMG, I did it again.

Hidden

Buried treasures kept in the heart's deepest chambers
are only excavated when mining so deeply and faithfully
during prospecting trips using a devotion's map showing intimacy's secret caves.

Labor of fidelity finds ore never known nor located
when panning in streams of one night stands,
unable to cherish discoveries unearthed while sharing the night of the soul
unfound during fleeting times of pitching passion's tents in motels
as nothing more than a camping trip
instead of love's homesteading.

Playing emotional claim jumper on another's relationship stake
doesn't bring permanent residence in companionship's abode.

One can amount a legion of romance myths
from quest for the mother load of ecstasy,
but it reveals true worth
when nuggets are weighed at conscience's assay office.

All the labor to get rich in satisfaction
leaves one alone in regret's saloon
clutching memory's bag of fool's gold affairs
entertained by dance hall gals of denial,
sipping on loneliness' whiskey.

Chauffeurs

The magical lure from cruises in opulence
stretch before the hungry heart
as a grapevine plump with succulent gems,
offering the spellbound rides
on wheels ferry lives through luxuriant miles,
the scenery passes with its stunning and swaying power,
far from the neighborhoods
where the roads are poor and the drive tense,
while enduring terrain that is demanding and unforgiving.

Nobody complains
about wearing the chauffeur’s uniform
on the way to spotlights and tinsel,
pausing before throngs of envy,
hands on the steering wheel
clenched with such intensity
over the race towards deified destinations.

When the lease expires
so does the magnetism of the trip,
former employees
too busy filling out their leech applications
for standing in line at the bus stop
where the chariot to fame
ran out of gas.

Cell phones of placating
left on the seat
as they search for new ones
at the golden vehicle rental agency,
watching for help wanted signs
of those who are singing up for an agreement
always vowing such ardent passion
to be given permanent employment,
which will last
until purchaser’s contract ends.

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.

Pilots

I wanted to be a pilot
winged adventurer soaring by silver needle
threading the sky with my jet trails of thread,
powered to stitch that cerulean canvas,
leaving my signature upon the clouds.

Oh I studied diligently,
trained arduously,
learned controls and levels,
memorized joy stick philosophy.

Of thrust I dream and eagle’s glide,
my heart raced from cockpit lusts,
helmet would be my crown,
oxygen mask for face guard.

So I felt I became an aviator expert,
ready to explore those lofty terraces,
happy I could say
there was a oneness between my spirit
and the air.

But when I sat in the passenger seat
for the very first time
while we lifted off to rumble
across that vast turquoise sheet
panic seized since I suddenly realized
how I had a fear of heights.

Shaking and dreading we would crash,
looked out the window
seeing a bird sailing so effortlessly,
realizing knowledge alone
would never replace
a natural passion to inhale
what didn’t need words to understand.

No

Her eyes shouted
what her lips could not say.
Handing back the box
after closing the lid,
never expecting her to react
with dull and distant orbs
when seeing the engagement ring.

It ripped across his heart
as if a giant pair of shears
had cut his beating organ
in two dead pieces.

His world collapsed
into hell's abyss,
sucking his spirit
into an ashen cerebral ooze
that ate hope
as if it were an acid.

Oh the viper's bite
that his broken fantasies
did invent.
Slithering around my mind
squeezing the life from his spirit.

Waves of anguish's toxins
followed that fall
from love's alluring pinnacle
where he thought tomorrow
would be a honeymoon.

Now laying in the solitude's tomb
tormented with pity's constant ache,
how sad it is to have tried to fly
only to crash into the soil
and live in crippling agony ever after.

Dot this!

Oh my the puncture to my persuasion
when some contest judge with more anal eyes
than creativity's elation
fusses over a comma or semi colon,
spewing a literary surgeon's drool
upon my poetic inspiration.

As if the world of quills
will be destroyed forever in a maelstrom of grammar violations,
if one fails to pen with their exacting precision
all the jots and tittles
their minds can bear to be without.

When was the muse slain
that flowed beauty in thought
where it captures the breath of something divine
without the dread of a missing period
killing the flower of a stanza's blooms?

So let's have a — of thanks
unto the comma police,
let them brand our souls with question marks,
tattoo a semi comma on our derrières,
emblazon a period between our eyes,
brand an exclamation point upon our chest.

As long as they promise
to put quotation marks on their tongues
and bear a little sunshine in their criticisms,
find that heart they dipped in sauerkraut apostrophes,
while trying to remember that using all those little marks
won't guarantee you a seat in heaven,
so don't condemn others to hell
for the accidental misuse of the punctuation spell.

Sketches From The Abyss

Strokes of charcoal tints
ride the journey of the soul,
inward in tailspin retrospection
as touches of sunrise shudder,
as quiver sundown laments.

Pain’s silhouetted to shroud its truth,
find a bandage with the fingers,
softly caress its markings
for tomorrow will heal,
the future will rise out of the shadows
and eventually break out the mirror.

Staring seals the truth
by carefully examining every feature
is god hiding in the background?
Will the day offer some gold
or another bite of melancholy?

Oh the sailor inside rides
those endless seas of torment
crashing against the stress swells,
who am I is the sail hoisted
it gets shredded and frayed,
but still stays aloft
for the voyage never ends
though the captain has gone below deck
into the chamber of fun house mirrors
with no exit sign,
just fog and voices from inside.

Fortune’s Figurine

During the dark embers of night
the mind chisels against sunrise’s stones,
passionately chipping away at the those impediments,
sweat stinging the eyes from the concentration,
breath panting from such fatigue stabbing, intense exertion.

Still the fingers forge fortune’s gossamer figurine
ignoring pain, denying sleep, pushing aside the body gnaws
to shape and sculpt the vision of life
that breathes so powerfully in the head
when pausing in quiet reflections about the past.

It’s the journey of will’s artists,
a careful and concise creation
where the chunks removed are flaws in mental vestments,
leaving behind the refined masterpiece
of what haunted every second with its success siren song.

When that toil has finally sliced away the last vestiges of error,
the beauty of ardor’s skilled craftsmanship
produces pride's icon of self,
speaking of what resided in the soul
and now is the solidity and shape of one’s future.

Invasion

They come in such mammoth proportions
these invaders of our sacred lands,
the precious weaves that are our native ground,
violently defiled and callously crushed
causing so many wounded among my fellow countrymen

But we are not deterred in the defense
of this place our forebears claimed as birthright,
so we gather together in defiance
against this vile peril,
united to fight our common foe.

Through stealth of night our offense bites
we leave our impact on our enemy's flesh.
It may be a futile cause being wage,
yet we shall never abandon our vigilance.

Setting sights on freedom's dream
when no member of our mattress nation
shall again be threatened by this horror.
And sleep in peace delivered
from the assault of butt crack nemesis.

Surprise

Summer in the heart
suddenly shattered
by icy confession,
one night lover
is under age.

Looking Good

Oh I’m ready to skip to the sky with joy
now that I solve my problems of baldness,
got this super cool toupee,
only cost me $99.00 a month for a mere ten years
from that amazing chrome dome web site,
www.wild-piggy-wiggy-wiggle-giggle.com.

Heck, why worry about my head
since I can always wear a hat,
shoot they even give you one for free
after it was no longer needed
by that patient at the rest home,
may he rest in peace.

Can’t wait to strut my new strand over at the mall,
hope it works like the promise
to make all that gals swoon.

Sure has to be better than being chased
by all those dogs on the street,
I mean the hair does smell like meat
and the label says something about
Acme glue factory and slaughterhouse society.

Oh well, who cares,
never look this good before,
makes me all ready for my blind date,
Ethel is a real hottie from her picture,
can’t wait to see what hair
she has underneath her hat,
wonder if it matches that green hair
on her chin and coming out of her ears?

Kung Fu Kentucky

Oh mah this martial arts stuff I tried like you said on fried chicken
only so far I’m doing something wrong since I keep taking a licken,
now I’m trying to believe you know what you are talking about
since when it comes to food your big as a trailer and sorry about the gout.

Just reckon I must have done got it wrong from understanding what you say
because so far this hen ain’t fearing the kung fu grunts in any darn way,
plus still have no idea how I’m going to get any dough to stick to her feathers
even using my black belt to whack flour on her made of two kinds of leathers.

Dang it sure is turning out to be such big kickboxing/greased snack pain
for that stupid chicken is fighting back and making me piss like rain,
so how am I suppose to eat her cooked thigh for my dazzling moves
when I can’t even get her next a fryer and nothing ever improves?

Heck I watched those Karate Kid moves with you and munched on a drumstick
yet so far don’t do any good with one dumb bird who resists my every kicking trick,
man guess I can say her chasing me is sort good as a form of special training
still hoping somehow I won’t keep up all the weight that I’ve been gaining.

Maybe I could get a real uniform to help me out and replace my school threads,
which you said were kung fu type from Chinese words you added while on two beds,
I really don’t think Kmart it really the name of some China monk like you claim
and really so far these tight fitting things are just ruining my foot flashing aim.

Shade

Reaching for reality’s parasol
and holding it against the wind
while the rumbles of the earth and sky
rain shades of day and night
over the mind and heart.

Oh that I could escape
this urge to partition all I see
into definable hues with clear precise definition,
inside I groan for answers,
I crave some way to avoid
those creeping grays that slip through
every feel and sensation known.

But the darkness and the light
remain at work within my head,
just can’t get rid of the urge
to slice at what I see and wish was real.

Now sleep eludes me on my stroll
through the dark corridors of questions
still I clinging to my parasol
in hopes as long as it remains
the schism of truth I use as protection
then I shall not stumble for long
along this walk that makes me shudder in fear.

My Table

I placed the table of my life,
before the noon day sun,
collecting the shards
of ceramic cerebral crafts,
adhering them to the top,
meticulously placing the hues
from my medley of mishaps
so the décor would have
the illusion of reason.

It hid the scars
incurred when the china
used to sup on leftovers
scratched to deep into the surface.

Each day I dusted and cleaned
this montage,
which I thought was cleverly prepared
so eyes would admire
my turning wounds into beauty.

But the glue didn’t hold
and I constantly had to redo the image,
growing weary from the steady chore.

Wasn’t till I used it
for holding coffee cups
when serving lunch to friends
that I discovered the façade assortment
never fooled anyone.

Learning sometimes
tiles I thought I could use
to protect the truth
only make for an unimpressive array.

Messenger Moans

Was just to be a cyber hello on yahoo,
nothing intended or suggested,
unto that coworker in the next cubicle,
merely a few words of informality,
using mere customary phrases.

But she mentioned her child’s sickness,
I spoke of my wife’s distance,
suddenly loneliness came up,
two lives trapped in sterilized dreams,
snared in box with a wedding ring.

Can’t recall what made the fingers type,
that provocative hint,
then shocked by her reply.

In the middle of the day
deadlines breathing on the neck,
our keyboard became our mattress,
words burned their desires,
faces growing red with lust,
sweat starting to form beads,
squirming in the seat
from the flames in images.

How she added those emoticons
the type on those adult sites,
was something I couldn’t say,
but the pure agony of craving steamed in the view.

What game we played,
intimacy to the raw level,
just to see which of us might groan out loud
and expose our secret.

Mind so lightheaded with the inferno created
hunger so in dire need of satisfaction,
afternoon spent simmering,
our spouses both surprised
why work had inspired
a ravenous gaze in greeting at home.

Ponds

Of waters still
and lily pads to rest,
what world the frog did know,
not asking much, but a few flies
for his meals and to croak as he pleased.

His language plain
a home unadorned of luxury,
yet when it came to visitors
he never turned them down.

So where others feared to tread
because of rumors about warts,
I found fellowship under the sky,
because at his pond
my words didn’t matter,
neither if I knew how to leap,
didn’t require a reason to explain
anything I did.

Just sat back and watched the clouds,
with my new friend,
ribbits I understood
without an interpreter,
saying what I felt,
nature shares a song
anyone can love,
as long as care more for its sound
than what someone else thinks.

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.

Haunted

I see the tethered souls tied to toil,
who stand in darkness of tyranny’s gold,
faced with a trail towards oblivion,
moving slowly and steadily
unto that black abyss,
hallowed eyes resigned to their fate.

Yet inside the fire still burns,
hearts haven’t died in their dreams,
the king, the lover, goddess and hero
all sing in the chimes of the mind.

By day’s clock they die in fleeting strokes of desire,
but nothing can extinguish the flame
shimmering in the silence,
spirit’s never slain of their heat,
burning brightly in the shadowy facades,
coming apart in the seams of hope,
though woven enduringly as a fabric of sanity,
holding tomorrow with frayed expectations.

However, nothing deters the dreamer,
not labor nor the subtle erosions felt in any sunrise,
because one is always haunted by memories
of how the future is often a surprise package
and you never know
when it will be a gift.

Stagnant Dreams

I’m always standing on the edge
between where I’ve fallen
and where I wish I could fly,
my heart feels the pain of elusive rainbows
so it burns with desires that never get satisfied,
they boil over on the lips as words,
inflaming without thinking
all the pent up anger inside.

Can’t control this simmering heat
unable to temper its flare
always reaching a point with some acquaintance
where my behavior grows so annoying,
ending any chance for communion,
just left with silence in the wake.

Then in the next ride on the friendship rollercoaster
remembering all the ups and downs
from every other journey taken

Plus seems to be my misfortune
that I end up only encountering
a host of other lives with nomadic spirits
who themselves are often lost,
they match to me like oil with water,
but for a while we try to find some balance,
yet eventually it always seems to sour,
finding out I’m far better at perfecting my flaws
than improving on them.

Silent Touches and Soft Sunsets

Breakfast served in bed,
sharing it with smiles and hugs,
savoring the fruit and toast,
eyes expressing the care with a glance,
silent touches season the quiet,
morning started with warmth and affection.

Strolling in the park hand and hand,
fly a kite then lie on grass
and watch the clouds drift by
let the mind speak what images they resemble,
then whisper secrets of future dreams.

Stop at a outside café for lunch,
enjoying watching the world
celebrate the joy of being together.

Spend the afternoon at a theater or amusement park
allow the child inside to thrive,
by sunset sitting on the porch
paying attention to the soft streaks of amber light
that add magic to the view.

After dark, just feel the happiness
of a day spent for two,
knowing it all was peaceful and full of love
before the bedroom
becomes a chamber of intimate seconds.

Elysium

Strolling featherweight, adrift as a cloud
across a sprawling golden meadow,
turquoise sky stunningly intense,
air embalmed in lilac and almond scents.

Breeze carries very fret to four winds,
infused in the sweet caress of serenity's fingers,
ashen images of concrete cages vaporized
by this succor of mercy,
a vision of pure release,
passport purchased by petition
from mind's psalm for butterfly plumes.

Second of Elysium's essence
one blink of winged whim,
gazed with inner eyes
in the stripes of cell bars shadows,
waiting for word from attorney
over release
because of excavated evidence
of innocence
found in ruins of Jurist prudence
crumbling citadel.

Oasis reverie revised
to fantasies of vindication freedom
over being found guilty
for crime didn't commit.

Medals

Stars dangling from trees
strolled along our journey,
reflecting the shining dreams
we crave to wear.

Holding spells that twist the mind,
their light can seduce and also blind.
For they are never our sun
casting a glow of what is on the inside.
And when we strain our muscles
reaching for their shimmering gold,
the ache can so quickly erode
our strength to grasp on another day
if they elude us as some mirage
during one consuming passionate attempt.

Life might survive without such lusted trophies,
but the heart still wants them to thrive and throb
in thunderous powers of adrenaline.

So when we stretch our hands
trying to let their flame ignite our thoughts,
no feel more intense than that clutch.
It can turn into a vacuum that sucks us
deep into void when not claimed.

Should we see it as our existence
how it can rob us of our sight
if possessing them drives us to sit upon a pedestal,
thinking we are a god.

Joy is embraced when savoring them for warmth
gained from knowing you extended beyond limitations,
balance is the true reward
when you don’t let the toil
become your reason for being.

Preludes

Fingers who dance their silk traces
across a floor of flesh,
while the air is consumed with lavender
slowly slipping deep inside
and soft music undresses the heart.

In that moment of vulnerable suggestion
a hint of nakedness through the black lace
flares in the eye and arouses the inside,
where that swirling seduction
seethes the senses
as thoughts erode from lofty palaces
for that earthy, raw taste.

One touch ignites the cold reserve,
skin ripples in goose bumps,
body grows tight in the swelling stimulation
before a beast sleeping inside
roars to be fed.

It’s when the reason flees
after the voice mutters its desire
that the door is open to that hidden chamber
where its paradise dwells in dreams.

All the secrets kept sealed in that privacy
become the song of groans
whose notes take the moment
from a prelude’s persuasion
into the heights of entwined delights.

Embers

Smoldering visions flow in their radiant cerebral effigies
for they are the iridescent coals of higher acquiescence,
the pure path of light rising out of inner darkness.

And on saner occasions when not sucked
into the bowels of some whirlwind,
a twister from my own scarred memories
stirred by flicker inside of more sublime thoughts
arising defiantly against that impaling mood.

It is when I float to where I once reached
on lofty layers above the muck and mire
clinging to the mind during midnight strolls.

Out of that cranial cesspool do I rise
slowly and softly like a feather,
aloft on the simple slipstream of greater truths
about how it is to be a woven part of some bigger whole.

Then the warm of its epiphany heats my sadness
as my eyes see with new clarity
the important of what honestly lasts
beyond the perils of a day.

In that realm I step so cautiously
because it is a landscape rich in tranquility and peace
were love is the sun and life is a celebration,
which if inhaled with all the senses alive,
becomes a time of intuitive touches,
felt more than merely lived.

Out of the abyss often trapped
finally I reach a plateau of ethereal mists
as trust shines that was so dim,
being some genuine indwelling,
which bewitches in its revelation
until I can cherish what is for its worth,
not merely grope for reason to see mars,
briefly am I touched by timeless thoughts,
blessed by the caress and blissful
over the respite from seeing myself as center
instead of merely existing by what breathes and thrives.

Little Surprise

Girl brings home
stray cat,
planning
on how
to get daddy to let it stay.

Creativity will be tested
after fluffy
finds
father's paint supplies.

Immersed

Heart now wears
passion's crimson lace.

Reposed at yesterday's pool
where loneliness' ravens
fed upon her sorrow.

Love's lifeguard
giving swimming lessons
until immersed in joy's water
instead of tears