Pleading

You aren't soft anymore.
You're all hard, jagged edges;
our arguments run round in circles,
walls, and icy wedges.

I need a soft place to land,
somewhere real and safe,
engulfing, surrounding, holding,
but all you do is hate.
I need an oasis,
and someone who will relate.

Senses

When I love you it's fresh,
like a blush which sweeps
over my whole body
with light sweat on my chest.
The feeling remains
long after the sheen-
the blush,
and then you touch me.
At that one point on my body
all of my nerves converge
to form a single place
of glorious madness.

Ode to Toothpaste

Oh toothpaste, oh toothpaste the paste not the gel,
you make our teeth white and you do it so well.
Every morning when I reach for my toothbrush so fair,
I find you ready and waiting in the fresh bathroom air.
I pick you up lovingly, and away with the cap!
The toothpaste is low, I run my hand up the shaft.
Your sweet minty nectar slides to the top,
I spread it on the brush, I don't miss a drop.
Just a small trickle of water, gentle so as not to upset,
I run you under the faucet for you work better when wet.
You are ready for me now, I slowly raise the brush.
My lips part expectantly, apprehension, and I fear it's too much...
But no, my mistake! And I take you all in,
your sweet mint delicious dribbles down my chin.
I swish you around, my God you fight plaque!
A tingling sensation, a breath freshening attack!
Oh toothpaste I love how you make me so clean,
my tongue cries with pleasure, "Cleanse me!" I scream.
How I like it in circles, or moving in and out,
the more foam you make the more my taste buds shout.
I can feel the foaming, the mint is coming in waves,
"Dominate me toothpaste! Give me that sweet clean that I crave!!!"
Then, it's all over.  The bubbles slow, to a simmer.
I put the cap on my toothpaste, and go into dinner.

Good Morning

Give me velvet ribbons
wrapped in a grey sky
with supple highlights
and gentle shadows
dipping and twisting in a creamy dawn.
Taste the morning dewdrops,
sliding down flower pedals
and through blades of grass.
Inhale the slightest hint
of early honeysuckle,
as the wind brushes past you
and the scent flutters away.
Feel the rhythm,
dance to the dying music of the night,
embrace the joyous climax of birds and rays alike
bursting forth,
and watch your heart explode
first in blue, and then purple.
Pink, and red.
Orange
and yellow and blue
painted across the sky.

Four Lines

Sweep me up in your dreams
far away to depths I've never been.
When I awake from my daze
I wish myself in your eternal gaze.

Lamenting Summer

I never noticed until today
that summer has now gone away;
gone the birds, gone the bees -
honeysuckle and green leaves.
Somewhere in a month or week
went the sunshine, went the heat.
I'm not sure why I didn't note
the shorter days and nights of cold.
Where are the children laughing loud?
The scent of flowers, bright and proud?
Swimming pools or a sprinkler hose,
shorts, skirts, and bare-naked toes.
Sunblock, suntans, beach towels too,
I miss summertime trips to the zoo.
Six Flags, ice cream trucks, bubblegum;
all fading fast with the waning sun.
And though fall explodes with a shout -
it is summer I hate to do without!
Keep your wind, snow and freeze,
autumn colors and springs of green,
give me blazing summer heat,
and sultry memories, bittersweet.

Autumn

The changing leaves bring Halloween,
goblins, ghouls, and things unseen.
Autumn winds and whipping chill
whitely dust the window sill.
Moonlight lasts a little longer
and our minds begin to wander.
Wanton lovers shy from the cold,
and bare new life in summer's gold.
Families share a last repast
before winter's first, icy blast.

Marker Board, 2006

For me this a year of change
progress, heartache, love estranged.
Victory for our home team;
innovative Halloween.
The seasons switch with my heart,
comfort versus shaky start.
Switch and blow the winds of chance,
rolling dice, precarious dance.

Seasonal Inspiration

Today the wind whipped the trees,
startling, stripping, stealing the leaves.
They lay naked in the greyish sky,
fueling the wind's whiny cry.
Freezing rain, ice, hail, and sleet,
these are winter's welcome greet.
Frosted skin and bones so cold,
sniffling young, and sickly old.
But near the fire, warm and tender,
gather amongst the glowing embers;
singing songs with voices high,
friends, and glasses that never dry.

It could be either one

At night I lay in my bed
but my body is on fire,
you consume my every thought,
engulf me with desire.
I know your voice, deep and soft
I feel it low and strong.
It whispers at me in the night,
it calls me out at dawn.
I love your hands and your long arms;
strong, safe, and gently rough.
Arms which barricade the world,
hands with expert touch.
I need the way that you love me.
all heart, body and soul.
At my side the man I love,
proud to make me whole.

Jazz in June

Laying underneath the canopy of summer trees
feeling the grass tickling the backs of my knees,
I could imagine that you are there with me,
floating with a blanket and pillow in the green sea
while music drifts on the warm breeze.
Accompanied by the cicada in the surrounding bliss,
keeping the world away from our abyss,
I could drink chianti in deliberate sips
and you might brush my moistened lips
with the barest whisper of a kiss.

Writing

When I put words together they are rarely about a specific person,
or to an individual;
inspired by no one,
and never in spite of anyone.
When I write about humanity I want to divulge glorious autonomy
and even universal fallibility.
I like things, and places
and ideas which are constantly changing
and which never change.
My favorite ones spontaneously change.
I like finding the words which almost anyone can relate to.

An Unrequited Thought

I thought of you today while I was standing still,
and the wind moved across my neck and I got a little chill.
The air was crisp and the sky was clearly blue and bright.
The snow danced in the blissful breeze adorned with glittering light.
I thought of you today and I thought that time had froze,
as goosebumps pricked along my nape and butterflies curled my toes.
It is my selfish moment alone when I sit and think of you,
to leave it free of all my doubts that you think of me too.

Locked Up

Close my eyes, rest my mind
seeking answers from inside.
Down and down tranquil paths,
so serene they won't last.
Stormy skies rise ahead,
fuming fire hot and red.
Strong and clear passion burns.
for that which I most yearn.
Center nears, cage in sight
from within shines a light.
It hangs up high out of reach,
it contains what I seek.
It guides me in what I do,
and will show right and true.
Break the cage, tear it down
it is strong, but not sound.
Strength derived from my fears,
no more doubt, no more tears.
Live my life, I am free.
Open mind, master key.

Perpetual Composition

Christopher Hall can curl my toes with his voice.
I heard it once, live -
speakers resounding, reaching inside of me.
Sound waves vibrate everywhere.

I wonder, as the television blares through my walls,
what music those muffled voices are composing.
Is it melodic like locusts,
or dissonant like dawn at the zoo?
A man once told me, "Music is organized sound."

The rapid rhythm birds create
blend in perfect harmony
with the basses of thunderous waterfulls
and treble, leisurely streams.
Everything longs to be percussion,
and the listener is delighted by a fierce competition
between
raindrops drippling,
wind whispering
leaves leaving
and crickets chirping.
The sun and moon must be proud of the orchestra they create.

By listening closely, I can hear the music of houses and homes.
Coffee percolating a morning tune,
the click-clacking of a ceiling fan whose screws are loose,
soft, low buzzing from a dishwasher,
clocks tick-tocking,
and a spoon tapping on a cereal bowl.

The music of life can serve as a warning;
the popping and burning of a heart attack -
or an unhealthy breakfast.
The low sizzling of lung cancer -
or a freshly lit cigarette.
The deep purr of a car accident -
or an engine revving.

I miss the music of my old neighborhood.
Neighbors fighting on a corner in the wee hours,
chain link fences clunking and clanking in the wind.
Distant sounds of drive-bys,
or was it a car backfiring?
I love the constant noise of traffic.
It means we are not alone.

There is music in the sounds of silence.
The bittersweet noise of tears falling,
the soft sound of fog as it descends,
snow blanketing the earth in gentle waves,
or the songs in the hearts of the deaf -
perhaps these are the most musical of all.

Food of the Gods

Amber rays of sun
beaming from the sky,
bathe golden horses
poised on amber wings.

They blaze through fields
decorated with
bunched up bundles
of amber haystacks,

and they finally stop
where crags and canyons
paint the land,
beyond the amber hills of dust.

The sun sets,
amber pillars pierce the clouds
to reach beyond the sandy sea.

In the distance,
the faint pale glow
of the amber cities
obscures the night sky.

A streetlight shines it's amber light
while a cat, discovered,
slips away

and returns to the old woman,
cascaded by amber firelight
on the floor.

She strokes the cat with amber fingers -
stained by cigarettes,
and closes her eyes as her heart slows
and amber dreams descend.

Farewell

Cross this bridge as you go,
the road is long, the way is slow.
Do not forget my dearest friend,
I will be waiting at the end.

Ease I cannot guarantee,
the way is blind so learn to see.
Hardships litter the winding path,
the skies are dark and full of wrath.

Your heart will be your only guide,
I am no longer by your side.
Dismay, torture, deepest sorrow,
consume yesterday and tomorrow.

When the sun shines look ahead,
let it lighten your heavy tread.
Don't lose faith, don't give in,
and use your confidence within.

The hills are steep, the journey tough;
the path is difficult and rough.
You might stumble, you might fall,
rise again; give it your all.

Begin this quest, go with love,
I will be watching from above.

Cross this bridge as you go,
the road is long, the way is slow.
Do not forget my dearest friend,
I will be waiting at the end.

Your Arms

Your arms are a drug.
The soft bliss I never knew the world lacked
until I sank into their depths.
I felt you through my chest, breathing and beating.
I was a captive who languished in your strength.
Your arms are a fortress, and a sweet elixir.
A sample is not enough;
it tantalizes and teases with the promise of more,
and creates an aching need.
My tongue goes dry,
my body trembles,
and it seems I am hopelessly addicted.

An Observation

The wind is cool and blowing,
the trees are tall and knowing.
The world sleeps,
dreams keep;
in the silence I hear life growing.