sheltered and broken
like the sunrise dank
in a dray tombs break

lay across the dusted din
of echoes seizure
tumbling in its fault
the wavelength wrought

a brilliance blue
of argon and ague
stretching with its
residual residency
the steps unsteady

loop steps
a jagged lace
the ice thinned
and hungry
wind shied
and espied

beneath the oval
of the eyes
shackled in need
bled haste
a greed
the circling
steps go round
and round

It is the many hidden truths
that get to me,
the lies, the little ones
especially,
the kind words
that fail to mask
the trouble in your eyes.

The vision was still born
and those doctors cut some chords,
they put her bloody
in a rubber sack and labeled it
with a date,
but not a name.

Acronyms it seems to me
are now the language of the day.
IDK and BRB,
what the hell did I just say?

I see young people here in town
with calloused thumbs and finger tips.
Their eyes flash up but usually down,
not one word passes stony lips.

Those thumbs fly then they look up.
Across the way somebody smiles
(perhaps the're making plans to sup)
it's not like they're apart by miles.

A casual walk along a rivers edge abandoned,
as a youthful reflex action takes its hold.
The body by the consciousness of time is caught in
genuflection, with reaching arm and searching hand.
An aging mind admonishes this coaxing out of child,
and reproach retrieves the posture proper to the years.

I love your lips
when they tip into a smile,
graze against mine,
let hot breath escape and leave trails
of shivers across my spine...
I love your teeth
when they scrape across my skin,
rake against my throat,
nibble at my ear...
I love your tongue
when it explores,
slides and curls and flutters
against my...
oh...

Mad Monk Musings...

I am Arturius!
I come upon the English!
Leave these shores
to the wine-knights
and Danish whores!

I grab you Barbarians
and carve out
a Nation
from the ashes
left in burning piles
From vile
Romans

In my task
I rely on bards
to weave a story
true

Or my truth my version
lost in a
thousand years
of subversion

The 'Saxon Shore'
repels all comers
to no avail
they slink upon our
English edges

The better have spoken
about the best
see how we catch up
reading others
so many now follow
my style of free
and
still freer verse

as now comments they also post
in poetic verse

if we all did not have our individuality
no Shakespeare would ever
have been born
and
as Ian calls me a bard
though a smaller one …
but still I am

To all the people I've come to love

Heroes who keep me going all these years

Angels who shower me with hope and love

No words could express my gratitude, that's true

Kisses, hugs and prayers are all I have for you

You make me feel so blessed in this life

Only because I have you here, by my side

Until the day this life ends, my love for you never ends.......

emollient
cool
a winter clad
on a screen
grown cruel

i remember
the times
our television
eyes

worn weary
with work
watched us sated
hungry
sedated

and beneath
a happy growth
the stars
burn their
twist
in the chill year
churn

this darkness
like a rumor heart
besets a world
with woes

and stirs
disturbs
the dreams
a shadow
chill
the light
diffuse

and i remember
feel the ruse

Once more my tires make gravel roar
in heated rush toward a retreat,
to some place I've not been before,
in advance of the spring's coming heat.

Too many days cooped in the house,
too many nights of T.V.s screen,
too many sharp looks from my spouse.
It's time that something fresh is seen.

After perusing a worn map
of places that I've been before
(nearly causing a mishap)
I toss map out of the door.