There is crickets over at the tree line
They are keeping me awake
the dreams away

lock and load
and wait for the silence..

Jiminy cricket can book it out of there!!!

friends are forever
come pen verses together
luminous poets

savor fresh ink when you write
Renga Neopoet Style

Our sweaty bodies roll apart
contentment mixed with hints of guilt
so relaxed that I let flee a fart---------------------Onamatopeia
then cover her head with the quilt

Beside the bed alarm clock sounds
reminding us it's six o'clock
and as I exit bedding mounds
her hand grasps at my old.............sock-------------Caesura

don’t touch me
let your sensitivities hover
over the thin skin of our adoration

in fact don’t look at me
let your soul see for the first time
how completely we have intertwined

with that

I ask don’t seek me
I will never leave that small space
Were we found each other made of hunger

finally I beg…don’t love me
let my existence become a foggy dream
in which what we were, we were never

In roads to a poem to be
I shall listen to some music
There as if in the distance is a lady
She is singing Memory
I remember that you live

I recall all the things you taught me
Yet I have to leave you here
One day my name will go.
There on the screen will be a nothing
Then you will have to use “Memory”

He was here you will say to others
What of me then you will think.
As there is no after, you did say,
That to you, I did exist, or did I?

The oil lamp of eternity
flickers
with melancholy....

There are hand puppets talking to the wall,
there is a resignation letter written by the human race
with too many crosses to bear,
a locust drone of anti-Christs proselytizing from the pulpit,

The Lion wakes up in the morn,
and sits up in the cage.
The sheep rose up and put him there
to watch the old beast age.

They shut him in,
they shut him up,
they'll never let him out.

His cubs are lost
without his roar;
they fear the bleating sheep.

Each choice is not one
no fault remains undone
parting branches of each path taken
are really just this one now
diverging endlessly to a fine lace of possibilties
wrongness is right, elsewhen
nothing can be wrong, or then

but to skip across the streams of time,
to the ones I want

In this way is time truly undone,
destiny dismayed,
its hold diswayed.

Holding close against her cheek.
he tempts, taunts, teases, tries, her fickle nature.
He dares her catch him at his flirting glance,
capture him within the fullness of her smile,
contain him motionless within her grasp.
She lets herself be used but never tamed.
So back and forth for hours play he and she their game,
the sailor and his mistress wind.

I always wanted
the hands of the cuckoo clock
to catch time;
to stop it,
or at least to slow it down
so as not to run
not to race with the lub dub beats
Of my heart
before it is too late
before death alarms aloud