Chambers Of The Heart

Walls without the echoes of love
the chorus of confessions
or the symphony of laughter
are merely a morgue of existence
where silence is the sadness
for all the secrets suppressed.

In the chambers of the heart
those melodies are sung
they comfort and caress
while encouraging dreams.

Oh is there really a home
if one feels enclosed and trapped
just bonded out of habitat
never truly free to fly.

Within the sanctuary of the mind
where one truly lives
there is peace and harmony
of being in that oasis from the world.

And then we sleep in the rest of embraces
touched and nurtured in the soft accolades,
truly feeling so comfortable
releasing the wounds of the soul
unto ears that you know will listen.

How easy it is to feel that void
when an address is your residence
lacking the glow of understanding
from those who show shower you with love,
it is a cold, still darkness even in the light.

But when those heart walls are cushion,
cared for till they nearly glow
beyond the front door
becomes a vision when you are gone,
ever anxious to return
unto the arms that make you feel special.

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.

Looking Back

Quick glances to scan for the lips chains
those vile seducers of subtle shackles,
a sigh, a shudder and quiver,
but can’t get liberty from the past
even while standing beyond the jail.

I walk alone outside the snare
each step a mix of regret, nightmare and relief,
freedom feels good like a cold blast of beer,
only the hangover comes in the morning
when looking in the mirror and seeing the scars.

Oh The Wheels Keep On Turning

That asphalt strip just keeps on going endlessly,
but the only landscape that I ever know
is the one that appears in my head
from the home that used to be
and the love, which once gave it life.

Now they feel like a postcard
for a place I visited on vacation,
kept pasted in my heart’s scrapbook
though I ache at times over their fading,
just can’t go back to where I was.

Left a travel who sees those same sights
in the eyes of countless vagabond souls,
who journey like me with a head full of thoughts
that always are the hitchhikers
you can never just leave behind.

It’s cold on that highway ridden all alone
with nowhere to stop that ends the emptiness,
another mile to go with all the memories
replaying like songs on the radio.

Oh the wheels keep on turning
inside you can’t stop that sense of spinning,
always feeling like I’ll end up out of control
that will end in an accident.

Wish I could forget what can’t be reclaimed
only love has a camera that you just never lose,
every snap shot sticks to the brain
even when it causes tears.

Pushing that accelerator to the floor
will help make the world blur for a while
if only it would allow me to just let go
of the detours to mistakes,
which didn’t ever end in smiles.

Tips

“May I,” was her rote lead in,
the intro to her service performance
while her mind danced
on a stage from night waltzes
in between orders and giving checks.

It was the voice that stung her mind,
how could she ever forget
that monotone southern accent
the one that spilled English grammar lessons
over her mind like syrup,
slowly and sticky so she never forgot.

The years had added to his girth
turned his hair gray,
but it hadn’t ruined the tone in his words,
so precise and clear,
yet he didn’t see a former student,
one that his red marks on her papers
never once had a single light of hope.

Suppressing those memories
she took her order,
not willing to reveal her past
while resisting the urge to vent
the flashbacks of resentments.

Calmly she serves him his meal
keeping her face subdued of any tensions,
for the secret she had kept
will give her a joy to outlast
the bite of the past.

After he leaves she collects his tip,
was much, but she it was still more benefit
that she got from his classes.

What irony perhaps,
today she was celebrating in part,
heard from a publisher that her book was accepted,
soon this waitress life will pass
this existence will be transplanted for book signings.

She puts the cash from his tip in her pocket,
finds a smile and goes back to serving others,
savoring her silent victory was enough for now.

Piety

Her tattoos sometimes burned,
she fought with smiles and tortured eyes,
oddly outcast among the gothic friends she loved so much,
at the moment she surrendered
to the gospel man with his seductive tongue.

Thinking holy would redeem
instead leading her into midnight's screams.
Dark was the light he shrewdly thus shine,
but only when they were alone in his chamber of thrills,
letting his righteous image turn demonic and cruel.

Now she wears that white robe each day
hiding the skin designs of his possession
that his wicked needs make her accept
in order to claim her as his special depravity's slave,
even beyond the grave if his vile threats were true.

Sunday hymns now voiced in a disciple's faithful mask --
an angel saved from hell's mouth so some would think,
discovering heavy metal music and orgies
were truly far less wicked
than what spawned from a scripture man's evil piety.

Neutral

Like an engine revving
the voice was full of roar,
never trembling from the energy,
but the transmission in the heart
was stuck in neutral,
no fuel of the will to shift the gears
and race towards in finish line.

Hands groped at any litter
just to feel,
the trash explained as goal
to explained with fabrications
why the brain with whirlwinds
just never gets to any destination,
settling for the mementos
of crafted clutter as crowns.

Marble

Ivory pillars illuminated by spotlights
form two rows of columns, like some Roman architecture,
that lead to double doors of a mansion in Hollywood Hills,
scents of gourmet cuisine blend with expensive wines
as naked bodies heap together in writhing ecstasy

It’s a party that happens every night
overdose deaths never even remembered the next time,
they’ll be buried with loving phrases on marble headstones,
which no “friends” will ever even see
because it would take time away for the next orgy.

Looking Back

Quick glances to scan for the lips chains
those vile seducers of subtle shackles,
a sigh, a shudder and quiver,
but can’t get liberty from the past
even while standing beyond the jail.

I walk alone outside the snare
each step a mix of regret, nightmare and relief,
freedom feels good like a cold blast of beer,
only the hangover comes in the morning
when looking in the mirror and seeing the scars.

Noon

Like a sunflower the mind looks for light
spreads its beauty where there is illumination,
reaching upwards with every wish
to make a home where it is warm and rich.

Just moving through every field
looking for those petals to pick
of the blossoms that have flowered
for every thought and whim of will
that will make a bouquet of noon's radiance
while being gently washed
so constantly by the sunlight.

Finding those stems of springtime spells
is to grasp at their gifts in raw reality
then clutch them as a floral inspiration
because they speak the growth of desires
when they are watered and nurtured to maturity.

Doesn’t matter if everyone else
merely saw a field in which to walk,
one hand totally sensitive and passionate
can make those creations
into something so overwhelming
it drives the heart to ever stretch
beyond the boundaries faced.

Just to know the joy of claiming
the fruit of one’s clutch
out of the ordinary and into a haven
where you feel the harvest of the labor
as the potent caress of potential’s summer.

Drooping

I found you in a field of faces,
but you captured my eyes
for I saw the drooping of your petals
the wilted way you sighed so softly
truly hoping someone would notice.

Now I took you to my home
made a vase for you to thrive
never imagined how you would blossom
while I watched and admired.

Only you haven’t wanted to stay
something inside fears the weeds,
which you feel are hidden away
where I haven’t shown you.

That is just your sagging heart
so damaged by so many things,
yet it won’t keep me from
seeing you as my special flower
so much more than I could imagine.

Stay and let me give you the sun,
let me make everyday your spring
because it is okay to bend with the breeze,
feel down when the wind
blows to hard.

Just never forget to me
you’ll always be
all the beauty you are now.

Quintets

What power possesses the poet
who can write serenades in stanzas,
with quill that can caress
the quintet of senses,
of sight, sound, taste, smell and touch.

It is a box adding a fifth frame of reference,
to expand beyond predictability,
remove the mind from its limitations,
reach past profound boundaries
and open the cerebral realms,
enticing with inspiration.

Going deep into the soul’s secret chambers,
burrowing beneath clarity’s veil,
bring awakening by a consuming intimacy,
a pure efficacious vitality
unto each pour, every nerve and fiber,
all the facets of lucidity,
revived and resurrected,
by the magic of one’s thumb and four fingers
carefully cultivating a pentagram in perceptions,
summoning light, song, flavor, scent and embrace
unto the recesses within the brain.

Alive is the music that encompasses
when that literary spell is in harmony
leaving its impact
as a lingering intensity
resurging in its aftermath.

Got To Have It

Well honey,
I reckon time has come
for me to make things
like back on our honeymoon
when you said
how beautiful it was
with my male strokes so great
and I was such a satisfying plumb.

Oh dear
then you’re going to get a discount again
like you did way back when
on something that will really please me
such as getting all those little bargains
for nearly nothing and almost free?

No darling,
this little subscription will do the trick,
here check it out
because once I use it
you’ll be thrilled by my new
revived and working joy stick.

Hmmm dear,
it says on this box, Viagra,
isn’t that a falls like Niagara?
Can see how it will do much good
because there’s no joy stick in this house’s wood
and getting it wet with pills won’t make me smile
hope you’ll get better inspiration in a little while.

Thefts

Hugs of the heart
stolen by silence
while dreaming
of holding hands
in the stillness

spent avoiding
glances
out of fear
for hidden daggers.

Blood

Heart’s ink
spills its beat
in rose lines.

They fray,
but haunt
as springs
of the mind.

Tolls

Dreaming destinations
through obstacles,
but the icy fingers
of fate
have their toll.

No More Hey Diddle, Diddle

Oh we are as tired from this daily anxiety
when our owner ruins our feline variety,
now that this her infant son is old enough to roam
and she’s got fairy tale rhymes ringing in the home.

We just can’t bear another round of diddle, diddle
plus that silliness about some cat with a fiddle,
don’t want hear again about some cow jumping over the moon
because after fifties times it sure makes us nuts by every noon.

Well we are trying a new approach with my son and I in cahoots
just hoping our poses and antics will remind her of puss and boots,
at least it’s a start while we figure a new strategy for attention,
which will be a true masterpiece of my cat’s clever invention.

Meanwhile we will practice this cuteness nap
to see if it will close the infant’s opening gap,
between our snacks and play time that were just fine
before that darn kid’s dumb luck took was use to be mine.

It’s okay because my darling kitten is worth it all
already learned my lesson about curling in a ball,
besides unlike junior my son doesn’t require any diapers
that are disgusting like some pit of venomous vipers.

So we will keep up our fur and cuddly act
as our grand and glorious mother and son pact,
for no little rug rat is going to get the best of us
since we can meow, be adorable to outshine any kid’s fuss.

Autumn’s Murmurs

On the wind they dance their death sail
those delicate and brittle blossoms
that once flowered so beautifully on trees.

And we see their silent floating good-bye,
feel the way it breathes over our mind
like a kiss of parting lips we can’t forget
for they speak the seasons of life.

It’s the soft nudge of awakening
to cherish each precious hour we have
with a sense of how temporary
any of our hearts truly can be.

Then gaze up at the sky
where the sun rides the turquoise sea,
be grateful for the times we’re given
while always aware of its fragile nature.

Simply strolling in an airy pace of appreciation
over the gift we have in our heart
as we never forgot the reality
tomorrow is not a promise
it is dream we hope to see,
so now is our inheritance,
which we can afford to think
will last forever.

Kindling

How much kindling of stress
can the mind endure
in the course of a day
before the body erupts
as a screaming rage in inferno?

Each incident added after sunrise
is another stick heap upon the brain’s firepit.
If that magic number isn’t reached before slumber,
it slowly vaporizes for another day.

All the calming antics
help to erode the pile,
but some days it just accumulates
until the eyes blaze with frustration,
head mutates into insane ogre,
beast within takes charge with torch for thoughts.

Perhaps this helps explain
why aliens who have always possess this knowledge,
since they did create “Deep Thought,”
are very selective on how they contact,
no doubt being able to discern
who is not yet exhausted that day’s limit,
offering in their own mystical ways
little glimpses into their lives
in hopes it will keep the number down.

Most likely having some super files
with every means they’ve uses
to help ease the load upon the conscious,
hasn’t quite been completely successful,
but that might be from the times
they crossed that total themselves.

Hiss

Little leaks of that simmering
inner tea pot
where the tea of fabrications brews.
It hisses so steadily from the lips
with trails of deceptive steam
out of the bubbling inside
so perceptively hot.

Yet it only is an illusion
that rises in other’s minds
as images of the self
one desires to shape.

Only it is just air,
the blown forms of tales
meant to infect with trust.

Oh how captivating and fascinating
those wispy phantom personas
can be unto a vulnerable heart.

In the end,
to our pain of discovery,
what the tongue twisted
by the smoke signals of promise
always vanishes
once you try to make them
into other than a ghost.

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.

Gems Of The Heart

You always know when love is a diamond
for it shines so bright in your lover’s eyes,
a sparkle that is just for you
and will never dim or fade in time.

Then lips no longer have a need for words
there are not questions left to ask,
life just glows in that embrace,
all you can see or want
is felt in that caress,
which you just long to seal
with that ring of stones,
a simple band around your thoughts
ever consuming and utterly overwhelming
so expressing how that person is your very existence.

At last comes the day to brings that finally question
when you know its answer already so deep inside,
hands reach out where desire already stretched
aware the response that was given
so long ago in the private moments of nights.

Happiness blooms its brightest
once that word of yes comes
because for once dream and reality are wed
in the coming celebration
that you know will last a lifetime.

The Expert

D H is a pro at everything,
doesn’t matter the subject
he’ll share his wisdom,
keep on prattling in conviction
even if you leave.

Sure can tell you how to make money,
been living on investments for years,
course they are for a disability
when he had that accident on the job
thought he knew how to use that machine
without ever reading the instructions.

Ever vigilant to watch the news
just to see how often they are wrong,
never believes those reports
about some product being faulty,
buys it just to show they lied,
the fact they don’t work
is just a coincidence.

For he is the modern enlightened man,
a pool of brilliance
in a swamp of ignorance,
perfect and never makes mistakes,
all those times things messed up
were just accidents and acts of God.

So proud he never has to read instructions
or ask for any kind of directions,
might have plenty of assembly kits
still only partly done
and be late to places he’s never been,
but always wears his head phones
in order to not be bothered
by anyone telling him about tips,
swearing he always knew.

Valleys Beyond The Darkness

She holds her son’s world in her hug,
tries to not let the crushing truth
destroy her faith and hope.

Was just yesterday they still dreamed,
if only the crop hadn’t died
and the bank became an undertaker,
how it brought tears to her eyes
to see her dad, a veteran of the Great War,
walk out of the house wearing his uniform and medals
as if to say he won’t let these downturns slay his soul.

Now it was beans for breakfast
canvas made into a tent,
doing her best to forget
all their treasures they couldn’t keep.

California lies as the promise land
while the hot breeze combs her skin,
he’ll be back soon from exchanging their few possessions for gas,
at least between tank and cans enough to get them half way there.

In the darkness she might be forced to exist in a new harsh valley,
but her spirit still refuses to leave paradise of her mind.

Scarface

Wounds leaving their witness
upon victim’s profile,
sermonized knives
carving guilt’s scars,
spiritual criminals terrorizing innocence,
religiosity’s mobsters
using sinister interpretations
of scriptures
to enforce their theft of souls.

Hearts And Flowers

We add them to births and deaths and between for strangers met as lovers. Spending nights alone trying to forget their scents.

Sight

Eyes
cold and alone,
bereft of beauty's gaze
has ebbed in the pulse of hope,
hollowness smothering the spirit,
life toils in solemn silent tears
dressing tomorrow in funeral's thoughts
where nothing thrives nor teems
in a promise of intimacy's paradise
until every cloud seen
only brings a risk of storms.

But when love
comes by fate's transfusion
it pumps the blood throbbing ecstasy
as every breath taken
rumbles with the thunder of passion,
leaving mind struck constantly
by infatuation's lightning.
Vision flows from the soul,
angels found in every corner
able to view even dark threatening skies
with expectation it is alive with magic,
knowing you will share it with another,
inhaling inspiration's aphrodisiac
that gives flight unto the heart.

Satin

Slowly slipping into free flight
inward, ever deeper plummeting
through the soft satin layers
of the stardust chamber within,
where each flight is a soar in the mind
out of this world and into the catacombs
so spellbound in their creatures and creations.

Further and further from this life
that glide gently falls,
until every wish becomes alive
and every dream turns into reality.

Swiftly moving so calmly
across that air of pure enchantment,
which is inhaled with such incredible power
as it caresses with its mesmerizing touch.

Happily stripping away those cares,
before being clothed in a wisp of ethereal silk
totally gossamer and airy in its feel,
yet utterly overwhelming it is effect.

A sweet hush comes over the mind
when the heart is dipped in the serenity’s sauce
with this voyage of visions
easily taking the conscious
on a river of vibrant rainbows
to immerse the moment in kaleidoscope sight
until time yields its secrets
by electrifying kisses in euphoria.

Just so filled with the bliss of the journey,
content to know how its impact
shall linger in the thoughts,
easily giving its own energy to each moment
lived by on planet earth.

Resilience

Stamina
is the gaze within,
until the lion
awakes
where the lamb
slept.

Scissors

Little snips slice deep into the mind
they create the image of cookie cutter lives
expected to always be like a paper doll,
one dimensional and so fragile,
never able to think or feel
other than by some pattern.

How those tailors only follow
the lines they want
and if some part of you
doesn’t fit inside,
it’s trimmed away without care
so you lost part of yourself
in order to appear
as they want you shaped.

Toss away the scissors they offer
I can make my own design,
one that won’t kill my identity
make it sliced, diced and in pieces.

Would that there were no cutters at all
and no blueprints for being
someone always dictated as necessary.

So sometimes we just have to dwell
beyond those razors and blades,
where we can craft who we really are
from what we see within
instead of what others view without.

Angels we have heard, while high

from too much rum egg nog,
sung carols with slurred voice,
even Scrooge boss acted nice.

Rum balls made us hear wings
even gave a halo to secretary
named Easy.

The Watch Of Dollars

The one with the fat wallet
always counted seconds like change
because each minute to him
was opportunity to profit again.

He didn’t need it or wouldn’t suffer
if the hour passed without more riches,
so all his time was spent on schedules
utterly getting lots in the numbers and facts,
never saw a sunrise nor sunset
had no idea what the feels was like
of wind blowing on his face.

But he measured meaning by his bank account,
which always got larger
and tried to pretend the sacrificed seconds
where he missed out on a relationship
really didn’t matter.

Only on cold nights alone
the cash never gave hugs,
then every day was empty
because time was invested in business
with none in the heart.

In the retirement home
that savings book didn’t say a word,
it just made all the occasions for breath
a period of waiting
without a joy of reflections
over how someone shared the past.

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.