Disrobed

Veils lifted when unafraid to share
what lies in the raw, pure images
beneath the lace of lips.
It’s with the heart
the passion flames to reveal
all the essence for its naked reality
because of the love of honesty,
out of the care for another
when you wish not to mask
the real texture that is unseen.

How it takes so much courage
to honestly think of another
with a wish for them to know
the unadorned facts
so they may see clearly,
not be deceived
even if the uncovered portrait
carries the risk of disrobing
a myth that was treated as fact,
yet inside you can’t accept
letting that deception rule
as long as there is a way
to make what something really is
be seen for truly possesses,
both bad and good,
out of the simply charity
of genuinely having concern for another.

The Hourglass

I sense the sands of time
steadily slip away in an hourglass,
which changes everything I see,
though it happens so slowly
sometimes we think things don’t change.

It’s when all around us
in one day while our eyes are truly open
that suddenly we notice
how those grains have honestly
been poured out of a place or person
where they are so different,
aged and weathered by the days.

Then we pause and remember
about the precious gift of every sunrise,
while each life has its own hourglass
silently running out of its time.

For a while one we hold so precious,
the thing we love the most
and to hear that draining of the heart’s sands
is to hold each day as special.

Among the many joys we every know
none becomes more satisfying
than to treat those we love
with an embrace of each second
as if it might be the last.

Between The Drifts

Between the drifts of blizzards
that come in the wintry fury over the heart
as those snowy sayings that chill the soul,
I built my shelter in my head
of the timbers from wisdom’s wood.

And though the day summons its frigid winds
from the many who come as snowmen of icy phrases
meant to cover with criticisms like frostbitten effects,
still I huddle in my isolation
not letting their frozen kiss
deny me the refuge for my peace.

Because in the solitude
can I hear that inner voice in reason,
the simple sounds of clarity
like a sun that light in the midst of January habitations
to grant the warm within
against those harsh and brutal seasons.

For even when the day only affords
the bite in chill from the air that is breathed,
it doesn’t have to force a retreat
into the hibernation from truth or time,
a surrender to challenges that test
by hiding from the weather.

Instead it is a place of discovery
where there is heat from enlightenment,
which is a fire that outlast the seasons
when life grows so intense in its storms.

When Cupid Went Cyber

Oh what blessed night
I thought it was to going be
when Valentine’s Day came
and brought a chance to meet my true love
the one I found on the internet
at that site, “perfect psychic match
who will fit you like a glove.”

They promised she’d be my dream,
got a money back guarantee
if I that first look didn’t turn into matrimony.

Oh she was truly one for my memory,
had a bosom and behind shaped by plastic surgery
thought huge and voluptuous were the same thing.

I might have even given it a try
until we spoke and found out to my disdain
all that cosmetic work didn’t fix her psychotic brain!

Did have nice dinner, (without any knives)
since it became obvious she wanted my heart on a plate.

February Fourteenth ever after that for me
was the day Cupid Went Cyber with insanity.

Candles

Waxy elations melting under a flame
heat inspiring a tease to the mind,
wish glows inside by the spark
phantoms appear in the light.

But I’d rather have that fire
even though it fades
for in its shine I am radiant,
sunrise flickers its new rays.

Kisses Of Ill Veracity

Trapped in
looking glass labyrinths,
honeymooning
with abhorrent opiates.

Seduced
by dementia’s asps,

as melancholy
becomes sanity’s succubus.

Between The Drifts

Between the drifts of blizzards
that come in the wintry fury over the heart
as those snowy sayings that chill the soul,
I built my shelter in my head
of the timbers from wisdom’s wood.

And though the day summons its frigid winds
from the many who come as snowmen of icy phrases
meant to cover with criticisms like frostbitten effects,
still I huddle in my isolation
not letting their frozen kiss
deny me the refuge for my peace.

Because in the solitude
can I hear that inner voice in reason,
the simple sounds of clarity
like a sun that light in the midst of January habitations
to grant the warm within
against those harsh and brutal seasons.

For even when the day only affords
the bite in chill from the air that is breathed,
it doesn’t have to force a retreat
into the hibernation from truth or time,
a surrender to challenges that test
by hiding from the weather.

Instead it is a place of discovery
where there is heat from enlightenment,
which is a fire that outlast the seasons
when life grows so intense in its storms.

Landscapes

Serenity craved from extracting euphoria
from the countless countrysides cerebrally explored,
while editing their supposed quality,
then eliminating every detracting element.

Finally composing a perfect landscape
for the habitation of the spirit,
quietly storing each new addition
as reference goal library.

But they become exploding designs,
which detonate in the head
once images no longer appeal as enhancing
after you tried extracting quintessential portions
in order to construct
a private preserve in calm
that might help in escaping life’s demands.

In the collapsing piles of reality’s storage
within forms an evaluating record
of the facts collected.

Real tranquility only arrives
by not excusing one’s ignorance
or attempts at explaining away blunders
as other than mistakes.

Calm kisses in the consequence
where a haven of truth
gives its own sincere and enduring validity
over the illusions used as visionary paint.

Whirlwinds

I saw the whirlwind in your eyes
when my heart was a twister of passions
and blew us both into love’s sky
like being caught up in cyclone,
heads spinning and feeling so dizzy
from the beautiful touch of its power.

Together we held each
until our sighs and kisses
took us upon a hot air balloon ride
so totally aloft on that amazing airy encounter
all because we were totally in love.

Before was a sky filled with clouds
of every dreamy night we could imagine,
blissfully stripped of every care
except how long a kiss would last.

It’s heaven we never want to leave
that incredible sensation of happiness
far from the earth where problems rule.

What else comes before us
for this sweet time of soar
we know the magical drift of our embrace
as it lifts our hearts so high
beyond what burdens.

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.

Knots

Solutions in the mind,
snarled by confusions,
corridors of congestion
traveled by thought,
always overcrowded
by so many travelers.

Everyone looking for an answer
too buy driving in the head
too watch for any signs,
some times running out of gas,
getting a tow from whatever service
offers the fastest help.

Yet we all run the gauntlet in mental knots
because once and a while
in the race towards life
we reach a destination
that really makes sense.

Hard to chase away that desire
when you know
if you stop your car
all you end up doing
is standing still.

Let’s Face It

I keep telling myself it will all be good and truly fine
even if my plastic surgeon’s last name is Frankenstein,
because he says my new face will make me look like Brad Pitt
yet I might have to tolerate a few spells and lots of spit.

So far I’m not sure I’m thrilled by his wrinkle away approach
wish he didn’t work on me while smoking that marijuana roach,
since right now all this stretching is giving me one big pain
plus it's making me dizzy and staying awake is really a strain.

Still if I ended up will all be worth it if I end up looking like a star
just hope he was kidding about having to keep my head in a jar,
for that won’t help much if I have to keep it in the trunk of my car
because I sure would need it each time I went for a drink at a bar.

Doing my best to not stress how he is so very odd and quirky
or how me speaks of perfect skin being like some beef jerky,
also where he said that past mistakes looked like cooked turkey
and when I ask how long this will take his answers are always murky.

Guess I can’t complain much since he is giving me a new look for free
now all I can pray is he wasn’t serious about my image being made of brie,
since that stuff such can spoil if you let it get hot beyond a certain degree,
which will not improve my chance of impressing the ladies that I see.

Perhaps if I’m lucky I can only meet the gals when I’m inside
while I figure out some way to explain my slightly smelling hide,
without them discovering how I all I said was just where I had lied
then they run away so all I can do is sit alone with wounded pride.

Reckon I’ll just keep trusting his crazy cosmetic plan will do the trick
for at the moment it sure is causing me to be more than a little sick,
surely he must have learned from those he made look like some brick
though he claims that was only twice and he has improved really quick.

Whirlwinds

Tongue in twister traces upon her nest
stirs those swirls in succulent savory streams.
Moans howl like a hurricane of approval,
thighs spread to embrace the fury
when that throbbing funnel slips inside,
while the mind spins form the tilt-a-world ride
around and around that ramming shaft,
before the gale climax showers semen
upon the orgasmic waves of contracting gasps.

It is the tornado that clings to the pillow
when fingers clutch the blankets
from the whirlwinds dreamt in solitude
where hands are substitute lovers
and night is the canvas of self inflicted cumming.

But in that dark the body stores the storm
ever waiting for the weather to change,
to lie on the bed in a gale of entwined force,
let the voice scream the rage of tempest poundings,
utterly bathed in the sweaty convulsions of eruptions.

Yet it is a realm kept beneath lairs of words,
and you never enter unless at first
there is a cyclone of sincere seductive suggestions
that blows open her gates with their breeze,
which leaves her land eager to be windswept
by the feel of a swollen, stiff lighting rod.

Slipping Away

It was like losing your grip
when the relationship ended,
no big speeches or long good-byes,
silence just swallowing
any embers of friendship.

So many questions trapped in the quiet,
a bag of regrets kept under the bed,
yet what seems to last
was the constant replay of memories
and all the words that were never said,
then there swells the thoughts you had ignored,
realizing there were more resentments
lurking in the bond
than you really cared to admit.

Sometimes urged to try and make contact,
but accepting there were so many wounds
that bleed and brought pain, which you ignored,
suddenly accepting it wasn’t a true friendship,
one more connection that was an illusion
time and distance awakening the truth,
exhaling the sadness of feeling used,
inhaling the future with hope
perhaps somewhere there remains
another life you can trust,
looking ahead with more anticipation,
because deep down you still believe
there are hearts you’ll meet
who don’t have only lies in their blood.

The Shower Of Thoughts

From the swirling pool within the heart
the shower of thoughts often flows,
rising from the waters of love or sorrow
before moving through the body
in the silent strokes of such intense sensation.

Finally streaming down the face
as the sounds of the soul,
they form the droplets
that come out of the spirit’s well.

Leaving behind the muted signs
of the shudders and sniffles
when the dam has burst
so the lips can no longer restrain
all that was walled away and unspoken.

When it ruptures
released is every tide that was inhibited
and out comes the truth that was held within.

Always so cleansing it is wash
for when it falls upon another
where it sinks into that life
how it soaks so completely.

Until you can’t stop the flood urgency
to utter I’m sorry or I love you
while swimming in that bathing
of unveiled reality.

Truth

In its shadows beyond the door of secrecy
there lies a world many refuse to explore
having only seen the appearance
of its contents as the probing implements of terror,
devices full of potent ways to summoning pain,
passersby cringing when the barrier is open.

It always means death will come when they are flashed,
the villagers always hiding in their houses,
afraid to venture outside
where the one within that foreboding darkness
begins his stroll upon a holy crusade.

Inquisitor always following the voices
coming during hours of prayer,
to listen for names of wicked
who must be purged from the population.

Today it is open in celebration,
broom displayed as the trophy
of his last victory of good over evil.
woman declared a witch,
arrested while working as maid,
her cleaning instrument
deemed the pearl of her incantations.

Now it is left for all to see
as if burning her at the stake wasn't enough,
in silence the denizens endure
constant scrutiny from his righteous eyes
gazing outward from his mysterious sanctuary.

Citizens meandering through the dirt streets
attempting to find normalcy,
trying to forget the condemned's screams.
during aftermath of fiery punishment.

No one daring to visit this man's chamber
or ever peek inside the bible that he carries as a shield,
where he keeps the recipes of black magic,
being a faithful servant to supernatural powers,
slaying real saints best way to disguise his true nature.

My Microscope

I gazed intently through that small crystal lens
at all the infinitesimal and miniscule bits of fact,
deciphering its images as harbingers of future trends
while deciding reality was found in what is compact.

With diligence did I search that world with my eyes
to let the tiniest detail become my wisdom’s feature,
then trimmed truth down to focus on the smallest prize
as I ignored any outside sounds from any living creature.

Oh the earth and existence shrunk in their priority
all that I measured as value based on my limited view,
how I gave its interpretation rule and such authority
what else resided around me denied any real debut.

Each hour passed and my vision stared only at one thing
imagined it as gold to be horded and always what mattered,
though inside I knew such would never be able to bring
acumen enough so I could understand all that time had scattered.

Then one day I accidentally dropped my cherished tool
no longer able to reduce what is down to that little site,
forced to look around upon every facet, beam and pool
suddenly aware all that I had missed in my narrow sight.

So amazed how the loss of my picayune probe’s power
had kept me from being able to honestly know my realm,
learn the beauty there in each rock, glen and flower,
which in their essence is seen so clearly can overpower.

Secrets In Rust And Golden

All the shades of fall shine in their deep rich shades,
hinting that something lies beneath those colors,
visions of ghosts, goblins and jack-o-lanterns
roll through the mind in their suggestive spells,
wondering about the truth sealed away
under all those October images
rich in the mysterious legends of magic and haunting.

Can’t stroll under that Autumn sky
and not look up to see if a witch is flying on her broom
even though the mind knows that is just a story
still we want the key to unlock those secrets.

It is because inside apart of us craves to believe
there is more in the world than work and sleep,
more to hold and breathe that gives a day
the special glow of something appealing
with its dark blends of enchantment.

To feel those waves come over the heart
filled with the power of imagination,
suddenly shivering from the idea
that out in the night waits some threat
who will masquerade as a normal creature,
oh it shakes and shudders the senses
wondering if every woods or alley
possesses some ghoulish being
ready to stalk and consume when midnight comes.

Half the appeal in the wondrous strange charms
of a season so bountiful in things we otherwise ignore
is just letting the mind search for those invisible doors
behind which lie all the things we both fear and love.

Just always looking for a single key of truth,
which will give those things either real life or a complete death
so they stop rising from the grave in our head on many nights.

Heart Attacks

We might dream of the power felt
when that surge in energy we can’t see
comes over our hearts with such intensity,
how our minds attempt to define
and give reason unto all it posses,
yet what words truly explain
what comes like an earthquake to your insides,
what is felt flooding you completely
though it carries so many mixtures of thoughts
because it has no single meaning
not one specific touch that can be explained.

All we know is then it comes,
once it moves into every cranny of your life
the warm and joy is beyond explanation
while it is focused on another face
who becomes a vivid and vibrant sun
as the day in your darkness.

What was important before that moment
is set aside for this amazing heart throbbing intensity,
which is such a beauty of breathless blasts
that sweeps over you like a whirlwind
with a magic that molds your brain
so the quietest soul of simple words
becomes obsess to sing its own poetic song.

Though it has many terms and meanings
in the core of who we are
arises that incredible capacity
for painting its caress
through a life time of expressions
because it is the core of what
truly makes life worth living
once you know this passion so completely.

Let’s Face It

I keep telling myself it will all be good and truly fine
even if my plastic surgeon’s last name is Frankenstein,
because he says my new face will make me look like Brad Pitt
yet I might have to tolerate a few spells and lots of spit.

So far I’m not sure I’m thrilled by his wrinkle away approach
wish he didn’t work on me while smoking that marijuana roach,
since right now all this stretching is giving me one big pain
plus it's making me dizzy and staying awake is really a strain.

Still if I ended up will all be worth it if I end up looking like a star
just hope he was kidding about having to keep my head in a jar,
for that won’t help much if I have to keep it in the trunk of my car
because I sure would need it each time I went for a drink at a bar.

Doing my best to not stress how he is so very odd and quirky
or how me speaks of perfect skin being like some beef jerky,
also where he said that past mistakes looked like cooked turkey
and when I ask how long this will take his answers are always murky.

Guess I can’t complain much since he is giving me a new look for free
now all I can pray is he wasn’t serious about my image being made of brie,
since that stuff such can spoil if you let it get hot beyond a certain degree,
which will not improve my chance of impressing the ladies that I see.

Perhaps if I’m lucky I can only meet the gals when I’m inside
while I figure out some way to explain my slightly smelling hide,
without them discovering how I all I said was just where I had lied
then they run away so all I can do is sit alone with wounded pride.

Reckon I’ll just keep trusting his crazy cosmetic plan will do the trick
for at the moment it sure is causing me to be more than a little sick,
surely he must have learned from those he made look like some brick
though he claims that was only twice and he has improved really quick.

Life’s Looming Elements

Each surface and texture we know and see
comes in sizes that rise and spread,
they tower or expand endlessly
in elements of expression
that speak their facades so easily.

But it is the inner essence we sense
lying beneath the face
where we know its life
not by sight alone.

It is felt and experienced
like a touch that is so cold
bespeaking the lack of heat within.
And the rap by a hand,
which produces a sound
telling if the depth is thick or thin.

When we look up into the sky
to notice a plane shooting upwards
every second it grows smaller
lets us know that heaven is so truly high.

How we explore and stretch our view
by the gentle caresses of all we know,
discover what dwells inside
so it becomes complex and spectacular,
exploding our understanding with stunning insights.

Then in the heart it flows
through the sensory telegrams
until what was lifeless becomes so amazing,
yielding all the secrets it was hiding.

Strolling ever more in tune
with our surroundings that hold so many truths
buried below the sights we take for granted.

Carefully looking beyond that giant pine’s presence
as we gaze with inner eyes
into what dwells in its bark
or delve behind the stare of silent eyes
learning that so much substance exists
where we detect it by listening
unto broken or loving spirits.

All around us the throbbing tapestry teems
once we do more than stare
for it must be consumed and encountered,
appreciated and devoured
before it becomes apart of our own energy,
truly moving through us so we recognize
that unseen element so vividly and clear.

Ropes

The strings of two hearts
you once thought were entwined,
with a knot formed assumed as so natural
came while convincing yourself
this relationship was bonded forever, complete an intense,
couldn’t imagine a reason it would ever unraveled.

But promises were grapes that soured,
instead of wine that grew better with aging
it turned into a vinegar I couldn’t drink.

That life I thought I knew
was filled with denied flaws that ruined the truth,
instead of someone I could trust,
I got lost in a dark maze of contradictions
ever hearing some new explanation
for sudden absences,
that always turned out not to be fact.

How sad it was the mask that worn,
which I was told didn’t exist,
slowly seeing the decay of all those illusions
with underneath revealing totally different person existing,
who hid with other lives and places claimed not visited.

Frustrated by the deception
always treated as what I saw
being nothing, but my imagination.

Then came the steady erosion of communication,
vaporous excuses that turned invisible,
drifting away was the intimacy,
left dangling on uncertainty’s rope,
at last accepting it had all been some sick game
and I was just a token being manipulated.

Kicked in the gut by the reality
this was anything, but happiness,
so thrilled when the insanity ended,
fighting my rage from the lies,
happy to seal the memory in Sayonara’s stamp
smiling as the parting when this person’s erratic behavior
was defined as being all my fault.

Pack Rat Paradise

Clutter was his god
no closet space enough
to hold the treasures he worshipped
or oddities he cherished,
every day he brought home
some new gems to add to his collection.

When all the other spaces
where jammed beyond capacity
he honed his sights
upon the kitchen pantry.

His wife had coped
with his other hording obsessions,
but when he violated
her sacred dry goods chamber
she raged and raved
with one volatile deed
cleansed those intended shelves
of his invading impulse trophies.

Undeterred by her act
at night he stuffed again,
which fueled a greater angst
the next morn.

Finally coming to a solution
for saving her cherished storage
by making it home to Rover's dog food
who she had sent to obedience school
having them train him for just a situation.

Husband sulking, wife euphoric,
and pooch now in heaven
thinking it was just to be a place to feast on Alpo
tolerating presence of cake mix and cereal.

Forests

Pillars of timeless essence,
pristine pines that stand so stately,
facades imbued of serenity,
myths of purity always engendered,
outward presumptions
assumed of prevailing continuity
in its long black fingers
between the trees,
inspiring dreams of even richer tranquility.

But in its darkness are secret layers
where sunlight doesn't touch,
for there the termites thrive,
diseases spreads in its silent stealth,
paradise's hope first imagined,
dies in the shade's truth,
extinguishing anticipation's flame.

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.

Rumble

Neville Chamberlain
waved treaty with Hitler,
lips using air as weapon.

Germany's panzers
articulated differently
eloquence of hate
never forgotten.

First Aid

Arcane messianic opiates
callously crafted as coffins,
ostentatiously served
on legislative platter
as panacea's insulin
for suffering's diabetes.

Entitlement's refugees
herded into social tabernacles
having no windows.

Minions seeking shelter
given prescribed doses
of charity's vitamins
though transfusions
from red tape needles.

Irradiating esteem
because it was produced
by lobbyist's pharmaceutical house
only having formal
to make formaldehyde.

Deaf!

Your lips only lecture,
so busy telling me what to do
who to be and where to go,
can’t you see I know it all?

I don’t need excuse,
don’t want to be treat me
as other than a child.

Now just keep
not hearing what I say
then someday when you
are the one in need
let’s see how you like
if I am the one who turns deaf!

Patriotism's Passion Steps

Soldiers soles
so thin
the foot numb
from walking in snow,
musket used as cane
marching towards Valley Forge.

Love of country
cobbler
with defiance's socks
keeping heart in cadence.

Deluge

Booming roar ripples air,
showers drench the soil,
puddles swell on grassy plain
flashes of light fill the sky,
hearts flood from deluge
when football game
storms with adrenaline’s power.

The Glowing Grace Of Caresses And Kisses

In the shadowy shade after a sunset’s sleep,
my love’s fingers brush their flame upon my skin,
little pore candles glow from each igniting caress
before our lips press together
as the petals of our passions.

By the soft light our eyes dance in such affection
while our voices sing our devotions,
slowly letting that touch create such waves of joy
while the darkness fades
and our hearts begin to burn out of control.

It grows more intense kiss after kiss,
so lost in the labyrinth of seconds
where each moment we grow more on fire
to seal this magic in such deep intimate clutches.

Soon our minds have ridden the wind
of that incredible gasping expectation,
now our love, our every thought and desire,
becomes consuming and so spellbound
for all I can see or want
is the joy of being in your arms.

How it enchants and makes the heart race
because my darling, my angel, my all,
this night have you held my heart in your hands,
gently massaging it until I’m entranced and enchanted
by thoughts of how much I ache for you inside.

Quietly sealing our wishes with one more embrace
before we stroll to that chamber of our sweet serenade
where each stroke upon the other’s body
creates a masterpiece of melodious charms.

Soon my Venus, my precious goddess
will we write an new harmony in that time of oneness,
utterly intoxicating in all the notes,
summoning the sighs and moans of our exquisite,
enrapturing expression.