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A Chat On The Meadow

To lie in the grass
With questions to ask
The clouds in the sky
The sun winks its eye

The moisture within
Deep under our skin
Pulses and patters
With energy matters

Beads of our moisture flow on the hill
Meet one another, creating a rill.
Tracing out rivers, the borders of nations,
We watch the wash of our joined perspirations.

While we talk to it, play it,
Poke at it, say it,
Love is our listening, soft lip to lip
Fluids to flow and flowers to sip.

A Cone Poem

What if two hearts could touch and take and taste and tip,
Two people share their quotes and quips,
And have a lovely summer trip.
That would be flip.
Still, In dreams we dip,
A gourmet glass of wine we sip.
We share our laughter through our lips,
And slowly show, we share, stare, steer our souls, our ship.

A Distant Love

There is love.
To be a fly on your wall - no.
To be with you wherever you go - yo.
To think I have you inside of me, so.
To want where you are what you are to know.

A Morning Thought

The pressure to flesher is pleasure A hand you can hold is a treasure. A chance for a dance is romance, But love is a mystical trystical trance.

Where No One Ever Stood (A Piece of Glass)

Where no one ever stood, or could,
Where no trail leads to or from the wood,
A piece of glass glistens in the grass,
A thorny question beckons to be asked.
It's troublesome, could cut or scratch or grasp,
Like bubblegum, a tricky, sticky task.

I want to know why something that could cause such consternation
Would grab the eye so firmly and demand a disputation.

Like love (isn't everything?) it can't have gotten here by some design
Or accidentally come to ground, without a sound, without a sign.

Pick it up; discard it. A shard for a bard is trash.
Disbelieve, disregard it. Emotions are notions we can't abash.
I ask you then to take this shard and let the sea smooth out its edges,
So that it feels so soft inside your hand that it satisfies your pledges.

A Purple Sky

A purple sky without its stars
A solar system without Mars
A busy freeway without cars
The last is not so bad.

The Pampas range without its rhea
A still night's onomatopoeia
Thoughts I might no longer see her
The worst I've ever had.

A Slip Of A Moon

A slip of a moon amidst wisps of clouds
The winds in the trees whisper aloud
Here we are.
And what should we stress here that we're here and not there,
Or the sense of existence that we are who cares where,
Or that it is we, you and me, with a moment to share.

Abaft The Beam

Abaft the beam or so it seems, I had a dream.
The world had come apart at seams.
In spite of schemes and plaintiff screams,
Of false regimes and phony creams,
The world had lost its self-esteem.

But we as team with moonbeam threads,
Restitched the world, restored its gleam.
Its teeming beauty, we redeemed,
Abaft the beam.

Distant Relatives

I have some little cars, you know,
They really like to run.
They like to turn and like to go.
That's what they think is fun.

The trouble with the other folk
Who live at this garage
Is that they get so angry
That they don't know near from far.

My dad says "Don't you move the pads
From off the big beige couch."
"Don't dare to move those pillows.
Don't push the cushions out."

But underneath those cushions
Are the best roads in the house.
The roads run on forever there
In hair-pin turns and out.

Mom says the carpet's pretty
And dad says that it's fine;
But I know that it's mountains
With roads that wind and climb.

Dad says, "Come here this minute!"
Mom says, "Come here right now!"
But I can't get there quite that soon.
It's miles from here to town.

You're got to cross the threshold bump
And thread the hallway pass
And make the turn at dining room gap
And not drive on the grass.

I like my mom and dad a lot
No matter what drivers say.
It's just that when they scream at me,
They live so far away.

Evening In The Mountains

To sense the sight, the sound, the smell, the feel,
To search beyond for what is real,
To nature's inner self to find a bridge,
The evening deftly steals across the ridge.

He's On His Way

I have a friend
His name is Ken
And when
You have the… yen,
For warmth inside your den
Some mustiness, that heavy scent.
You have a need for men,
It's then,
My heart distends;
My head upends;
My soul descends;
The failure that I am again.
I think that I must send
To you, my good friend Ken
Or maybe Ben,
But after all, who holds the pen,
Who loves the most your regimen.
I'd much prefer to send you Len.

Hug The Giraffe

Alas along aloved alaughed,
To stroke a thigh and touch a calf,
The shaft, the staff, hug the giraffe,
And stir the sweets in the carafe,
Until we rock the seismograph,
We are now each our better half.

In Old Man's Clothes

I come to you in old man's clothes
Tattered top and socks with holes,
While clutching still at young man's goals.
I strut my ancient stuff. Behold!

While some would scoff, or scorn, or scold,
I cling to dreams that youth enfolds.
The flesh to feel and love to knowld
And have my voice heard round the wold.

But not my voice or my own soul
I'm not that holy or that bold,
Inside me rolls a different troll,
The voice of talkingtellingtaleswetold,

For either spirits our dreams mold
Or we indeed have grown too old.

I Haven't Heard

I haven't heard from her.
As if there ever were,
A way of dealing with the thoughts that now occur,
The fears they stir, the hurts that they transfer.
These very slights are slurs,
As is the emptiness that they confer.
The images recur; the cold one might infer.
Burr. A world without is so much wintrier.

But good sir, I tell myself, you might prefer
These cowardly thoughts to just inter,
And kinder passions to bestir,
To sip that sweet liqueur
Of warmer thoughts, and moments lovelier,
And braver, stand again as love's petitioner.

I stride the street

I stride the street.
My pride is trampled ‘neath my feet.
No air can enter either lung,
Where we went wrong when we were young.

Astride, our treat,
We tried recapturing our pleasure's feat.
To listen to the songs we sung
The breathes we breathed and bells we rung.

I Want A Kiss

I want a kiss,
A kiss that will shimmer my skin,
And skimmer my shins,
And burst the boundaries of my breast,
And boast of passion, raw, ungloved.

I want a kiss,
The threads of which
Would burst the stitches
Of the universe itself and leave us the eternal passions of the void
Is that the kind of kiss I'm dreaming of?

And yes, I want a kiss,
Which really makes
Not merely takes the meeting of four lips,
Our fingers bare, our bodies bay and bond
But what about what is below, what is above?

I want a kiss,
That comes from some much deeper place,
That brings together foot and feel and face,
And bounds our fates, our psyches, selves, and souls,
A kiss that is our love.

If I Should Wake

If I should wake before my eyes
From slumber's pitch black skies,
And twist and turn and ponder whys,
And wonder, wish with wistful sighs,
Then here in my heart this wish resides.
Contentious contest with no surprise,
I think of you, your soul, your thighs.
For me, you are the prize.

If It All Be Business

If it all be business, when do we hug?
Breathe each other in and chug
When do we lie and slide and snug
And run our fingers through the rug?

Lonely Alone

If you are me and I am lonely when you are not here,
How come I am not lonely when you are here?

Because to be here is to be lonely,
But when we are together,
Then we are not here,
We are there, in that place.

We are together always,
But not always in the same place as each other.
So, we end up being here sometimes and lonely,
Rather than there, in that place.

Love Loudly

Love loudly, love long,
Love in dance, love in song,
Love in right, love in wrong,
Love and be where we belong.

A Woman

A woman aspires, oh who could deny her,
Her head is in fits and her heart is on fire,
Her face is aflush and her passions are higher.
What does she aspire? What flames her desire?
Is it something within or the ways of this squire?
Will he play her his lyre or leave her a crier?
Ah who would be judge, who would dare try her?
We love her so much we can only perspire.
The drama is deep and the dangers are dire.
Oh she who aspires, Oh why, uh? Oh why, uh?

Mountain Lakes

The wind will be my washrag,
The sun will be my towel
And I shall swim the mountain lakes
Hour after hour.

The wind wi be me washrae
The sun wi be my towe'
‘n I sha swim the highland lochs
Owe after owe.

My Soggy Eyes

My soggy eyes reveal a sorry night,
My cheeks are churlish, chest is tight.
My heartfelt soul seeks it be right,
The ecstasy that ends excessive fright

Nancy

Nancy, sweet Nancy
You've taken my fancy,
Your song and your dance-y
Leave me little chance-y,
I'm yours

Near Moon

Near moon, far moon,
Soft moon, hard moon,
Dawning sings a silent tune,
Morning's coming very soon.

Nirvana?

Four in the morning, awake before dawning to the scorn of the still sleeping birds.
What am I doing and who am I fooling to listen to what can't be heard.
The silence doesn't speak in the darkness and nothing is seen in the hush.
There is no breeze, the air is asleep, and there is no sense of touch.

So who am I when I'm awake when I should be asleep?
When I think without my worldly cares or my coins to keep?
When the I that I usually am can't exist?
When I am the I that is nothing but this?

My pulse is impulsive, repulsive, convulsing, fixed on its own separate flow,
My heart is abeating, repeating, conceding, knowing it's all that I know.
So, I'm stripped of my nightclothes, unclothed, in the nude.
Alone, without phone; my body of stone has breaths but too few.

Nirvana! I've mastered philosophies ancient and true; my self I have shelfed,
I am new; I am pure. Unconfused, I am cured, assuredly way beyond help.
With this selflessness, helplessness, nothing to think,
Soullessness, wholelessness, I'm in the pink.

But it's lonely, alonely here where nothing is mapped,
The infinite visibility fades; in the dark, it gets trapped.
No place for a coward here, faltering, frail.
The dawn gallops toward me on dark, silent rails.
It might be wonderful, wondrous in fact,
If my eyes were to close and my body bounce back
My breathing might slow and my mind go non-blank
I want my two hours of sleep and I'll give thanks

To re-awaken later, a new man, all refreshed,
My all too familiar and friendlier life to express.

Oh Sister

Oh sister, soeur, if sometimes sour,
I wait for you the hour by hour,
To kiss a smile and catch a tell,
To live inside your ear a spell.

Oh friend of mine and lady fine,
I lift the glass and lick the wine,
Advice, advise, you share with me,
I think to drink your sacred tea.

Oh, woman, wise and wily too,
I long to catch a glimpse of you,
A glimpse, a glom, a gander view,
An urge to enter, come on cue.

Oh lover, tough as many, any other,
You are my soul, my clothes, my cover,
Hunger, heart, for soft word spoken,
Take my self, just as a token.

On Being Second Best

On being second best, I've heard,
Accursed,
It could be worse.
One could be third.

If in his arms,
The swarm of all his charms,
Against his chest, yours pressed,
And danced with dozens of the rest,
Oh no, oh yes,
One could be thirteenth best.

Beyond the squander of our years,
You whisper in my ears,
Bring me good cheers,
Allay my fears,
If only we were near.

On Reading An Ideatic Poem About An Idea

I read a poem; it has a thought
Just the way a poem ought.
It even has a picture too
In several shades of sadness blue.

The thought dekinks our mental bowels, gerclunk,
We reconsider bitterly, unwittingly what we already thunk,
It gives us pause because it gives our jaws a shove,
But what's a poem about if not about our love.

I want to see the passion rising with the thought,
The language twisting, wristing to a new thought sought,
With new words tweeting, bleating, cheating our IQs
To make us feel that our own feelings are the news.

On Your Immersion Language Classes

In case we fail to actually converse,
In new languages you are immersed,
Then know, my love, however clipped and terse,
We are the rhymes that make up any verse

Once In A Wonder

Once in a wonder a woman there was
Her eyes filled with beauty, her bonnet abuzz.
The world whirled around her in slurry and slur
With all of its goodness clinging to her.

Warmth, warning, waiting and, wanting it all
A suitable suitor came stumbling to call.
Humbly offering nothing, to know him
Was all, and then of course this little poem.

Appalled, he came calling, perhaps not enthralling
And sometimes he's bawling, perhaps even stalling.
But one thing's as clear as these sounds in your ear,
He is friend, love, lust, laugh and near and dear.

Our Cocoon

Our cocoon does not fray, I say,
It is lit by the sun all day,
And at night, the moon comes to play.
So in its warmth we can stay.

And when there's a knock,
It's not hollow, not poppycock,
Sounds as solid as a rock,
From Pacific wash to Antioch.

The warmth works its way at an angle,
There're thoughts and ideas yet to wrangle,
Mangled emotions to disentangle
And a deal I am trying to wangle,
And amidst this incredible spangle,
Forgive the occasional dangle.

Partly To Learn

Partly to learn the part, apart from thart,
Because I cannot act, not from the start,
I squeeze the juice to make the play go on,
Whether I know I'm here or gone,
School kids need a dad who's loves his work,
Even when they know that he's a jerk.

I keep the lines of pressure very steep
And never have the joys of a deep sleep.
So, when labor comes to maturation,
Like an otter coming out of hibernation,
Content with that and with the joys of art,
I'll slide with joy down muddy slopes of heart.

R & R

Roger and Ruddy both came to call, Roger was skinny and Ruddy was small, Maybe Ruddy was thinny and Roger was tall, Resting and Rehab is good for us all.
What can I do when the darkness descends, When the night knits its eyebrows, its nostrils distend, And this knight finds his heart no longer can bend? It wants to touch tips, love-amity tend.
Where is the saucer with the cat's milk? Where is that sweater with sleeves lined in silk? Never to let her her lover be bilked Or suffer discredit or any such ilk.
I wade in the water; my trousers are wet, I wait for a quarter if that's all I get, But I'll wait for forever if I don't have it yet. Let us remember not to forget.

Ratface

My Sis is atither; she's looking at gowns
Cause Ratface McCormack is coming to town,
I'll tell you what Ratface once did as a kid
He stole from the blind man who sits by the zoo
Stole all his coins and his plastic kazoo.
That's what Ratface McCormack once did.
So Mom and Dad are feeling all down,
Wearing those worry-about-Sis solemn frowns
And I'll hate old Ratface from now til the end
But until then I'm hoping he'll still be my friend.

Ship Aground

I've run my ship aground, aground,
The creaking of her scraping sound,
The salty world confounds, confounds,
And yet with love the world abounds.

Soon Or Now

I cannot reach you soon or now,
A furrow sets across my brow,
The sky is blue I don't see how
It can ignore rain falling down,
A little tear, a fading frown,
A sad-faced smile, a thorny crown,
A lady in her dressing gown,
If I could simply get to town.

Spies In Disguise

Picture of fireman over the words Fireman, Oh sure.
and picture businessman over the words Businessman, Oh sure.
Both are flying around in the sky.

Spies in disguise fly the skies and tell lies.
Oh me and oh my, you can't look in their eyes,
‘Cause their eyes are too high in the skies.
Don't ask why, cause they're sly and their shy.
They're so shy that they cry
When it's time for goodbyes
In the skies
In disguise.

The Creek At Dawn

The creek at dawn arcs around in a ribbon of tin
It glistens but dully; it listens; the air is remarkably still.
The ripples and trickles are covers; one cannot see in.
It is so far away down the of the long sloping hill.

But at noon, it is brilliant, the sun having painted it gold,
I stand on the bank after blazing a trail through the brush,
I hear it and see in its depths that together we'll never grow old,
Mossy rocks in the creek bed, the current is flowing; we're flush.

And then in the evening, the sun's all but set: surprise!
I've climbed hard to be back where I started, atop the rise,
A soft, silver sheen hides the truth of the creek from my eyes.

The Crows

The crows and I don't get along
I don't like their attitude and I don't like their song.

The Eagle

The eagle rules in my back yard,
On soaring wings, the screechy bard,
Spans proudly its tail in strident white
And takes its prey without a fight.

What creature then would challenge this?
Test your talons or your cowardice!
We are all mice within its claws
And every creature bows in awe?

Yet here they come, the noisy crowd,
Caw-caw, caw-caw, all quite out loud
With every feather sleek and black
They seem to want their back yard back.

A scatter of crows, the chatter of crows,
All that noise! What's the matter with crows?
For even the regalest eagle now knows:
Nothing absurder than a murder of crows.

They harass him, and pass him, attacking en masse.
Embarrassed, out-classed he is driven to grass,
There he honkers down, crying, and stretching his neck,
He is grounded, beleaguered, a wreck.

Later, in evening, he checks on his health
He rises but slowly and only with stealth,
The sky's clear now the crowds have gone on to their roost,
The evening thermals now give him a boost.

He is humbled, has bumbled, now stumbles aloft,
Pride is easy to costume falls at great cost.
Even with elegant plumage and eyes all aglow,
Are we eagle or crow meat? I'm anxious to know.

The Flowers

The flowers bloom by some untimely clock, purples, pink, and white in the cold air of near spring, and then a late snow overwhelms them, the barest hint of color still glowing through the cover of cold crystals. They will stand there, hidden, patient beauty unseen, unbowed, their bloom suspended until the sun intervenes and melts the mighty snow. Then, there they'll be again, their clocks reset.

The Husks of Peas

The husks of peas, hello
A heart at ease, you know,
A pretty tease, oh no,
To you to please, they go.

The Light of Spring

The somber brown of leafless limbs,
The sky as grey as an old man's beard,
But still a brightness fills the air,
A hint of spring seems to appear
To make old winter disappear
As if its cold were just a whim.

The Spangler

Oh what a dangle a dingle that was,
The bees were embarrassed, the birds were abuzz,
Even the star spangled spingle was blushing becuzz
That's what a spar stingled spangler just does.

The Time I've Wasted

The time I've wasted, pasted,
The wines I haven't tasted,
The loss of kith and kin,
Places I haven't been,
The sights I haven't seen,
The thoughts I didn't mean,
And all those things I never knew
Can't help but conjure you,
The air in Santé Fe or Pondereille?
Breathe deep, I thrive on your bouquet.

Water

Water is the blood of the planet
The drops that drip down the brim of your hat
Fall onto the collar of my coat.
The tears you cry
Find their way into me,
Where they course in my arteries and my veins.
And when I sigh,
The moisture in my breath wraps around you
In warmth and in assurance.
Water waits for no one.
It falls and flows and flies,
Evaporates, condenserates, propenserates,
And sometimes puddles up around us,
A bath, warm or cold, willing or chilling.
"Hello." Sounds travels across the water.
"Hello." Sound echoes back.
Water is the blood of the planet but also the voice.
To live is to get wet in the wash of the world.
To wait is to squander the water's song,
Unless you wait for me,
For that is the water's song,
The tug of tide comes in and out,
Our pulse, our beating heart,
Our breath together and apart.

What a desperate lout

What a desperate lout I am,
Like hams and eggs without a ham,
A twit, a twerp, a doubt, a sham,
He'd throw the bout, no thank you ma'am.
But if fingers string and wingers zing,
Then I would be the song you sing.

Who Am I?

Who am I? And why?
The sky is falsified?
Those clouds that float so proudly high,
Do they instead adorn the calm, cool lakes,
Reflections of the views we take,
The proof of the mistakes we make?
Try so hard to get it right,
Distinguishing the day from night,
Like blind men savoring the sights.

You May Swing

You may swing and you may sway,
Dance the lovely day away,
You may do some wild fandangles
But beware, beware of dangles.