Category: Poetry

The Iceberg Theory

We are all the results of sweat moans and carnal canticles whispered or screamed we are carried with anguish and measured sighs, as miracles stitched together in amniotic silence then comes reckoning of reality the ripping apart of solitude and we are pulled into the fray full-on we march as if chided by impatient fate a brash cigar smoking drill Sargent screaming obscenities, “move … Read More The Iceberg Theory

In Fields of Glory I Have Fought

I have spilled blood of Philistines, Laid waste their camps to smithereens, God’s divine fury I have brought! In fields of glory I have fought. For King and country I have clashed, With war hammer, heads I have smashed! I well recall the, Celtic knot, In fields of glory I have fought. As Templar, I have righted wrongs, With brothers, sang loud conquest songs! … Read More In Fields of Glory I Have Fought

Snorting and Grunting

Sniffing my armpits like a Bohemian I may have mystery stains on my bathrobe that hasn’t been washed in a month for sure, there are traces of tawny port and black coffee certainly without a care, sometimes I put-on my cleanest sullied shirt after carefully sniffing of course dirty dishes stack up, crusty, as high as the laundry, pretty much neck and neck what … Read More Snorting and Grunting

Beseech the Muse to Let Ink Flow!

In tarnished dream many do bide, On crackled ground their spirit’s dried, With mind they struggle in a row, Beseech the muse to let ink flow! In dithered state their minds are fraught, Try as they will it’s all for naught For souls are retching in a throe, Beseech the muse to let ink flow! In dark closet knelt on your knees, The bards … Read More Beseech the Muse to Let Ink Flow!

In Veneration

Mother, was the real deal a boiled-down with dross removed saint, who always smelled of Pine Sol and food fried she often sighed she liked crooning Doris Day songs with clack and clatter of dishes; she was a diva to us, she was an angel without wings, someone who soothed our scrapes and occasional bruises we didn’t know how to ease hers, but I … Read More In Veneration

Oh, Great Healer of Hearts, Please Guide My Pen

A soulful tickling of piano keys resounds in my mind as I meditate, Monet waves his brush at bothersome bees as the words appear and do animate. And a starry night is where I oft land as visions of, Poe and Shelly drift-by, for Elysian Fields is where I do stand, mesmerized again by a brush-swirled sky. I also have stood on vast surreal … Read More Oh, Great Healer of Hearts, Please Guide My Pen

Nuestra luna: Our Moon

Our moon is rising, my love the loons on the lake are crying but I shall not, no because you asked me, begging with tears to simply smile to live you loved my smile but I am halved and tarnished as a peach left in sun, shriveled with pit of my heart bared our moon is high with, cricket symphony the loons are entwined, … Read More Nuestra luna: Our Moon

Zarathustra Choked and Rolled in His Grave

The heavens flashed and the earth it did shake as winged beneficent beings appeared, their countenance shown brighter than the sun as they blew trumpets announcing The Lord.“Oh, people of earth your judgment is nigh! For the time of reckoning has arrived, your recompense will be justly given and His faithful pure of heart He will take!” As cinders ascending from a great fire, … Read More Zarathustra Choked and Rolled in His Grave

Richer Than the Ants

The anguish in mother’s eyes still haunts me. It was a miracle, her making food stretch so far. We were a humming brood; her smile hid more than we’ll ever know. Childhood was a whirlwind of hand-me-downs, government cheese, bread, powdered milk and whispered ridicule from chubbier faces, wearing brighter colors, that never appreciated tire swings hung from trees or a jar of lightning … Read More Richer Than the Ants

A Whisper in The Womb

I first heard it as a whisper in the womb the spirit that followed Creator’s voice at greater than the speed of light when, He spoke the universe into existence. There is no sheltering sky, no magical parlance, no tubular bells, groaning chants or ringing bowls that will save us, just His voice, soft as spring’s yawn. I caught it as a child midst … Read More A Whisper in The Womb

I Warn You, Tarry Not Here, Friend

I once sank into fitful sleep And into shadowed realm did creep, Perhaps it was the absinthe blend. I warn you, tarry not here, friend. From darkness there came hiss and moans, Macabre sound of breaking bones, To a foul place I did descend. I warn you, tarry not here, friend. I felt the tendrilled touch of wraith! Who ruled this land of pain … Read More I Warn You, Tarry Not Here, Friend

And the Radio Played On

In my nail-bitten teen years I was the proverbial fly tangled in many a web I know I ground several layers of enamel from my teeth, which tastes of; heart’s iron and soul’s amalgam those rainy Saturday nights mocked me, waiting, trying to picture wantonness in her eyes in any lover’s eyes my mother used to shake her head at me slowly not in … Read More And the Radio Played On