Boy in the Brush

Boy, there in the weeds:
Why do you squat??
I am knotted here,
Fears from thorns engulf me.
Come now boy,
For they are not seen,
Fear can gnarl,
No power is of a thorn!
I have not belief,
They could be here,
For the brush is thick,
So, I cower.
Then, I have little
To offer you,
Not solace, nor relief,
However my hand.

Alvis' Warning

My love for Him will be my demise;
To love as Alvis, is to die as stone.
Cold and brittle, tricked alone,
He knew not love in his heart.
He knew not: to be broken is to be wise.

A journey to wed Him and take
From Him all but his love,
Is my pending fate, born above.
My soul, my life will part;
Then forever on, I shall not wake.

The words spat from his Brother’s tongue
In inquiry, in test to my quality
Rapt me up in a seeming eternity.
I took to these powers, as a baby to cart,
And they, to me and squeezed my lungs.

The story once warned providence.
Alas, I boldy threw my life,
Rackishly to my foe’s knife
Taken not, my body was; behold, the rampart
Shielded me, until Dawn’s vengeance.

To Him, in want, I yielded all
But, for Him, surrendered to destiny,
Cast in stone, I shall stay eternally.
Haunted, unbroken, I, as granite,
Once did, and still stand in that dusty hall.

Rose in That Garden

I, fertile and rich,
Have all but a rose.
My fruits are plenty, and yet
I crave, still, your bloom,
Dark and beautiful,
Your stems are thick;
Roots, deep from another garden
Taunt me into a despoiled desert.
A sweet smell of pungent
Nectar wafts through my memory
On an unsettled and capricious wind;
I dream of a petal, even one dried,
Discarded in airs,
To fall onto my dirt.
My waking hours are imposed;
My fruits, abandoned.
I do not call to you, Rose,
For I, sensitive to your thorns,
Know that you are rooted.
And I unbearably graze your leaf.

Untitled [She Haunts Me]

She haunts me.
I summon her in fear,
Though she is with me,
Inside me.
She creeps up behind my eyes
When I hide from her, my sight.
She pierces my groin
And I shudder in her touch.
The feeling of my tightening briefs
The fear of being swallowed whole,
Consumed completely in surrender
To her, makes my head spin.
In my disorientation,
I tunnel my strength
In frail attempt to rise
In Revolution against her.
I cringe and push and grab
And groan and pull and caress,
And explode. White flag, tranquil.
Only in my complete surrender
Am I liberated.
She will wait
Seducing my memories,
Calling upon her allies
And forge a strike upon me.
I crave her offense.
I need her war.
In my desire she is waking…

Untitled [In Her Aspersion]

In her aspersion,
I knew not my enemy;
However, found truth.

The mathematician, the poet, and the girl

We three sat in the booth, dark, and with character,
The bar boomed and gloomed around us.
The words spewed from the stage and mocked the page
And spattered insults sprayed from his teeth.

Bottoms up

I
Want to feel you
Feeling me.
Touches
Of your tongue send
Tiny shivers up my back
As you flick your lick
Around and around,
Up, Oh, down
Through me,
Inside me.

I
Want to touch you
Touching me
Fingers
Move over my loneliness
Making us squirm
In the desire
Around and around
Up, Oh, down
Through me, inside me.

I
Want to love you
Making love to me
Pulsing
Your largeness though
My area of sensual
Embracing, embracing
Around and around
Up, Oh, down
Through me, inside me

I

I, I want

You
Through me, inside me.

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.