sometimes we speak senselessly...

simply excellent thought
that passed my mind yesterday,
my breath held its sway,
I blurted all my hearts disparaging way
but then it was too late …
the words got registered straight pathway

there was no way to erase them,
so no tears to wash
but this I could perhaps sadly say
the night passed in a miserable way,
but it passed
I'm glad smoothly that day

last night twas
the night
that was...

Look not- towards the furyed pain
Turn horse- towards the sullyed swain
The riddle tangled in horses mane
Bet the devil, with thine eyes sane

Handcuffed

Bound

to a chair

Blindfold

tethered

wet down there

Scared

excited

nipples bare

Arched

prepared

expectant air

Frustrated

unsated

not fair

Ahh, finally, he’s here

VERSIONS 2:SMILELY FACES
I speak
as my thoughts flow
in heavy staccato
and my fingers follow
in separate articulation.
I stumble through my words
as I stumble through the day.

I write in smiley faces
speak with hearts and roses
soar the skies
on the wings of an eagle
to say what I want to say

On the phone overheard
his mothers voice say "love"
Why was he aroused?

Somewhere in this growing pain
Grows life,
Skin of anguish thin across
Junctures caught between
Lust and joy
In simple pleasure
And heartbeats shared
With panting breath
And growing heat

Somewhere in this madness
Lives calm,
Pooling deep inside
The constant craze of unstopped living
In moments drawn
Out into stillness
By knowing look
And secret smile

(The flesh like film). he washes the stop baths,
the fixture on elements desired.

But the radiation has crept in, A web of eyes upon
the house stolen.

The anger seeped in like roots of a tree,
atop a chimney lain seed.

Esker. March 12 2013.

A very happy 59th Birthday friend, Piscean today

Born on 11 March
of the year 1954 of our Lord,
gives the total number of 24 =six,
to friend Stan,
who is on this site our poetic man….

God bless you with subtler poetry
as those who have a Venus-ion number,
create lovely history,
no not mystery
but with all sincerity poetry
which is a unique Stanly creativity.

More later, as many more moons come your way,
don't forget to count the blue ones friend you may
and must longer stay

Sixty three times I have seen
deep winter fade to ides of March
leaving behind hints of green
in forests among the oaks and larch.

And I have planted many trees
now grown tall and wide for shade
so large they hardly show light breeze.
I've made young woods of open glades.

For three score and then three springs
wild lands have bloomed before my eyes
plum trees, briers and other things
beneath the deep blue southern skies.

I close my eyes and there floats across
a dream of death
I long for refreshment of limbs
stretched and rested
like a childhood cuddle

I close my mouth and there wafts above
a smell of decay
I ache for the pungent return
of savoury delicacies
to tingle on taste buds

Now all is open to me
I feel alive and see
all in my eye
It burns with a knowing rage
and I taste contempt
A bitterness
too bleak to bite.