Shaved and deodorised
nostril hairs plucked
cool shirt and pants
just check that handsome reflection
once more
into the bathroom,
step in a puddle
eww shudder
wet socks

she arrives
late and lovely
seems distracted
lean in to kiss her
a slight cringe

wet

on leaving
I say
I Iove you
tight smile
me too
she says

socks

she puts the pockets of herself
into the hate of worthless weight
onto her arms sun worth and warm
away from torn rooms the storms
the pain the stains of childhood shame
all winters ache black broken flame
drowned in the dream winds of
the blame

She is old, maybe beyond her years
traveling the streets pushing her cart.
Her eyes show many of us our fears
of living, perhaps, beyond our years.
Yet she shows her dignity not tears.
Having little—she shares from her heart.
She has witnessed so much in her years
traveling with keepsakes in her cart.

when mind overflows
and being is exhausted
endless emptiness

mental upheaval
intuitive new insight
awakens essence

as water to ice
sweeps into textual change
altered awareness

exultation, rest
touching the destination
momentarily

.

I remember dancing in the moonlight
and a young girl who fit my arms just right.
Hair tumbling like a long brown waterfall
as we swirled 'round the room at the spring ball.

My eyes were fixed on no one else but you
the prettiest woman within my view.
Neither of our feet felt like they touched the floor,
a hint of what would so soon be in store.

I can not say which songs played on that night
but I recall, still, holding you so tight
and how I got lost in your laughing eyes.
Love caught me, unexpected, by suprise.

In solitude I wonder
crippled by man,
I sit stare and ponder.
Is the moon hidden this night,
or is it ashamed of what it bears witness to.
The man in the moon who can see right through.

In solitude I stare,
witness to the explosions of war.
This night I pray you moon,
see the ants and the burdens inside,
not the explosions that leave the dead on the outside.
Moon do not go blind,
in solitude we still look for the angel to help us find.

My eyes follow
a candy wrapper tumbling
up the street
right down the middle
of the double yellow center line.
I think I hear the street laughing along the
sidewalk, the red clover leaning into the sun
with green elbows, listening intently.

I'm known to try my level best
to be a man of focus, always ready;

tried to rest, heal and conserve
when my posture weren't so steady.

I chose a gate that suited me
with a pace I could endure;

Changing terrains and shifting grades
gave my giddy up, it's signature.

No hidden agenda in my hand
I've respect for the boundaries made;

only now, I'm coerced into viewing them
as they wither, and then seem to fate.

So, now I'm at the dawning
of my mid-day yawn surprise;

Pine smoke
mixed with bacon
sizzling in the cast iron,
frying eggs popping in the grease…
camp fire.

the war would be not worth it at all
if an ovum were to be displayed
as you say,
millions of sperms in array
all will go astray...
oh what a waste
a million times won’t help
an isolated sperm ,
the invisible one,
to in one ultimately dwell

so why the hell
display an ovum isolated
take the 1000 out
and in a row lay
then many varieties of sperms may,
fight to live another day...