Equilibrium

Legacy's level
glued to top
of one's head,
unable to read
its measurements.

Harmony taught by those
who've never seen
their own tools.

Eyes always facing
mentor's lips,
so no one notices,
they are standing
on a hill.

Happiness comes
from perfecting balancing act
instead of posture intuition.

Walking

Strolling
by soul's feet,
heart not chained
to other's opinions.

Peace

Molten cerebral scalpel
carving into mind's canvas
etchings of dissected tongues
whose fabrications
infected as lava's maggots
in my veins of trusts.

Now my orbs see hell in every face,
a demon in need of slaughter.
I used my fingers with precision stabs
at the pressure points
of their charcoaled stress marks.

Only feeling peace when sensing screams
behind eyes of those
wearing a magician's serpent mask.

Barbecue pit stirred inside my heart
coals from molesting sages
that tattooed their cruelty upon my dreams,
are stirred with acid
so when they flare
while cooking my violated faith steaks,
I shall feast on the bitterness
for strength to hunt
where jackals in suits
wait to gnaw on my marrow.

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.

Little Nibbles

Succulent morsels slowly salivating in their seductions,
softly streaming the lurid honey of coos
deeply into that well of moans,
taste buds flaming in the sampled suggestions,
rising inside with trembling tremors of quaking quivers.

Body hums in the eloquence of drooling desires,
thoughts flows in a cascade of pure lust,
this little nibble taken with the mind
brings a bubbling brew of a palate’s
pure sweet, syrupy flavor in cravings.

Just a snack offered that swirls within
as a buffet with ravenous expectations,
allowing its temptation to feign a restrain in curl of lips,
ready to explode when one bite promises more,
while the dam of need is ready to burst,
drowning with the unbridle release of appetite.

One more exquisite second of forbidden teases
happening when you see that email subject,
hinting a feast of promises
awaits to satisfy some secret hunger.

A Glimpse

One stare sealed the shards of my shattered soul
for in the flux of vision from a myriad of misgivings
I rose out of that dark shroud of sorrow
and once again sought love’s frail fragrance.
Refusing to dwell a mournful sleep
within that dire cocoon of dreadful malaise.
Still wounded to the point of feeling slain
over having caressed the elusive gossamer dream
that my heart could truly find
a pure and precious touch
of sublime alabaster quintessence
so I would know and believe
even a wretched life of wrecked ways,
could at last have the supplications of Cupid’s target.

Then one gaze unveiled a new hope
like seeing some inspiring sight
in a cerulean sky that says the impossible can happen.
So I longed again, breathed and yearned
all from a single look at a goddess
who I knew like some truth suddenly accepted
making her the fated passion jewel of my destiny.

Time now to cast aside the fears
break those old and burdensome transoms of doubt.
Reach for my happiness and win her for my own
then deny those ugly detractor's words
from that store manager
claiming her name is, “mannequin!”

Words

We dream of some durable testimony
left behind that will immortalize our life,
feeling emptiness over the dull hours of vanity
where the fruit of ardor fades in life’s sunset.

Rewriting the hearth of our dreams
altering a given choice or second
won’t change the pattern of our times
since money, fame or love
just feed a vision, but never change our destiny.

For me, all I want is a single vivid verse,
one poetic treasure that causes echoes
so it remains a diamond read and cherished.

Is there really a better dream
any writer could truly have?
It is enough for me,
enough to sleep content
having penned something unique and profound.

 

Of secret steps

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

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

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.

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.

Juice

Squeezed snippets of splendor
flood the mind with lush lilac hued passion,
they are a wish to float and soar
upon the planets currents of weightless dreams.

Willingly drinking the scenic juice
with its lavender swirling elixir
is to immerse into nature’s fluidity
and sip it deep into the heart
for its flow in tonic tranquility.

Completely feeling the blend
between cycles of effervescent
in bond between air and soil,
It is to drink of their seasons in harmony
when rain falls and rushed in rivulets
as the nurturing wash
giving life its existence.

We stand and feel the droplets
bathe us in the union
preventing us from being isolated,
completely free of our dependency
upon that potions power for our own survival.

Pausing in our solitude's pure reflections
while remembering
mortals we truly are.
Creatures genuinely thriving in our thoughts
who can't endure as a self reliant pool
without the showers to cleanse and quench.
 

The Gates Of Ever

I am a gossamer sail on a celestial sea,
drifting as a featherweight soul
through the gates of ever.

The locks held in my mind
to realms where my heart is a wand,
a pure magician of imagination
and all my wishes become images,
alive and intense,
lovers who I missed along life’s path,
utopias my deepest longings see as reality.

Sometimes I drift into an abyss,
swirling in creatures with claws and flames,
they scorch and gnaw
while dragging me downwards,
descending into a cesspool of fears.

Morning comes as a hot air balloon
riding it back to the sunrise,
still possessed by the portraits
painted by my desire’s brush.

In the noon of my thoughts
how I crave to enter those gates again,
hoping day is really the dream
from which I will wake up.

Car Pools

I envisioned being a race car driver
and speeding on roads without construction,
roaring in the red line,
heart pounding from the power,
heading for the finish line
trophy waiting as my reward.

No way I was going to join a car pool,
be another passenger without control
headed to the same place
without hope or freedom.

But race cars cost more than I could dream
plus they didn’t look for new recruits
among the tracks where such wheels spun.

Still I refuse the car pool option
my life mean something more than that,
freedom was my destiny
never going to surrender
to a stale and dull fate.

So I tried to take an economy car
add some decals and paint job,
big tires and even bought a helmet,
zipping down the freeway
past that commuter van
felt so different and special,
at least while seeing them in the rear view mirror.

Inside the truth ate at my spirit
it was all an illusion and I really wasn’t different
than all those lives sharing the same vehicle.

One day after my motorized chariot died,
just decided to join the others
and amazingly I felt a special harmony
that didn’t come from going alone.

Was then it occurred too me
how we all have to travel,
but doing it in a way that gave encouragement
meant so much more on the journey
instead of getting lost from my destination
by just thinking about myself.

Pulse

We can fly to the heaven's breath with steel tongs of soar
and touch the tongue on the ocean's floor
in a iron from artificially alive with monitoring sensors.

Or gauge the air for ever particle and atom it possess
probe the stars with glassy scope of piercing vision,
but it all points and is recorded by a numb needle,
no nerves to inhale what beats it its is image.

In the automaton glory of pristine computation
all the beauty is absorbed as fact without pulse,
which a single tear or smile can record in detail never forgotten.

Parked

My heart sits in summer
upon the wintry memories,
remembering the sunshine kisses.
Reviving the beauty of resting
amid the blanket of frigid recollections
where love’s light
still ignites the frosted fears.

And it is thaws
by a furnace in the mind.
When the cold comes
of faded seconds
spreading its layer of flakes
over the peace.
carefully stirring those embers
preserving the feel of July
even if it was buried
under dark frozen thoughts.

But it only chills
like a single snow fall,
because that fire inside
keeps on burning
until June comes again.

The Last Waltz

The body flinches and twitches
without respect the music played,
but it’s a ballet just the same,
where the embalmer alone
tries to take the feel
of the dancer that was inside
make it preserved on his table,
let it remain an eternal pose,
forever expressed by his talent
because he sees all those corpses
as lives that deserve to keep on
being composed of their steps.

So when they convulse
during that post mortem
to him it is a delicate movement
instead of something eerie
and he cherishes a chance
to mold it into an expression
that somehow conveys
what made the life dance
before the heart stopped beating.

Silence

Fingers tightly gripping the pistol’s handle
one finger on the trigger,
inside the barbed whirlwind of nerves
tighten the gut and cause short breaths
as the beads of sweat pour down the forehead.

Hunkered behind the ruins of a old warehouse
out in the middle of a woods with dying trees,
he sits and counts his remaining bullets,
six left and five enemy still living,
can’t afford a mistake,
can’t risk getting ambushed,
survival is the frail second of existence
where a single shot could end his life.

Ages he has fought in these rough thorn thickets
so many dead his mind can’t count any longer,
but there is no such thing as surrender
only to murder or be a victim.

Footsteps heard stepping on a tree branch,
his heart pounds as he listens for some clue
of the exact location they are walking.

One of his buddies panics in the looming wait,
rises and shoots wildly,
manages to kill one
before he dies in hail of bullets.

Patience pays off and the warrior knows
the exact timing to attack
one suddenly spurt of his ammo
catches every intruder to end the battle.

After lying as corpses
they all rise from the paint ball war,
laughing and moseying back to camp.

Monday the winner will return to his job,
any time the stress gets too much
hands will instinctively reach for his weapon,
which won’t be at his side, but at home.

It is the silence of the invaders in his head
by the combat of pretend,
yet for him it keeps sanity alive
through a quiet of his inner villains.
Without it
a real gun might slaughter
those who struck wounds to his calm.

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.

Soil

The heart is a soil
that grows by whatever is planted,
weeds or roses rise as watered
by love or hate.

Each layer of earthen landscape
strolled on the path of life
reminds as Nature’s metaphor
how we are apart of its fertile furrows,
its voice singing in our souls,
a soft suggestive serenade,
until we feel the melody
inspire our own special song.

Scenic notes soothe in serenity
writing their notes inside,
where those who cradle our fragile flowers
in the palms of their caring hands
till the ground within
so we can bond our spirits
to a spring for our minds,
a season for potential’s blossoms.

Learning the lessons
from watching Mother Earth’s examples.
When both land and body are in harmony
our days are balanced with respect
for creation’s gifts
and the beauty of what is our seedbed
among its many expressions.

Walking where what teems in vitality,
yet never feel the energy
is to yet know the lush reality
of all that we can be.

Clustered

The ways of through darkness
once lead past fun houses and candy stores
they burned so bright by their illumination,
like beacons in the blackness they glowed
lured after sunset to be seduced on their fantasies.

But it never lasted as long as the appetite
didn’t have the pure power of potency
to bewitch and beguile as their torches hinted,
slowly left stumbling outside in the cold,
disillusioned, disappointed and stained by depression.

Wounded and bleeding from the stab wounds
encountered in those thorny corridor
thickets of feigned fantasia,
slowly staggering out away from the deception
where other bruised and broken seekers stand.

And in that chilled, silent avenue of disbelief
inside you grope for a lamp to shine on the confusion,
then strike its flame by what is remembered
as the radiance of truth that once kept you warm.

Quietly in the flare of inner radiance
finally noticing the candles of other hearts
that like your own light now shining,
happily clustered with those of like iridescent
as the circles of insight the beam their clarity
deep into the shadows of misconception.

What’s His Name

To sit as the same desk you’ve sat for years
and still not have them remember you name,
those who control promotions and careers
that only remember the same people,
the rest are just corporate chattel,
no more important than the furniture.

Oh they even have an employee of the month,
but it is always one of several people,
who are the ones that play their games
spend their hours being pawns
because it is the only way to get attention.

Any who don’t agree must endure the reality
over how you will probably be lost on the lists
of employees thought as useful,
people who only count to be seen as dispensable.

It is to live in the subdued anxiety
about how those attacks of athazagoraphobia
have to be subdued for one more shift
since you can see in the eyes of others
that feel the same way
a silent stare of strained anxiety
while they wonder the same thoughts
how long before I am a victim
among the executives
of their version of amnesia
about those who they regard
as a simple mirage,
which will eventually go away.

Secure

Don’t dream the acid threads of fear
when I hold your exit sign,
don’t stumble through the thorns
spread as thickets of thoughts
in your mind’s strolls of sunrise.

We hold the broken shards
of our toast to tomorrow’s wine,
but don’t let it make you bleed
until your can’t see the road again.

For I still have your escape
through the patches of echoes,
the haunting recrimination halls.
Downward come with me
to the basement of your heart
and I will rise your sleeping dove
with hand to caress all you weep
before the day is sealed in the sunset.

Take my hand
follow me to your vault
of treasures buried underneath
layers of dust you have never cleaned.
Now I wipe away the dirt
as at last you see
what diamonds you possessed.

Take my hand,
take my hand,
my fingers will be your shield,
take my hand
take my hand
while we walk on an airy staircase
towards places without the confusion
far from the sobs of your cellar.

Tunnel Vision

The long dark walk
through the tunnel
where life was detoured
where the sun died
and the heart was tortured
by snakes and spiders
is pushed into a corner of the brain,
while seeing the light at the end,
a final reprieve from the terror
as a smile replaces a cringe
with a hope there is better
beyond this crippling corridor.

Still looking back
because, no matter how horrible,
has its own strange addictive essence.

So a stare back into that journey’s marks
before finally walking into the light,
perhaps the claws of abuse,
which dwell on that black stroll
won’t reach into this day,
it’s worth the escape
if only to feel the reprieve
from the screams and shudders.

Fantasmic

Below the Magic Kingdom
still spreads its spellbound mantle,
decors of animated enchantment in bewitching edifices
have held visitors mesmerized and in awe
as they soared through imagination’s technical extravaganza,
but now the eve ebbs of fire,
adrenaline slows and the body feels the ache
from hours of walking and riding
where Disney’s sorcerers of creativity
have produced their fantasy thrills.

Above is where the night explodes
neon pinwheels flash in their intensity
before the thunder of the blast bellows
with all the firework feast
that grabs the mind and rivets the heart
while it burns its stunning spectacle
over the steeples of Sleeping Beauty’s castle,
its booms echo through the streets
bringing a bedazzling display that outshines the stars.

Those illumined eruptions are etched it the brain
they become such vivid memories
seen whenever the eyes are closed
and reviving that mood and merriment
when for a day you escaped reality.

I work three miles from that theme park
at nights I see their feast of sparkling rainbows
dance for a few precious seconds in the sky,
each appearance stirs a flashback
to a time I was on some ride.

Then it is really a truth I cherish
how that Mickey realm of legerdemain
stays with you as a cerebral souvenir
long after you exited its paradise.

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.

Poured

Like syrup the scenery pours its sweetness
a sunset flowing to cover my heart,
a sky that glides me to dreams,
the sea in wave song dripping its rhythms
and forests that summon their own sugary
to make a day seep inside so enriched
in the soothing, tangential touches it inspires.

Oh I can deny how my senses
are like pancakes waiting to soak up the world,
ready to feel its beauty breathlessly bless
until my spirit just oozes slowly into is images.

For this moment is a paradise
when you treat each second as a dessert,
walking through the many visions
just nibbling on their sights
with a quiet blissful consumption.

Because within I know this hour is only once
my footsteps may not know this path again,
so I will walked with fullness in my soul
completely sampling every encounter
aware I may only inhale it a single time.

The Gasping Cradle

Luna magic
smothered
by pollution's veil
where once sky was inhaled
by poets and dreamers.

Air conditioned cars
artificially inseminating irony,
tailpipe spewing consequences
into the gasping cradle
of denial.

Promising Laughter

Secrets dangling from her soul
opening doors to crypts and castles.
Her dreams sheltering from her fears,
kept behind shudders
that she never opened.

Ballerina dancing to a social ballet
insides dying from famine of passions,
which made her heart anorexic
in hopes and desires.

Sitting after her latest performance
at the doorstep of unfulfilled wishes,
unable to step inside
because it housed a world
filled with gems
thought taboo.

Struggling to avoid death
so eating at her insides,
tired from being a trophy
and not a life with heart and feelings.

She'll kill the night
with residence in lament's chambers,
one footstep away
from a sunrise where love would shine,
too much the prisoner
of her created cell
for fleeing to gardens
promising laughter
beyond her daily hell.

Blaming It On The Fleas

I can’t escape my shame
just a poor hound dog’s with a needy heart
so desperate to find true love,
when I saw her I couldn’t keep those feelings
from making me howl.

Oh I knew she was different
had that strange nose so hard and long
and those feathers without a decent tail,
but I just knew we could make it
my wretched mutt soul unable to cope
without having my darling web foot princess
to call my very own.

Have to admit when I took her to meet my parents
they didn’t get thrilled by her quacking sounds
told them it was a special kind of passionate barking,
only dad didn’t buy it.

Then showed her off to my pals,
well thought they were my friends,
didn’t find their joke about bird brains
the least bit kind or appreciated.

Refused to let it all keep me from my dream,
getting this minister’s German Shepherd to do the deed,
was a little confusing being all in German
though we got the idea.

Alas once again I am crushed for things haven’t worked out,
can’t endure the agony
when I thought those eggs were meant as breakfast
never dreaming they might kids,
so now she’s gone and suing me for alimony,
guess I’ll live with a few less bones.

Good news is that I’ve met somebody else,
a queen who is a squirrel and great at climbing trees,
suppose I’ll always be a romantic
with an itch I can’t stop scratching,
just have to cope and blame it on the fleas.

Portraits

Bodies dressed in formal clothes
suits and gowns never worn
except for this family photo.

Hair perfectly groomed,
faces fixed in forced smiles,
whatever was flawed in the portrait
the photographer could air brush away.

But he couldn’t erase the scars from beatings
or the effects alcoholism had
upon my step father’s booze soaked life.

Nor could his talents
undo the compulsive/obsession nature of my mother
and her fanatical religiosity
with guilt given as a diet,
all the abuse done in the name of God,
leaving deep wounds upon my heart
from making sure I knew
that I wasn’t deserving of love or attention
because it had to be shared in church
where others could give her praise.

In that photo it all was hidden,
looked great in that frame,
while in the world lived behind close doors,
it was hideous and sadistic when the demons prowled,
time took its toll and left shatter souls,
my mother dying of cancer a few years later
while my step father gave up his booze,
yet paid the price with failing health.

We never spoke much after I left home,
just had those occasionally reunions,
carrying that insanity in my veins,
doing my best to not let that toxin
totally ruin my own life,
still never really escaped the efforts
haunted by the hate and cruelty experienced
always keeping my on the edge of reality.