The air has shrunk

Coughing out the lightness in

smoke and spiral motes of dust

mutable bed and our body acquisitions

cuttlefish ass damp from before

if I was not so ignorant

i would feel again

the tapestry of tattoos on her flank

precise inks more trustworthy

than my cock of threat

in denial and veiled seduction

pressed against her

the hum of bee air conditioning

positioning for me with rump pressure

she felt I could make her sparkle and shine

instead that tremored gasp

returning to her back

looking with a certain knowing

that I was a flake

who would leave and  betray

adding to that pile of detritus

and awful decay that was her life

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22

they told me about the garden of love

which I knew never existed

just like the dew settles

a feeling came over me

reaching touching feathery leaves

someone lurked in the darkness

a glimpse a furtive shadow

i needed to draw out of the gloom

no fee to be paid

as wallet forgotten

my fingers picked a rose

holding it aloft to the sun

shadow emerged reaching also

for the rose

sunlit face exquisite beauty

naked radiance for me to see

entranced entwined enthralled

in a boiling swell of passion

i was consumed

infused with the flowers and trees

the garden in this garden

i would remain

many stories can be untold

but this one cannot

i belong to that once furtive figure

no more in the density of foliage

but with me

together as one

img_0370

Together always

22 years of marriage to be celebrated

Hollie McNish -Embarrased

Hard Sugar Stars

sweet seminole land
lost to those who came
a fallen Orlando Reeves
left only his given name
to what becomes
a city of attractions
and life
pulse pulse pulse
history now bound and woven
to pages of dusty books
to a place where love can shine
or so we thought
that lone gunman
with whatever hatred came
pulse pulse pulse
a beat a rhythm
where lovers dance and kiss
hatred spread its dense fog
leaving many fallen
ones we will not forget
and share our hearts throuhgout
pulse pulse pulse
hard sugar stars
affixed in the firmament
lighting with their pride
our every day

Residents of San Francisco and the Bay Area lay flowers

Karen’s Birthday

img_0370Today is my wife Karen’s Birthday another year so close and special
So sweet your outer light

that makes my inward light glow

gleaming with

the shining days together

bright soul garden

dispelling those shuddering fears

today your Birthday

a reflection of how

twixt with nature you are

and how

we will celebrate

those human atoms

that make you a star

I love you

always and forever

Happy Birthday

Carlos Drummond de Andrade – The Girl Reveals a Thigh

The Girl Reveals a Thigh

The girl reveals a thigh,
the girl reveals an ass cheek,
only she doesn’t show me that thing
— conch shell, beryl, emerald —
which blossoms, with four petals,
and contains the most sumptuous
pleasure, that hyperboreal zone,
a mixture of honey and asphalt,
a door sealed at the hinges
with a giddiness held captive,
a sacrificial altar without
the blood of the rite, the girl
doesn’t show me that thing.
And she is torturing me, this virgin
with her modesty making me dizzy
from the sudden blow struck
by a vision of her luminous breasts,
her pink and black beauty
that winds itself into a ball,
wrinkled, intact, inaccessible,
that opens, then closes, then takes flight
and this female animal, by laughing,
dismisses what I might have asked her about,
about what should be given and even beyond
given, what should be eaten.
Oh, how the girl kills me,
turns my life into one in which
all hope is consumed
by shadow and sparkle.
Rubbing up against her leg. The fingers
discover the slow, curving,
animal-like secrets, yet
they are the greatest mystery,
always crude, nocturnal,
the three-pronged key to the urn,
this concealed craziness, it doesn’t
give me anything to go on at all.
Before it never would have provoked me.
Living didn’t have a purpose,
the feelings walked around lost,
time wasn’t set loose
nor did death come to subject me
to the light of the morningstar,
which at this hour is already the first star,
violent, rising up like nausea
in the wild beasts at the zoo.
How I might know her skin,
where it is concave and convex,
her pores, the golden skin
of her belly! But her sex
has been kept a secret of the state.
How I might know the cold, dewy
meadow of her flesh,
where a snake rouses from sleep
and traces its path
back and forth, among all the tremors!
But what perfume would there be
in an unseen cave? what enchantment
what tightness, what sweetness,
what pure, pristine line
calls me and leads me away?
It might offer me all its beauty
and I would kiss or bite
and draw blood: I would.
But her pubis refuses me.
In the burning night, in the day
her thighs come together.
Like a deserted inn
closed on the inside by a latch,
her thighs seal themselves,
seclude themselves, save themselves,
and who said that
I could make her my slave?
I could debate this possibility
without a glimmer of hope for victory,
already her body erases itself,
already its glory tarnishes,
already I am made different by that thing
which wounds me on the inside,
and now I don’t know for certain
if my thirst was more ferocious because of
that thing of hers that I might have possessed.
There are other fountains, other hungers,
other thighs of other animals: the world is
vast and the forgetting profound.
Maybe today the girl in the daylight . . .
Maybe. For certain it never will be.
And if it hides itself away
with such fugues and arabesques
and such stubborn secrecy,
on what day will it open?
What would need to change for it to offer
itself to me on an already cold night,
its pink and black blossom in the snow,
never visited by me,
that boat carrying incense that I can’t board?
Or is there no boat carrying incense at all . . .

* * *

Benjamin Lawrence (19) – winter love

i have heard people say
they compare their love to a summers day,
but i will now say
i compare you to a late winters morn
bright sparkles full of beauty

a wind that blows taunting like you taunt me
ice frozen into mirrors hard yet easily broken,
just like the front you use to hide your emotions
and the first signs of spring adding energy
that animates your actions

but know while my heart beats
you will be more special than any winters day
and will have a special place in my heart
where you shall stay for eternity

by my son Ben who would love some feedback 

a dark certain heaven

other wounded words

met opposing lips

before taking steps

to the tree

with tissue paper bark

denied strong stature

boughs reaching into canopy,

by those roots

we would lie

till they pierce our flesh

not out of brutality

not nature

sap and blood entwine

devouring each other

upon a dense earth

we lie we live

together embedded

drawn down to the

moisture beneath

and worms soft mouth

beat me at the 4a.m read

i see a page that gives
words once as progeny
becoming blue scented nothing,
perched over it
in a damp saffron autumn
umbrella a discreet protection,
i had bathed in those dreams
yearning to be magellan
seeking
beyond the evil trolls,
petals in the forest
delicate uncut,
giving kisses on the souls
which resonate to those who are dead,
strawberry meadows
by the river
tiny seeded red,
dont go asleep
or you will miss
the elephants post themselves
about the pillar,
returning the hopeless
as is the passionate,
consuming beyond sainthood and glory,
arriving back
to a turned page
with fingers that have ancient tremors