The Desires of a Tree

Roots have waned and I begin to you now.
The dirt crumbles at my base and I stretch up
Reaching with every fiber in my branches
I have no ties now, keeping me grounded.
Soon I may be able to jump!

Oh the thought, to move along,
I swoon in the stale breeze in frozen dreams,
Thawing now in the pure desire
(A day to pass it all, and leave),
Heating my core, my entity.

The nights grow warm again, and the mud encasing
My trivial shackles retreats in battle.
Deeply, I breath, inhaling, almost tasting
The day when I can come and feel you.
I hold and risk all for that moment, you.

‘It is almost time,’ exposed roots tell me.
For they pop out of the ground, laying there
Mocking my past; white limp digits!
Tickled now in grass as a child, dumb.
They hold no power over me.

Last one, I’m nearly free and jubilant
Just one more stretch and, Glee!
The ground holds me no longer, My Love.
I topple over and begin to crawl
Brittle and wooden, I move not.

I become thirsty and crave what’s now lost,
The taste of nutrient foundations
Gone now, my home, tributary of life
I have planted and I have forsaken.
Fear consumes me, and I die in vain.

Today is Not the Day

Today is not the day that I come to him
Remember a bond and run to him
Wrap my arms and lips, be one with him
Today is not the day.

Tonight is not the night that I lay with him
Cuddle for warmth and stay with him
Curl my toes and kiss and hold him
Tonight is not the night.

This life is not the life for me to share with him
Pass my years going strong with him
Wrinkled flesh for me to give him
This life is not the life.

.....There is not another stanza

Love is Blind

Look upon my face;
The smiles, the frowns.
Laughter bringing wrinkles
Of memories unforgotten.
Look upon my soul;
The emotions, the past
Tears staining cheeks
Of sorrow in all times.
Look upon my being
The assets, the imperfections
Yearning for excitement
Of another to hold.
Look upon me
See what I want
You to see. You see
Nothing for love is
Blind. Love is
Blind. Love is.

Haiku: Without a Purpose

Without a purpose
We wander naked in cold,
Darkness to nowhere.

Mr. Valentine Man

Mr. Valentine Man,
Our hearts’ hit by your arrow.
Together, we both know
Bulls-eye’s Love’s companion.

Despite the kin and kithe,
Our love entwined will flourish;
The rebel sparrow unleashed
Thus then, no other can smithe.

We needn’t any saving charms,
Our secret is helped along
By bond encircling, so strong
As we lie in each others arms.

Affections will do, all in night
Our mouth, ‘hush, hush’ the strife
Daylights’ the bladed knife
Careful to be all right.

For those knifes I swallow
Our soul, captured not in blood,
Gives way to tears of joy-filled flood
And the Sparring War won’t follow.

We have but one quiet plan
Our life, to soar like Sparrow
We needn’t a protecting arrow
Mr. Valentine Man.

The Huntress

I envy the Huntress.

Red bowed and arrowed, she waits.

Pacifists and anarchists rage,

And wage war, for more to shed

Of life fluids from our brothers.

Stalking in the shadow, she waits.

Jealousy of her consuming entity,

I rathe and scathe in want to be her captor.

To grab her long dreaded hair, and pull

Adorned with a red fowl’s mark.

To graze her tattooed skin, quiver

My touch is soft, my fingers linger.

To slap her dirty face, see eyes,

A fire in them, look for mercy.

To have knees bent at my feet-

Total, unalienable, righteous

Control.

Untitled [The horizon looks back at us]

The horizon looks back at us
Over waves of washed back teardrops,
Fallen from dead hearts, broken.
Squinted, through the rays, heartaches
Blister the eyes that persevere
Seeking the serendipity once lost,
Surrendered to the fate
Of mistakes yet not learned;
The ones we cannot forget,
Haunting rays.
The horizon looks back at us,
Smiling, for fate is ambiguous.

Haiku: The Storm

The quiet before
The storm arouses wandered
Thoughts of solitude.

WORW #4

The only difference between a paradox and a hypocracy
is someone catching it before you do.

Leader of Man

I am not a leader of man
And I sit here and ask who
Will see things the way they will mend
And then they never do.
I want my little place on this earth
To sit back and cry
For the people that regret my birth
Until the day I die.
You’ll see the things I’ve left
All bottled up inside;
You will leave me no place of rest
No place to hide.
Running from your monster machine
Fuelled by your very own fear,
Of what things ought to be
If you accept what you see and hear.
I pulled the covers over my head
When I heard you shout.
I have tried to stay in bed
To make happiness throughout.
I cant stand it-
-I must stand up
For belief over fight.
You’ll drink from my bleeding cup;
I’ll overcome you, if only in night.
I am not a leader of man,
And I sit here and ask why
You judge me to the very end
Drinking tears of my cry.
You’ll see, I’ll overcome you
And your monster machine.
I’ll bring a light of new
Without a zealous gleam.
I am not a leader of man
But I sure am gonna try
I’ll put an end to your monster machine
Only then will I fly.

The Mountain

Am I dead?
The answer whispers
As dew-filled cobwebs hum in
The morning breeze.
I struggle to listen, but the
Echoes of the bullet
Crash through my being.


Shattering silence to the summit,
My want to listen is dwarfed by the
Omnipresent need to be heard,



But the words are lost to my memories
With me for me by me
Shall I be heard at the peak
Or shall my voice be lost in distance?
Clouds struggle for presence, nothing more.

I am lost in the ecstasy of
Past emotion, mixing fervently; tossing
Ruptured pieces from the rocky slope.


The wind feels good
Something sets in and I reach forth, seeing
Nothing, no rules, recognition; the
Endless stretch of an empty sky
Consumes my fingertips
I reach back and cry.



My tears fall, becoming a storm.
Cloudless and quiet; wet a rainbow
Quiet now, the answer whispers louder…

Am I dead?
Cobwebs dance.

Words Of Random Wisdom (WORW) #13

May the love of a friend help you find truth...
May the love for yourself give you strength to accept it
when its found.

A Love Poem

Are you aware of where the sky begins and the sea ends?
Looking out on the horizon,
Seeing nothingness stretch out its welcoming arms;
Blue on blue, looking back as us without a clue.
Ponder this question, for it too, has no answer

Untitled [I looked for Love in a Hole Once]

I looked for love in a hole once.
First, rocks were overturned by my quest;
Trees fought, uprooted in agony of my search.
The calming omnipresent wind mocked me as I
Stood and screamed for Atlas’ help;
Who better than the Titan of Burden.
No answer, as I suspected.
I peered over the edge of that dirty,
Grassy burrow. The wind sang as it
Wisped over that mysterious opening,
A breath over the jugs‘ orphus.
Crumbled dirt and pebbles succumbed to its depth,
The sweet smell of mud and wet grass exhaled upon my face;
My knees grew wet from the ground, tribute to rain past.
My muddy palms inched closely to the barrier of light and
Darkness of the abyss below.
I squinted, leaned back and sat, lost in thought.

Hungry

Pestilent pretenders grapple for first place.
Hard bodied, and coked up. They fight for the all-illicit
Award of ‘Faggot of the Year.’
We are all the players and the judge.
We climb the mount, summit’s sight, we claw and scratch,
But no more a rock to climb than the insecurities
And ill-willed bequeaths of the queens of the Scene.
Lost, as those boys seeking to find their truth in the baggies
And syringes and rocks and raves find…
Found: a dichotomous life;
To see and be Scene.
To seek and be sought.
To know and be known
As a lover without love.
I find a scraped and worn, tattered cynicism,
Tipped and known on the tongues of these
Blind mendicants as the sense of diligence,
Encouragement,
Persistence through the tempest
Fall asunder in this self made storm.
We fight, and claw and surpass and
Lay surpassed by the next
Best hard bodied coked out
Midas of self-deplore.
Blame has no place here,
My fellow mendicant,
For we do not bludgeon each other.
Only a self is inflicted by this disease,
Only a perpetuator is the victim.
Found: a voracious life,
Hungry.

Hermit

Creatures of Hermetic journeys,

Carry not, the truth of this world.

They know it from a light

Unlike that of All.

Sharing nothing but the pinhole box,

They crawl and claw to get a glimpse

A tiny sliver of the light, outside the box.

Untitled [Faggots are Never Good Enough]

Faggots are never good enough
For the world;
With queer parades of silver, glitter,
Gold,
Fabulous stilettos, rhinestoned
And feathered.
An unfettered upwards pinky
While taking in tea,
And cucumber sandwiches,
The snobbish elitisms,
Feminine mannerisms,
Phallic references,
And the libido of cat-in-heat.
A little eyeliner and a condom never meant so much;
The shaky touch
Rakishly stretched to another
Hard bodied glitter queen,
Hard, rock, white candy
Hard medicine regimens,
With a soft base of reality
In a masquerade of urine, penicillin,
Coke.
No, no my friend;
Faggots are not even enough-
For each other.

Whispers of Wind

Come and see, it’s the horizon
An end to the eternal.
At one time, only the wind could stretch
Out and caress the edge;
But now I shall soon be like
This invisible creature that touches
And bears the secrets of this world.
We whisper, you know, The Wind and I,
For misery does know great comfort.
Its only naked and untouched ,
Diseased by eons of slaving.
But we know, and we know
Many things, The Wind and I.
He told me of the journey to the end
And I embrace him in my sails
As I cross the waves of this world.
Into the horizon up ahead,
A portal to my realm.

Love on a Cafe Porch

He was there one day,

I mean Him!

Alone on the café porch sipping

A steaming savory cup of capp.

Frothy lips were licked slowly, as

He paid no mind to the world.

Rapt in the book of poems flopped

Casually between his forefinger and thumb.

Effeminate legs placed one on the other.

On a break perhaps, or simply rejected

by his former appointment.

I wandered past,

Drinking him with my eyes.

Pity shivered throughout my body-

No more did he seem desired.

Slowly I walked.

Quietly I passed.

Cattle Call

I stand there, waiting.
Glowin' and swaying in the brittle breeze
Of compliments, in the line.
"the man behind you is Fuckin' hott,
I don't care what you say,"
I hear him, cocoa brown and shiny, whisper to his tweak-buddy,
White, sweaty, ghostly and eyes with purple bags of stress.
A small smile sent my way, (Cocoa Hottie's sweatin' me)."
And I have good hearing," I say.
Too much to handle, ha, he can't process.
A little flirt lost in the white noise, translation in his head.
There ain't no room left, 'cause, the white noise deafens,
Takin' up a lot of space.
"hey sexy, he talks a lot of shit," I hear him again,
Sreamin' to his friend this time; thinks he's whisperin'."
Ha ha, I don't talk shit," the guy behind me,
Slim and twitchin', now gettin' his break,
Tweak, "I can back it up."
...And that's when I saw the most money in one hand,
Couldn't believe the dough!
Roll o' bank to flash some respect, makin' me gag.
Clap a da hands, rollin' out signs, powder for paper,
Atmosphere vibin' and they's gonna deny.
And the respect was slipped to him; a few good presidents
Were at arms there, and I witnessed their new owner,
Look me over and still think I'm fierce, for the first time again.
Lost in his head, I became but a dream, and the cattle call was over.
They went in together, he, and his lil' buddy.
Sniffle, sniffle exit, Thanks Fuckin' God,
Cause I had to piss or a hot minute now!
My turn...

Demand for Life

As the pius believers sleep,
I knew my soul would surely weep
My kin and kithe would hold an eye
Point their righteous noses high
While my pitied blunders seep.

Trumpets play sad songs for me,
My ears the channel for me to see,
Life's melody played on strained chord,
Nodes of tempests, my mirror, my sword
Are the tools of man's discovery.

A ballad, full of ironic class,
Joined by drums and strings and brass,
Call forth the tattered truth in waves
Of rage, and humility, and raves;
The orchestra stings my heart at last.

I fall to my knees and beg and pray
For mercy from judgement that day,
Of the Epicurean's drones,
Taunting and chastening my ragged tones
The desire to feel all, and every way.

This journey gave to all diverse
Gifts from the master in every verse,
The pain to realize good's been had,
And the smiles haunting the days of bad,
Reminding to all, but others' dark curse.

Without a sowing of blemished seed
Our gardens' dirt is drained; will plead
A mineral, a gift of colored plant
To topple over, and die, recant
The blood for all whom follows need.

Our masters gave us feet to fall
And voices, for not reason, call
And heads to dissect loves' passion
And hearts to offer distraction
Upon the End upon us all.

Heed my warning young life
Do not muse or judge my strife
For one day when I cripple and cry
Will know that on the day I die
I have lived to the fullest, my life.

Him, Perfection

I felt disgusting, watching him cycle past,
Taught Glowing legs pumping away
In a synchronized beat to God's drum.

The colors flew by, a blur, muddled by eyes,
All the ripe fascinations of the rainbow
Caused Great Hermes' evny in His laboured wind.

Stealing his presence we tried all to swallow,
He beat his way through like a storm
Thundering and gusting on his past.

An audience flustered and lost to recognition
Gaped in our awkward sentimental grudge
For we wanted him to slow and share.

Pushed onward He did, 'twas what kept him verted
That coveted metaphor so challenging in my eye
And the others stop, flash, regain, continue.

A moment; fleeting coin of a few seconds,
Must be, for corruption of time shall ruin all,
That once was meant to be, Perfect.

A Lovers' Haunting

A fringed memory

Beats its way and stretches its

Paramount arms across me, to the tips of my

Caressers. Festering denial subsumes,

As a clamor of images, your face, smile

Bombards my eyelids forced.

A bitter wind bludgeons a fleeting fly.

I do not deny you.

Chicago Boi

I beg the night to hear you,
Whisper in my ear, Chicago Boy;
With muffled intentions and
Echoed vibrations,
Tickle my eardrum,
My heart, my heart.
A voice, carried across
Created static sensations,
Digital formations, askew interpretations;
Leaves me yearning for touch.
That voice, a tickle
Tantalizing my eardrum.
The sunrise takes you away.

Untitled [Meaningful Mediation]

Meaningful mediation
Is my purpose here, desert, here,
My god tells me.
Translation, affluent with arbitration,
Is shifted with the desert sand
‘Neath the dry sun and foot.
Taunting winds carry truth, dune after dune.
I squint in the bright light.
White universes cry out in the instant
They sting my face then fall
To be buried with shame of defeat
No tears are shed for these
Particle truths, sequestered without triumph from the wind.
Tears are dried here in bold temperatures,
My god tells me.
For I, in the flesh-searing heat
Bend and reach out my chapped fingers,
A handful of sand.
Gluttony for truth is not rewarded, my friend.
For I fall in the dunes
Groping and swimming amongst my enemy which I now help
So gravely to victory.
They have not lost yet, for I breathe
Inhaling the white reflections.
My fingerprints blown under from sight
Contempt stirs in my lungs and I cry out,
But my words collapse to coughs
Of dry humorless desire to unburden.
The representations of where I have planted foot
Dissipate in the wind’s warriors.
I turn and cripple to my knees
My God scolds me while I watch in vain.
I close my eyes and declare war upon my masters!
I denounce them in desperation to relinquish my burdens
Little white universes blister my face
As victorious Wind blows and smiles.
A low billowing laughter fills the air
And truth becomes but a whisper, a hum
Lost in sound, Lost in translation.

Untitled [Cavernous Pictures]

Cavernous pictures
Drawn crudely on the wall,
Gave her a strong air.
Barbaric charcoal lines,
Etched roughly in stone,
Made her face chapped and broken.
I found her!
Cracked and dusty, she dances
In the flame of a torch;
Black lines in black
Darkness, in remembrance
She waited in a realm of patience,
Of understanding.
But a mere second passes before
Her fleeting image escapes;
For she, called Humility, flees
With recognition.

Untitled [A Growing Sapling Feeds]

A growing sapling feeds;
Nutrients of hope
Commitments of light, bright as you,
My Sunshine,
For we carve, one day,
Our initials into the bark
Of that giant oak,
Deep in a wooden heart

The Soul

The Soul. A fabrication of fundamentalist’s
Disregard for epistemic pursuit? I
Saw it once, standing in a black swamp
In my dream, Illuminating through the
Thickets of a stubborn sycamore and brush;
Moss covered and gnarled from the elements
It, clad in tattered white fabric,
Made glow worms writhe in jealousy of its
Warmth.
The coldness of the water, erasing the sight
Of my ankles, crept up.
The splashes on my leg went numb as it
Looked up, Deer-in-the-Headlights.
Run.
Gone.
Wake.

Untitled [Woven Linens]

Woven linens

Cotton polyester blend

Tussles in a hailstorm

Wrinkled and cum-covered.

Worn thin by

Cheap

Anonymous

Sex.

Emily's Teacup

Life splashes over the rim

Of ardent white-porcelain restrictions

Shaken by the magnanimous hand.

What’s left in the bottom?

Only, but a drop;

Who is to blame?

Untitled [Like Beauty]

Like beauty,

Undermined by nefarious irony

All good things will cease.

Verily, verily,

Truth will reveal to all, its disease.