Trying a dactylic verse on a blank page
driving a fool to a desperate act of rage
fearfully referencing Webster
knowing this form he'll never master

Yes, really happy,
Gratuitous, unearned happiness
Yes I am happy.

It shakes me to my core
Perhaps frisson or tremble is a better word

It is rare
It is precious
I am delighted

And…
Above all
Perhaps the perfect thing,

I don’t fear its inevitable ending.

The mirror........
You stand right before me
in admiration
of self emulated beauty
the giggle is spontaneous
and
genuine
then you break down into a seeming reunion
now you dance
after a refreshing perfumed prance
let your towel fall
without a trace of wrath
then you laugh,
loud
the world may hear
as you are seemingly calling
for your loved one
oh my dear

finally through life’s magnetic trance
you wander
and
mindlessly ballet dance

The fire of wrath has set all things ablaze,
Human things now steam up, tyrants cool down,
Earth mother cries at Ghibli’s ghastly rage.

Mice and cockroaches - all cry out for help,
In dark and dust, they see no rising sun;
Dictators are now unyielding leeches,
Day and night, they just drink the blood of earth;
Like Sphinx, they rise up again and again,
Engulfing rays of hope in their ashes.

Take it up,
the tool,
let it express its worth,

the details of its code,
shape the universe,
create a new one;

force, with its power,
the stars to change their place,
gain for just one object,
beauty, peace,

an edifice
of red and gold, 
bold as an organ
sounding through
in hollow rooms of jewels,

dripping sweet nectars,
sensuously delivered
between the two,

the instigator with his sounding rod,
deep down in the soft,
silky bed
of warm expectant must,

texts and samplers
from foil packets

pushing into spines and
musculature like road
maps pushing and pawing
gently purring
while moans and sighs
slip away

My day was a wretch of
happiness
but this touch unwinds my
bow of frustration
like a whipped hair
bent and fluffed from
a bended hip

She smiles
waiting

I know its a given gift
this trust
her back
so I work as I can
intuitive
knowing what she
needs without
much words

An Urban Autumn Tale

Christmas wishes voiced in young October
generate a mournful sigh of noise
from a harried, working single mother
who knows she can’t afford the latest toys

as she cleans the mealtime’s meager leavings,
both her daughters giggling away,
she wipes her eyes as well as supper dishes
and in her troubled soul begins to pray

was I wrong in saying

Poetry is composed less .....read lesser ....and commented upon least ....
except for some great guys outright condemnation ....
so compose
and
repose a faith in yourself,
read and read and then confess
tis worth a garbage bin's worth
and
then smear it all
on mother earth

I am an emcee, so my form and structure may be different to the norm.

He spoke to me in gentle tones
About mulling over ancient bones,
better things to think I ask of you.
shall we then find something anew?

To talk till evening stars emerge.
Where worlds collide, truths are heard
in rooms closed from our busy world
let’s talk of things that hide within.

I fear the dawn, the sinking sun
I am now lost, let them freely run
yet they are here with us to learn.
Each step a path to peace we yearn