Spring brought the soft;
days alight like gas lamps past midnight
libations and communications
soft words hand scrawled with intent;
Summer scorched smiles slip
afternoon heat smothered discourse,
sent my heart home sunburned;
Autumn tiptoed around golden & ochre confetti
cool silence on the breeze,
unrequited spring days seem eons past;
Frozen promises hang from gutters,
drop & shatter in thick white drifts
the soft nothing more
than Winter’s victim
Sweet dell grass beneath her feet
Stars aligned just so
She took a breath, her wings aflutter
Adventurous heart aglow
Soaring over sparkling tidepools
Smile broad as oceans
Loosed from burden, timeless freedom
Slave to new emotions
At once, she was in Babylon
Then Nirvana under wing
Seven wonders passing quickly
What sights did gliding bring
But given all her travels
She picked one place to stop
On Victoria Falls she did hover
And watched the water drop
Mists rose from water crashing
Surrounded by sheer green
Million gallon constant thunder
A sight she’d never seen
Last stares into the cataract
Basalt gorges, billowing spray
Reflecting on the “Smoke that Thunders”
She smiled and made away
But soon she felt the entropy
Mere hours left today
Reversed her course, contrailed exit
Burden once again held sway
Descended onto sweet dell grass
Pressed down a landing spot
An excited breath, wings now folded
Her stomach a surgeon’s knot
Her one last look crept skyward
The clock had ticked its last
She smiled, numb and tingling
And then her life force passed
For only once Djinni,
Only once a God
Only once on Faerie’s wings
the rest is mere facade
i am the one
i am the one
who stares at Your photos
glowing so soft through LCD shine
then wonders where the day has gone
alone in a sweaty pair of hanes
i am the one
who says Your name in my mind
and thinks it would be better
wrapped in a noun
like ‘wedding band’ or ‘garrote’
i am the one
who peeks where she shouldn’t
through crevice and droop,
cowl and crew neck
waiting for a tan line to show
i am the one
clicking ‘refresh’ like morse code
for something new in my mental collection
Your memories i’ll bend and ply
thought pottery baked hard
i am the one
idle in my car on curb
staring past the drapes
wondering if that satin blouse You’re wearing
is soft against Your daughter’s skin
i am the one
who’ll see Your face tonight
touching places where nerves draw fireworks
an eight minute You tube that arches my back,
sets me to sleep
So says the dancing man
capillaries crimson
sweating through his
woolen disguise
Slow rolls his shameless tender
this damp existence estranged;
wheezing walk through charcoal fog
threshold broken,
light the lamps
Naked now,
nothing surrounds
vulnerable charlatan,
a crease in a crisp society
lumbers into slumber
Below, street corner harlots,
slaves signed in his paper, they
stare up to his darkened window
say small prayers, hoping
the Angel of Death hauls him off
The little girl from Georgia said
her eyes so brown, her hair so red,
“I lahk the way yer big arms curl
Around mah little peachy world.”
Hopped into my big block Ford
pedal mashed, away we soared
Found ourselves a cool dark spot
parked the car, then got it hot
She shed her mini, I slipped my pants
we curled into our circumstance
Thigh to thigh, then hip to hip
straight into rose garden, slipped
That Ford got shakin’ and off we went
windows steamed and chassis bent
A push, a grunt and then … the cops!
A sweaty end, a sudden stop
Off we sped to Tastee Freez
fed her ice cream, squeezed her knees
Until she had to leave for good
six thirty train to Hollywood
Regardless what those cops left blue
I hold my Georgia sweetie true
Her eyes so brown, her hair so red …
… time to turn to blondes instead
Vibrating Moonlight is a collection of poetry written and edited between 2005-2007. Includes poetry from the Absolute Write Forum’s “Blue Rock” collection and more. You can get your full color copy at Lulu.com
God’s aria exploded along
googols of spiraled galactic axons,
expounding Her final lament;
Inhaling worlds in voluminous black holes
and sparking supernovas
that popped like flashbulbs
over Piccadilly Circus panic.
But in the last fleeting moments
before Her superheated rapture
made the Blue Marble
nothing more than SETI noise
and a chaotic scattering of quarks,
sending her Son, the Saints and
Sistine visions of Hell as placeholders …
God opened her Vulgate,
paused Her universal orchestrations,
and awaited the Vitruvian Man’s explanation
of this unsettled business
in Her bloodied Canaan
while tendrils of lightning
stroked Streets of Jerusalem.