The mind should be free
to express views
in poetry or prose
So I always in prosaic dispose.

Don’t worry when it’s
Neither poetry nor prose,

Open a blog and your minds
Garbage therein do dispose

Drive in another nail
sight blurred by sweat-filled eyes
not an inch of dry clothing
drive in another nail

Towel off hot head and face
shade my eyes, look at the sun
..and glance toward the mountains
....wishing I was there

So take a break before the fan
gulp down a bit of Gatorade
I'm getting too old for this heat
I sit to cool off in the shade

Thinking about a mountain river
shaded by the oaks and hemlocks
as well as laurel understory
on the north slope

A tapper had a friend
Himself a tapper too
Into the swamps of Ntong Edong
They went on a tapping spree
Up and down the raffia palms
They called out kukuruku
Kukuruku was the reply
To keep a close contact
One fell from the height
To the muddy wild plant floor
He called out Kukuruku
With speed
His friend came down
To the rescue brief
As communicated
On Sunday testimony
He needed an interpreter
For the guest with foreign tongues
But he volunteered to convey

if my world is a reflection
of my brain/mind
what a mess I must be

shall I aquiesce
or struggle against myself

is there even enough time left
to instill meaningful, discernible change
if I choose the latter

to aquiesce means a continuation
of the status quo
a sloppy house, car,
and certain personal habits;
laziness, relative poverty, mindless routines
yes, a real mess

The silence of a thought
Creeps within one’s mind
Of having been forgotten
By a lone soldier
Once a passerby.

Now so known, in the vast universe
Without time and space restrictions
Bears the burden on one’s heart

Why this intoned silence
We live miles apart
But in each poet's heart
Strings a vein of symphony
And
Then we ease in an admiration
Hopeful perhaps
The one is still remembering,
Albeit!
It’s a hope only

1.

There were sailboats on Lake Erie,
the wind climbed into Sunday
like a vortex of poetry.

You and I were taking snapshots,
new memories to hold when the
moon is not close enough to break
into waves and the lake is
frozen to the touch, your glasses
fogging.

GLADIATOR

let the games begin
open the gates
let the lions in
teeth sharp as a surgeon’s steel
let them rip deep into my skin
spill my blood on burning sand
I still have one hand to show
ready to strike death’s blow
let them all in
I have won many times before
and will win again

Young, tender moon of spring
pale yellow and smooth as a mirror
The sight of you excites me

Now swollen and full of summer
Your face is lit with the sun
and I swoon in your light

Orange tinged and ruddy of complexion
imparting mysteries across your face
You are the huntress of my soul

A silver orb in icy reverie
reflects on white dunes of snow
Making my heart pound in ecstacy

Many faces and phases of Luna
all with their own special glow
To light my way

Most Intelligent

I’m not the most intelligent being on the planet
In fact, there is much I don’t know or understand, but
I recognized unintelligence in moving jobs to other nations
With expectations of selling to the mother country after
Having lost jobs and money since the movement

Now, with joblessness at its highest due to outsourced jobs
Some are saying maybe the industrialists will bring jobs back
After all, it was economical to move jobs to other states
But, I perceive it’ll be uneconomical to bring jobs home again

snow is falling like a prayer
the light of dusk trickles through
like a sparkling flare
the lakes are not closed and are black
like night where your sleepwalking
wakes me covered in stars
you are an angel without wings
against the banks of windows
etched in frost

naked and evoking invocations
in your bare feet
while the flooring plant shunts its
business past the mill houses
and a freight calls hollow
in the depths