Political Fruit

If all cherries are red
and all communists are red
then all communists are cherries.

Nature’s Dessert

If all cows poop brown
and all brownies are brown
then all brownies are poop.

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.

Sail Away

With ardent effort I closed the last lid
upon the suitcases of my secrets,
each was the luggage of my memories
where I packed all the cares and frets,
happily sealing them inside
before I bid the farewell
and sent them as cargo upon a ship.

From the harbor would I watch
them sail away and out of my life
as they took with them
every sadness and concern
that had crowed my mind
while always demanding
all my attention and energy.

But at last I am truly free
for now they are beyond the horizon
floating upon that vessel,
so I can feel the sweet liberty
of dwelling in my home
without the burden
that those rags of angst
had clothed upon my heart.

Frosties

Avenues of Dairy Queen infectious sirens
who sung of smooth roads in frosty promises,
so soft, cool and sweet.
They slid easily down the throat
and left me clothed in rushes of creamy illusions.

I thought their vanilla was a door,
the incredible key to avoiding pain
where devouring some dipped lie
would make me moan from chilled fantasies
in lustful strokes of pure apoplexy
becoming my skin and plus.

But light was a tyrant
day a brutal purveyor of truth,
my hunger and delusion
were spent squandered on pretending
snowman realities would give me life.
It was another pathetic hibernating fancy,
one more rigid tundra of mind glaciers
assumed would turn to paradise when thawed.

Then I finally crawled inside a snowball,
dead to spring and anything
other than being mentally frostbitten.

Connected

Walking the labyrinth of cadavers
each looking for a song,
a simple note of plasma,
a transfusion in hugs,
some brew with sunlight
to replace the formaldehyde
injected by cold stares
the blurred conscious gazes.

Holding a moaning invisible
umbilical chord,
we all shuffled to the same nursery
it was icy and hollow
just like our guts.

The demons held
heir barbed wire
dripping in acid
blood stains on the ground,

didn’t matter,
no one screamed

pain was something

a reminder we still
could vomit and mate

so we took their wounds
grateful it meant
we were connected

Dreams

suns burn in the night
chased as golden tomorrows
end up fading flames

Squares Edges

Segments of seriated lucidity
the precise price of equation essence,
divided, fractured and filleted
with the mental mechanisms
of such shaped and defined eloquence.

It’s the diatribe of the heart,
a glistening of lines
in the monologue of mathematical moldings,
shooting theorem angles
across the space between the eyes.

And blessed is the sector,
bequeathed is the perfunctory expressions
for they are soul of numbers
charted through a intersection
until there are factors visited
in the analytical allusions
spilled in formulate artistry.

A box becomes the universe,
one pyramid a building block
beset by the perimeters of dimensions.

PAX

The roar of cannons booming from pride’s artillery
set before the world in patriotic armories,
aimed with fervor to defend a sacred soil
as warrior’s hear their thundering sounds
to follow them through smoke and shells
on that bloodied path unto a white cross medal
worn forever as glory’s ribbon.

How those craters and corpses
never still the storms within the soul
who stir the fears over invaders
until they only calm to beset the heart
comes from raising shield and bayonet
against any dreaded, menacing plight.

In the safe havens far from those muddied fields
were bodies fall to never rise again
flags still caress in their silky windswept allure
preserved in the mind as the cherished emblem
though it can’t caress away the concerns
over those who would shred its fabric.

Ever on the soil with those claret stains
of the sacrifices unto attempts at national security
is the illusion they will gain a peace.

Yet they are always dipped in irony’s paint,
which never dries to cover the land
and silence the ghost of the slain
who linger in the minds of those still alive
to prevent the pax that was their dream.

What?

Oh there you are again
dragging me out into the cold
does that thing on your head
somehow help your thinking?

Is this your idea of fun?
I don't thinks so
since when nobody is looking
you sure don’t look so happy.

And what is all that whispering
then mentioning shadows and winter
with whatever six weeks is?

I know we’ve done this before
only wish you decide warmer times
were best for parties or times outdoors,
now you might pride yourself on being smart,
still a ground hog has sense to not be outside
in all this cold.

Well at least the music is nice
though hope will be better inside
too bad nobody listens to me,
except when grumbling about that darn groundhog
after that one guy says about more winter.

Perhaps the rat I visit with
can eventually make it all some kind of sense
been right about so many other things,
for now I’ll just take a nap
while they finish all this weird talk.

Breathless

A hush silenced me during the sudden stare that expelled every ounce of oxygen,
gazing in awe as entranced and euphoric waves washed over the mind,
at that goddess face that possessed my heart and spirit with mesmerizing allure,
this spellbound siren who twisted my thoughts into an entwined vine
of desires and passion snarled so tightly together as a confused ball.

I couldn’t do other than simply sit in the sway of that angel’s vision
utterly captured by this vixen’s charms that held my lungs in a paralytic state,
unable to resist that siren on the home shopping network’s power over my will.

Homesteads

To hold onto the tenuous threads
from tradition’s timeless timbers
no matter where the seasons cast their tears or pearls,
is to nail oneself to the legacy of forebear plots
ever rooted in that acreage of ancestral bonds.

And though the weather beat down the memories
of the nails in nostalgia’s fleeting framework,
the heart ever beats so intensely
when inside that shelter where love was the wallpaper.

It is the deed to the past that is never sold,
a homestead of the spirit you can’t forget,
because it is the place that held the first sights
from when eyes only knew innocence,
collected as photographs to capture
what was beauty and fancy in one’s youth.

Though the paths from that doorstep
lead to so many different worlds and wonders,
inside there is always a key
unto that hearth where life began,
where giants were slain,
monsters tamed and fairies were seen.

With it all there was a whiff of enchantment
of magic and mystery,
so it ever haunts like a specter at midnight
who visits any place you’ve moved,
reflected as the lot that was more than dirt
for it was both castle and prison
amid the moments spent
thinking of greener grass.

Her Silhouette

Each scenic stretch silently shares her image
felt in the quiet ways that touch so deep
as Mother Earth becomes more like a being,
beating her heart in the tremors felt
the rain coming like her tears
and the wind blowing her breath
to remind the planet is not just soil,
but also a very source of life
where we can sense the way she has a womb
that was a birth for more that creation.

So we stroll each inch of her presence
while it touches in so many subtle ways,
though we may ignore those soft strokes
upon on our conscious,
which quietly nudge our thoughts.

It’s all a walk we take with her
any time we wander among her landscapes
let the sky summon its song
or find some music in the animals.

How it all is part of her profile
when we take time to truly look,
though often we have not paid attention
during our pursuit of our own curiosities.

Ghosts

Retreats without a battle,
they are the lost dreams,
failures to discover
your strengths.

It becomes so addictive
to stop trying,
yet always haunted
by ghosts
of what never happen.

Always left with a hole
you can’t fill,
from not having truly
gave passion
all you could.

Morning

It sits in the brain
like a light switch
that has yet to be flipped.

There is an extension cord
from the head to the sun,
it will only feel power
the second you decide
to do more than yawn
do more than merely stare
with eyes opened.

Even without the electricity flowing
in the shadows is the sense
something incredibly intense
needs to be awaken,
shaken and aroused.

Fingers fidget with worry
can’t let this morning exist
unless the creatures hidden
are released
and you can scream or laugh
as they roam with their fangs.

Just living in that dawn
isn’t life without actually movement,
wandering through the rays
until they burn inside
with all their whispers.

Luscious

Tongue slowly swirls seductively over that large mound
happily tasting its flesh and lusting for more,
then her mouth engulfs it inside with such ravenous urge,
utterly thrilled to savor this offering of his,
how she lets the juices flow down her throat from that melting ice cream cone.

A Taste Of Nirvana

Come to where silence can be found
for the midnight screams you can’t escape
because this is the sanctuary of the mind
dipped in the cosmic stew of ageless truths,
carefully cloaked behind
a tapestry of malls, streets
and quiet middle class neighborhoods.

But come and savor the irony
of wisdom mixed with subtle eccentricities
like the crystal orb of omniscience you can rent
while having a frosty at the mall’s Dairy Queen.

Then wander among the remnants of dreams,
hear the ghosts of pioneers speak their tales
before having a barbecue meal at Sizzler,
which will inspire visions
even if they are all covered in sauce.

Oh there is so much more that awaits,
the sleepy knolls where fairies play,
next to the orange groves and city reservoir
where magic can be acquired
by filling out a form,
which you give to a plastic snowman
who is supposedly a sleeping alien.

Course you can always go
over to the Cineplex
because it is where witches and wizards rule,
be careful about eating the popcorn,
they love changing it into something bizarre.

Once you’ve visited all those fabulous sights
drop by the video store,
they have lots of DVD’s
that will help it all make sense
even if they do cause dementia at times.

Oh Doctor Novocain

Oh doctor Novocain hear my precious plea
root me some molar magic
with that blessed anesthesia therapy
before you drill and thrill
and send that chill through my jaw,
let me fathom tooth fairy mercies
while you hold that needle in your hand.

Can you forgive my floss floundering,
do you have a soul for detecting decay
that can caress my enamel,
bewitch my bicuspids
so I don’t dwell in pain’s pit?

Woe to me that I should confess
all the tooth transgressions
of my mouth’s misguided ways,
for I sit here before you
a mere mortal of marred means,
just clinging to this frail hope
there is grace in your implements,
forgiveness in your tools.

Now take me to that numbed bliss
let me lie in its layer of comatose illusions,
tell me sweet lies that it will all be okay
until I wake to the swollen gum consequences
over my failed vigilance in dental proclivities.

The Pearl

My first awareness
was of floating in an ocean,
no waves disrupting the smooth glass quality,
it was indigo and warm
and I could see beneath the surface.

Panic seize my insides
for I couldn’t see any land
so I worried about drowning,
but the incredibly bright cerulean sky
somehow calmed my fears.

Then for a moment I felt
as if I was going to sink into the deep,
suddenly a white hand
the size of a whale
appeared underwater
and held me in place
until I felt to relaxed and serene.

At last I notice the golden sun,
descending on the horizon,
it turned into a spinning pearl
before changing and becoming
an incredibly tall bronze block
like some towering skyscraper.

While I was watching it,
amazing and stunned,
a voice boomed in ominous tone,
“its shadow stretches from the sea,
all the way to Chicago.”

After that waking up,
feeling confused,
yet oddly having a sense
there was more to this swimmer’s vision
than I could imagine.

Just A Stone

Desert sands stretching like a sea,
three stone pillars rise
upon that Giza land,
ageless, mysterious,
the source of countless questions,
which we never can answer.

But somewhere in the grains of the past,
lies a truth we would love to understand,
how did ancient man
construct a miracle pyramid
not gifted by our tools,
complete with so many amazing oddities?

They are possessed of mathematical magic
embedded in its measurements
that our modern minds
find hard to duplicate.

So we sit and admire the enigma
over the secrets they hold in silence
while we feel that tug of curiosity
and settle to let the wind
breath across the mind
with that wisp in awareness
something dwells in that stone
beyond the powers of our time.

Keeping Things In Focus

“Smile, thanks honey, I’m trying.”
“I know dear, but the bear is interesting.”
“Well he’s your friend darling so I’m coping with his hobby.”
“Thank you love being in rehab photography is better than drugs.”

“True, but he’s still not quite on an honesty kick
since you don’t find this bears at Walmart,
any more than the moose head he had last week
or that back half of an elephant before that.”

“Yes sweetheart I agree, still he’s really working so hard
to make these photos so unique
just try and be patient please.”

“I am, really I am,
only I did hear him say something
about rabid tigers from Saturn,
if I see any hint of a fake flying saucer
forget any more posing!”

“Oh that, it was some part of his therapy,
involves being creative and artistic.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see.”

“Awww, thanks darling
now say cheese!”

Answer Machines

Oh the plethora of trite phrases
played as presumptuous recording brilliance,
seems the true sages of answer machine philosophy
are content to speak in simplest ways
providing precise point and purpose for their data.

But whoa is the ear that gets the number of some home
where the owner has to babble endlessly
using his redundant panoply of predictable prose.

Starting with the mundane and unimaginable,
“we can’t come to the phone right now.”
Like that isn’t obvious,
meaning they are too uncreative
for a thoughtful comment
or intentionally sitting their screening their calls.

Then comes the compulsory dribble
about what they are doing,
as if I really need to know or care.
Guaranteeing the longer the explanation,
the less I need the information.

Now if they think they are clever
they’ll add some other sound effects,
never once letting you know
what number you called
so you aren’t even sure
that you dialed the right number.

Meanwhile the wise
having a respect for time,
don’t pontificate their greetings,
just speak the facts without the baloney,
making it apparent
they are smart enough to talk
without showing off their damaged brain cells.

Reading

Let the lines flow
as a river of life,
as a power flooding the soul,
endless, effervescent, exceptional
for in that second
every sense slips into the ink
we are truly completely alive.

Without letting it become
a river in which we immerse
they remain just words,
mere mental mannequins.

The difference
is closing a book’s cover
and walking away
untouched by the experience,
which turns into a habit
so easy to repeat.

Purity

I dwell in beats surreal
gazing into the wind
glossed in my sublime cleansing
distant textures and tints of threat
safely held at bay by my will.

Floating gently upon fate's breath
assured my world is eternal
and free the stains of risk
till I collide with a wall of facts
bursting the purity with truth.

Love Finds The Zipper

He prowled around in mighty terror
the beast who caused so much fear,
day after day being the source of panic,
nobody daring to come close to his raging from.

But the lovely Hafsa was unafraid,
because she saw something beautiful in those monster eyes,
while everyone ran when he came by,
her heart just stayed where she was.

Then he stopped, curious over her courage,
roaring to prove his fierceness,
yet Hafsa still remained in her place,
not allowing the legends to make her run away.

Slowly he held out a paw and she took it in her hand,
before her face donned a special smile,
“I see you in there, Sabir, my love.”

“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“Because real monsters don’t have zippers.”

They both laughed and went back to their cottage
as he slipped out of disguise,
“Happy Anniversary Hafsa,” Sabir said,
“hope this was enough different for this year?”

She gave him a kiss and then replied,
“it was fun, only next time pick one
where nobody can see
that place in back you zip up so easy.”

Together they moved of to a quiet celebration
as beauty savored her own heart’s real beast.

Hands Of The Heart

Love is the grasp
that reaches for another,
to hold and be held
to cherish the caress
and the meaning
from every embrace.

It is the beauty,
which comes from finally
letting love become
the touch you accept
as well as give.

Because hands
from the heart
feel as well as give,
they truly only work
once they are laced
with the fingers
of the one you love.

Together is the magic
only experienced
when both are partners
completely sharing
as well as giving.

The Edge

She’ll read the cravings in your eyes,
those lust soaked images you can’t admit,
reading the hunger unspoken on lips,
one seductive whisper offers bliss.

Luring you to her private torture chamber,
with a flash of that black leather
barely covering her goddess form,
heart pounding from knowing
how she will unlock the chest
to your deepest forbidden desires.

Straps tying her willing victims to the bed posts,
stripped naked and eagerly waiting
all the agonizing pleasure
used to push one to the edge
forcing a gag in the mouth,
stretching bonds over the arms and legs,
pulling them so tight until it causes groans.

Tongue slithering over boots,
biting feel of lashes against the skin
pain stingy on the thighs,
thriving from the muffled cries
as the whip draws blood,
still she isn’t satisfied
forcing the handle deep inside
between his spreading cheeks.

Then her mouth will explore the pores,
fingernails digging into the flesh,
biting till she can tell
her slave is ready for so much more,
finally moving down to his stiff throbbing gun,
just a taste to give him hope
she will pull his trigger.

Oh she’ll bring him to the point of explosion,
but stop before he’s done,
undoing his restraints to let his rage release,
mercilessly not allowing his satisfaction,
teasingly while preventing his entering her canal
until he is beyond control,
his hips at pounding so hard
one finally viscous thrust
brings a screaming climax chorus.

Tomorrow she’ll return to work at the shoe store,
ever ready to given those regular customers
in need of a special service,
a sale they will never forget.

Waiting Rooms

The air is always cold and uncomfortable,
time, which the cancer is slowly stealing,
slips so silently away in this chamber
where you wait to have another test
to find out what degree the disease had spread.

Watching the families huddling together,
wrists of patients bearing that ivory hospital strip,
eyes strained in subdued stressed,
while relatives hold onto a hand or arm,
quietly trying to cling to another moment
of a life that they know is fragile and failing.

Mind goes through a thousand questions,
each ache and pain suppressed
so not to add to the brewing panic,
countless uncertainties paint the future,
what was important yesterday
is lost in this white room
that one spends in the endless seconds
before a nurse takes you for that IV injection
filled with that fluid that burns
as it goes through the veins
and then placed on a table,
which slides you through a long tube
with a machine photographing your body,
feeling so claustrophobic inside,
then looking up at that blue sky ceiling panel
in hopes it will calm the fear.

Afterwards returning to greet the family,
relieved this ordeal is over,
yet knowing in a week
the doctor will call to let you know
if the images give you days, months or years left.

Wandering that long hall towards daylight,
somehow seeing it means more
than you ever imagined.

Dancing Through Spaghetti

If only there were no snakes
slithering out of the wires.
They come out of the outlets
for the mind
where we plug into some broadcast
and it curls brain cells
makes us see reality
through a kaleidoscope of lights
from the candles given by our parents
to the fireworks from our friends.

They all explode like unraveled
balls of strings
because they are a mixture
of those threads in feelings and thoughts
colorized by moods.

It gets stirred during the dark hallow hours
when imagination is a lover,
swiftly grabbing the mind
in those snarls of sanity.

Somewhere after midnight
as the needle of logic bends
suddenly that mental collage of chaos
actually seems to make sense.

Then the dim moments of reason
will weave an interpretation
for the surreal flashes in the head
and it will all have a happy ending
that by morning will make no sense.

During the light those cerebral canvas
shall drift around again
with more attempts made
for dancing through the 2am spaghetti
tossed and seasoned by creativity.