Tip of nose cold and icy
stiffened fingers,fumble nicely
Sheets of ice in my bed
Boots and overcoat, hat on head
Ten layers to keep me warm
Hot food needed salads harm
Scarves, and mittens,gloves get lost
Snow flakes,Icicles and Jack Frost

The art of getting through
like a canvas filled with sadness,
a word that causes thought
yields us to our common steps.

Standing on the desert butte
just as the sun goes down,
within the orange magnificence
I stretch to kiss the clouds.

A look-at-me-I'm-sexy waitress
working for her tips,
one whiff of her flavored naughtiness
I can't help but flirt a bit.

A Skit on Age

Had I the golden charms of youth, I would sell them
To be solemn, I laugh at the serious things
Crater lines, as the Grand Canyons cross my face
As to the hair it blew away last autumns storm

I inhaled the passive smoke, against all healthy laws
Gold wraps my twisted fingers worn so thin as is my smile
Rare endeavours of reaching up for printer paper, too late,
Pallid pages, ink spilling, psychologists pictures made

Raw blades
baste blue flesh
walking on the
shoreline

The Solent looking
like a malevolent
ash pit

Grey
eerily still
the colour of a
death sheet

Each step
crunching like
broken glass
on frozen terrain

I want to be
adventurous
but the air
I breath
is pitiless

The dinghies sailed
by brave frost biters
race by
mocking my timidity

Warm lips
eagerly met
tears fall
soaking wet
hot embrace
face to face
family forgotten
lovers eyes
hypnotise
hunger spent
lovers repent
leave in a daze
memory sways
husband and wife
another life

On this day, cold damp and gray
I look through rain drenched window pane
as mantle clock tics time away
while outside chill bare tree limbs sway.

I try to ignore old joints' pain,
another alteration brought by age
enhanced, perhaps, by winter rain.
No good is gained should I complain.

Another day, another page
yet one more day of living's paid
as I step closer to old age
a journey against which I rage.

good loving seals a broken heart
ease a crush spirit, when
love is gone and sex is stale

trying to hold on to what you had
is in vain, the fire is out
red sparks no longer shimmer

ashes grayish, some darkish
cover the chimney heart
love and passion once burned

dark lonely existence
behind sad eyes remembering
face glowing from love, lost

patent bodysuit
wagers slung in lycra
gusset flags
taut between tall
storms

the valley flossing
full of perfumes
and heat

blossoms of want
like a dream fingered
full of PDF braille

stubble gooseflesh
rush read aloud
while naked winds
snake like a serpents
hiss around

friends.... poets.... family

I started life
with a large family strewn all over,
over 200

each so individualistically individual ,
it made me marvel..

thus I undertook the study of the human mind...
some were very rich
many very, very, very poor
but it made no difference to me

(even though then I was very okay…
yeah rich,)

as they all did to me endear.

The day became unbearable
Until I heard someone say
You must think of things inside
As poets do each day

There inside is a world
Of dreams and many scenes
A cool mountain breeze
Dancing with the trees

Then waters stretching far
To that distant shore
There send fresh crispy air
They will feel you there

Let the good memories fly
To those you love
That in the by and by
They will have them too