The Last Word

Clyde was a skeptic to the heart
so when they spoke of ghosts at the office
his face smirked between so many remarks,
he spoke of it all being somebody’s imagination
even when the secretary’s shrieked one day
and mention seeing a janitor float through the wall.

Oh the other incidents happen to some,
strange sounds in the halls at night,
voices in offices that were empty,
but old Clyde just mocked them as silly,
went so far to say he dare those specters
to come out when he was around
for he knew in his mind
there was no such thing.

On a dare he stay late one night
just to prove his point
about there being no such things as ghosts.

We wished him well as he locked himself inside
this one room that voices were always heard,
then we all went home to get some sleep.

The next morning we came to that room,
knocked on the door and he slowly opened it,
his face looked so panicked and somber,
before he mumbled about seeing a woman,
mentioned she had two heads and other crazy things,
which we would have thought a joke
until we saw his soaked gray pants
and that big wet spot on the carpet,
so we knew that the ghost
had gotten the last word on Clyde.

Drafted!

My owner used to be such a nice man
worked as a chef and made me such treats,
then he got all obsessed with patriotism
signed up in the Army reserves,
now I don’t care if he wants to be
all that he can be,
but he’s expecting me to join in
with all the crazy things he does.

I don’t mind him making his chef’s hat
from white to camouflage green
or even that he somehow
expect me to help use my tongue
for doing what he calls “KP.”

Was just getting use to his idea of drilling
when he joined this UFO hunter group,
so suddenly his brain when nuts
and it is space aliens at war.

Here I sit and wear his latest helmet creation
like a melon is really laser proof,
but he’s sure got panicked
since joining those UFO stalkers,
which means I’m stuck
forced to tolerate whatever helmet he invents.

Hope he gets over this phase eventually
because when he makes me put on
that aluminum foil space soldiers uniform
all my pals on the block can do
is talk about it behind my back
and I know it isn’t to stay
old Tom is looking cool.

Monday's Checkbook

Weekend trails
lead to steps
through minefields,
shrapnel festers in wounds
hidden underneath
suite of armor
made from credit cards.

Immortality dwells
within the heaven of receipts,
nirvana, the luster
of artificially inseminated
omnipotence.

Sunday's sunset
brings voice of toll keeper
doing imitation of calculator.

Face of night
comes as chalkboard
fingernails drag down its surface
from all the grasps
at ambrosia's appetizers.

Monday's checkbook
always opens by itself,
balance never what imagined,
because of unexpected changes
in banking fees.

Garlands of Jackal Diadem Anthologies

8Diaries of postulated legalese legerdemain,
festoons of crowning avaricious gospels,
erected as ivory towers muffled predator howls,
where whitewashed Superman paragons
hold court behind their haloed masks
over the cemeteries of scandal.

Sleeping spirit of Neo destiny
languishes in rhetoric swamp,
while loud speakers blare
subliminal rote acquiescence.

Eyes of the slumbering
haunted by freedom's fluttering mirages,
vision flashes on landscape
told is pristine,
between the layers of pontificated fog
catch a glimpse of its lunar clarity
and the pockmarks of crater inequity,
but symphony from circus of appeasement
despoils the gaze.

Stumbling while standing on conveyor belt
to mandated lobotomized lucidity,
falling and at last noticing the plastic automaton veneer,
barely visible on the mars to nobility's raiment.

Hibernating seer awakes,
rises as butterfly for truth.

Stamina

Steel lips
guarding numb affections,
seeing tragedy everywhere,
but sorrow's lashes
never felt
by leathery soul.

Lost compassion's pulse
when tears never dried,
just as learned
from father.

Honeycombs

They drip with honey over my heart
in succulent and savory flows of amber warmth
and bathe me in the steady hum in smiles.

It isn’t a single moment’s vivid, vitality
instead it is the feel, the sound or sight
that summons a soothing wave over my mind
so I sense the balm of peace in that encounter
as it swirls and swims inside with its sensory charms,
which rises from any thought they inspire
that takes me on a cerebral journey of profoundness.

Six Pack Sunrises

Paint the morning in the shades of six packs in hallucinogens
until the day grows a multitude of invisible unearthly monsters
who will mangle the mind and ruin the quiet mask of peace
suddenly destroy all that yawns or thrives on air.

Then pause and recall Alice communed with a fading Cheshire cat
as a quintessential kiss of opening the mind to what can be
and then dance upon the herds of beast who disappear in the light
while celebrating how the world’s limitations are truly in the head.

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.

Where Is She?

Where is she,
the fairy of the night
who lands on the tip
of my nose
and whispers wishes
while I sleep?

I know she often
spends her time
among the trees
with the pixies
as they plan
on where to next
sprinkle magic.

Smiles I can’t stop
because somewhere
between these leaves
there is a miracle
they left just for me.

What a world it would be
if they went away
how I hope
that I never stop
my belief
in their wings.

She’ll Never Miss These

Between noon and sunset
my stomach whines for love,
and even though this batch
of incredibly tasting cookies
was made for a special party,
they just smell so good
how can I wait
until next ones are done?

Because mother is off on a chore
getting more flour and sugar,
promised her I wouldn’t touch
these lovely tasty morsel.

She’ll never miss three,
just have to remember to clean my face
then drink something to cover
my possible cookie breath.

Now I swear this is the last ones
I will take before she comes back,
even if I said it six cookies ago.

Wind

Her heart shuddered at every breeze
had so since she could remember
because she felt the breaths of many
from ages gone and lives out of reach,
feeling their tears drip on her heart
was a pain she really didn’t want,
yet it also summoned the thoughts
of love and dreams she could savor
for each vibrant passion they carried.

Being born an empathy had been so hard
for it was so difficult to appreciate
why you knew what beat inside
that eyes would convey with stares,
though lips might spill some tale
completely contrary to the truth.

Was so difficult to get through some days
when she would sense some perverted ideas
they didn’t just come with weird images
bringing such intense depraved energies,
which were like being punched in the face.

Now she dwells in her small chamber of liberty
finding refuge in ways she challenges those pangs
with all their confusion pokes are her mind.

Quiet is the mercy she reaches
enough to at times accept the breath
from one who says he loves her.

If only she could also feel those whispers
he had told another,
still he kisses and night magic
stay the anxiety from the sensory overload
so she can get through a night without screams,
which is worth those times she accepts him
into her private well of need
as it blocks out the other chaos she needs to escape.

Mites

Brains were rationale, loving and kind,
she was convinced that was true
except with the mites got into your head,
her grandmother had told her about it
before she staring talking to plants
and insisted the moon was a home for witches.

If only her parents hadn’t been killed
in the car accident when she was twelve
then left in the care of her grandmother
until she acted strange and had to be locked way.

It seemed everyone she loved
ended up leaving her life,
family, friends even a love too,
they all faded like dying roses,
victim of tragedies that always left her crying
her heart convinced she was cursed.

Dead end jobs as waitresses
helped to calm the inner moans of loneliness,
yet she never forget what her grandmother said
about those mites and the insanity they caused,
it nagged at her more at nights
or when some hopeful lover
would just act nuts and she’d have to say good-bye,
somehow she held onto hope
through it all she’d eventually find happiness.

Now she has reached the end
a man she dreamed and wanted so much
had joined the memories that were gone,
faded passions that stole part of her life.

Alone in the night she started to feel
a tug on her own sense of balance
slowly her own mind felt slipping away,
but she couldn’t let those bugs destroy her
so she stands on this toes
even if all night
for those mites only could survive on your bed
just a little while
should you not lie down and let them inside.

Orbs

Grandma ghosts sitting on the edge of the bed
echoing the enchantment assurances
inspiring the incense of nostalgia
feeling the caresses of phantom fairies and gnomes.

Swirling deep into the marrow vortex of belief
where they suck the mind into worlds
of pristine prevarication.

Veins bulge with anticipation
that perhaps utopia is not a mirage after all.

Inner eyes swell with solidity of fantasia's miasma
voice of the soul sings its possibilities
paradise is born with a face
giving light to one's heart.

Unable to breathe without seeing
a gossamer castle of deepest desires
erected on the horizon of the mind.

Reaching for it with such burning fingers
grasping it with all one's energy
until the day comes
when you stand where you dream.

Her Release

She spent her days languishing in sorrow's womb
a simple soul of plain features, but a heart so pure and passionate.
Her only joy came from feeding hummingbirds
in the garden of the estate where she worked as maid to a tyrant.

Each eve she would stroll out to watch them
speaking her heart, letting the sadness flow across the air.

Then one night her drunken lord found there
in rage in started to beat her while she pleaded and sobbed for mercy.
Hummingbirds flocked around the man pecking at his eyes violently
until he lay on the ground bleeding and unconscious.

Fairy spirit of the garden suddenly appears waved her dust on the girl
transforming her to new creation where she flew to where tears are no more.

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.

A Simple Quiet

Moments without dread and fears
where debts and repairs don’t burying the heart.
A simple blessing of enough provision to purge
the days of every overwhelming urgency
and to wake up the next day without any rewards being a dream.

 

Detours, Discoveries and Decisions

Times is a teacher of vivid instruction
only the lesson often come
through trial and error, detours of impulse,
discovering you aren’t as smart as you imagine
and the eventual decision to at last
accept you do have to read instructions
rather than just do thing by whim.

How long it takes between the bruises and errors
in order for the truth to really sink into the brain
depends on how many layers of pride and stubbornness
have to get worn away from you illusions
just to finally embrace that reality
not all solutions in life that you think are okay
are achieved through simple applications
of effort and dumb luck!

Maturity is the wisdom
that comes once you stop lying to yourself
then finally listen for a change
to the facts you ignore
from being a consumed with the arrogance.

Reanimated

Hell's succor,
a scalpel shaped like cross,
severs reason's cerebral cortex,
cadaverous spirit
entombed in pews.

Conscience's formaldehyde
served for communion
causing logic's rigor mortis.

Sermonizing Dr. Frankensteins
reanimate thought's corpse,
sutures of prevarication
give life to monsters of extremism.

Wrinkles

Bedspread tales
from sultry chases
of the heart.

Midnight passion wrinkles
felt next morning
when lust's promises
turned into mirages.

Nectar

Slowing squeezing the landscape's
sangria of its rich full bounty
out of the blades, the bark and watery face.

Let it swirl its rust bouquet
in ascending visions ever rising
as the immersion of serenity’s drops
from each effervescent claret aura
felt coming from the tree, grass and lake.

One gasp, one breathless blink
and suddenly comes that awakening,
a soft and gentle mental leaf in flight.

Oh sweet hush that drinks the nectar
from bliss’s gossamer decanter
full of such deep intoxicating flavors
moving into the stillness
as the swim through life’s exquisite kiss
of calming ascension.

Copper hued caresses and dark emerald strokes
drift across the eyes
like a master’s paint brush
skillfully stroking the heart’s canvas.

What journey inward in tranquility
among the gods' banquet table,
lost in the quiet amplitude
where beauty begets its chorus.

This is the second of winged dreams,
the pure balm of inner revival
where one lies naked among the natural tapestry
because its textures are a tonic
fermented in a creator’s winery.

Inhaling the droplets with incredible peace,
a rush flows through the soul
and it has a floods through the cool tints
until eternity is the wind combing the spirit.

In once private moment of succumbing
forgotten is the cacophony warring in the self.
Replaced by the delicacy of something everlasting
so the day flees and light burns within
as an awe and euphoria
utterly drawing one
into the very center of the cosmos.

Miraculous Deliverance

once the secret of pugrdome was uncovered
for centuries its miracle powers
where kept guarded by the sacred Hiotic monastery
in the Himalayan mountains.

They guarded their rare herb
that was made from the Aeulith plant
it was so magical in its unthropede healing gift,
one drop place beneath the tongue
would complete cure any illness or disability.

Now thanks to the inzepidicous efforts
of that diligent effort from devoted government agents
this precious substance
was smuggled out of that distant land
in tiny silk sprendleth boxes
each carrying only a single leaf
and attached to the back of ravens,
who were hypnotized by a spell
of the monks with a donesquette technique
so they could soar so far and high,
never stopping until reaching
a small castle in France
owned by a Duke.

There some skilled physicians
would practice the art of miastification
to draw the vimuosity essence
out of the leaf.

Then it was collected in a rare quevipode chalice,
empowered through a thousand hours of pray chants
just to conjure divine favor.

Afterwards this chalice was placed
upon a cargo ship bound for America,
sealed in a silver terpretude
until it arrived at a underground glabreth.

There scientist would refine it
in a laser beam cothornium ,
working for 48 hours without stopping,
finally completely the coughnuscient process
and allowing for its amorphtility.

Now, that incredible essence
is kept only for the few
who learn of its existence
then are able to visit a local Laundromat
give the sign of the bird
that allows for them to receive a dose.

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.

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.

Legs in the Darkness

Mind flutters in eve's shadows as the soul soars by sorrow's wings,
alone, the heart rides ribbons of recollection's many mood colored streamers.

Night calls forth memory's butterflies from flights where love's wind once flew,
voices of those lost and missing kiss their song upon grief's scars,
walking by feeble legs of hope to find a day without need to sleep in a cocoon.

Pressing Buttons

Esteem's membrane, cold and bleached,
always seeking affection's sun,
to feel the warming tan from passion's pigment.

Transient vows of redemption scrawled by fancy's quill in diary,
mind gazes at tomorrow through hope's foggy window,
riding life's elevator desperately praying for chance seductive encounter,
hiding the hollowness haunting inner essence,
shell of truth within covered in denial's masquerade.

Pressing button for expectancy's basement
while praying another rider's heart will take her to penthouse.

Little Nibbles

No angel's flight is ever dreamt in the glisten of its glare
over the rapture's rush that the eye regales in fancy's visionary lust.
Sugary effigies from annual recycled ritualistic rites
have tradition's talons to slither through soul.
Reason's priest and desire's strumpet waltz a tug of war,
brains screams its righteous NO, but heart murmurs, I will.

Soliloquy of inner scribe's sagacious light tales
beckons with candle shining on path towards spiritual nutrition.
But flesh has fingers, which obey the spider sighs of sweet seduction,
gobbled haste of impulse's treat always ends with divine dentist bill.

Chambers of Screams and Sighs

Primal passion's slasher
lurking in the cerebral catacombs,
closeted compulsions clones
stalk with carcinigen cravings.

Chained obsession's goblins
hiding their conscience suicide kits,,
waiting for opportune seconds
in illumined decay
to cut the bonds of moral nuptials.

Fiery stabs of their carnivore sickles
filet the shrouds of presumption,
until in the darkness
where trepidation thrives in shades of gray,
shooting stars of revelation
explode with a twinkle in epiphany's pinpricks.

For in the midnight of our secrets
where our dragons drool their vile spiritual acid
there flickers the candle of ethereal flame
never fully quenched, though oft does it smolder.

Dwelling within a circus tent of stewed reality
not swallowed whole by black behemoths
rising from their vile nests,
nor able to sleep in surrender within purity's cocoon,
heard is hell's whispers in sync
with heaven's hum,
adjusting volume of mind's stereo
until harmony of listening to both
doesn't end with insanity,
unwilling to stop appreciating the howling tease of vile song
or completely be capable of only enjoying a harp's chorus.

Hail Holy Round

Divine light coming to the vacant,
at least that was their revelation,
since numbers shrinking
and complaints growing that things were too dull,
so decided to broaden their appeal
with more liberal traditions,
why have only wine used for the communion
when any brew would do
providing they gave it the cross sign.

Now sisters free to reach out
to the community visiting happy hours
though mother superior often stands watch
for times the drinks flow too freely,
because even a nun can look way too tempting,
being so tipsy to remember her vows,
after too much scotch or bourbon
makes them want to do more than pray
influenced into wanting
a whole different kind of heaven!

Juiced

On life’s tree
hang those hearts,
both bitter and tart,
rejected for their sour disposition,
were born as seeds
of acid inclinations,
just grew in the constant flow
from acerbic sap
rising out of roots
fed from lips to tainted and defiling.

But love’s farmer
sees beyond the obvious,
aware with the right sweetener
even a vinegary rind inside
can have a juice to drink.

How often
with the right care and effort
will one life
seemingly void of sugar
become a nectar
refreshing another’s thirst.

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.