All is still and summer green
(far too hot for most to stir)
Wild life is hidden by leaves' screen
Insect calls are a quiet purr.

In midst of season all still grows
fawns, squirrel kits and even plants.
The living forest rests, it knows,
that soon will come the harvest dance.

Anticipation slowly builds
as August quietly rolls around.
Crops putting on their final yield
sustenance from warm dry ground.

start at the barren windstroked lust
feel the passion twitching beneath
the ring fingers
the broken glass scar on the right palm
down along the rideway of ribs
the soft dune flats between
rib and hipbone
that rises thrusting and curling
down the length of leg

down to the articulated ankle
and dirt smudged toes
past the sullen metal of
the anklet

Even the dead deserve love
From those who held them dear
We bless the day they were born
And celebrate lives, well lived
Though it seems, what we do
Matters not to them anymore

The eyes that saw the departed
The ears that heard them sing
Corporal body, the visible link
Rot in lonely silent graves
Yet connected, soul to soul
It is hard not to matter anymore

as the sky fits the earth
you fill my begging bowl
you plunder my depths
with your naked embrace,
the warmth of a thousand suns
swirls under your
fingers,
you touch me honestly,
your arms enfold me like
tender mercy
your passion anoints me,

one armed, I can not fight back.

Watching, spying
behind the trunk of an Oak tree
clouds pass over its canopy
casting shadows
in the forest where I hide

I know you can’t see me
but I see everything
I hear everything
every labored breath
every footfall on the path

Offering promises
of sanctuary and forgiveness
your voice stabs the quiet
stops the birds
they know where to find me
but you are too enraged to see

your chrome is tarnished
our histories dripped
dark rain ran

tracing tactile love
with our blade sharp
resistance
tasting the brutal
krush of lust
in timid laceration

give me a bruise of nouns
and let this cartage dream
shatter
decks of cards
the value of passions

kiss me my queen
let the gate rule
squeal open

Love Is...

love is a mongrel mutt
that strips the meat from the bone
a rainy monsoon season that
leaves your garden unsown

love is a bastard child
a scandal of reputation defamed
born in a moment of lust,
an embarrassment unclaimed

Love is that bittersweet feeling
that empty cavernous ache
that fills your entire being
with memories of a fatal mistake

do not cast away the night
just yet
i need time
to dip into the wellspring of my being

but the sun is already high above my shoulder
bearing down its urgency of light,
i can not resolve this splendor
and not trip over my shadow,
lingering

there is a pantera negra roaming
in the alley with a nightingale
in her mouth
and a mockingbird is watching
a murder of crows circle the remains
of a tribe of vultures

Some people say, ‘Life is war’
It could as well be the travails
Through thick forest of errors
Degenerated men created our wars
And damned the consequences

The restless child who says
The mother should not sleep
And cries all night for breast milk
The child too will not see sleep
Damn it, you don’t know my pains

For others, life is like a rat race
They steal from public coffers
Stash the loot in foreign banks
Crazy baldheads and fat belly
Damn all forms of corruption

IN THIS WAR

There is no honor in this war
no valor. No medals to be won.
and if we fight we fight from fear
courage is the mask we wear.
we struggle when all dignity is gone
and hold on scratching earth
kicking and screaming all the way
before we let go hurled into some oblivion