Skirt so yellow and bright
Eyes blue and wide,
with lips pursed right.
“Where is your joy,” she sighed?

Cotton showing years of wear
still flows yellow, and bright.
Her lean body craves to share
him hard and yielding tonight.

After she threw the bridal wreath
their joy spilled like carpenter’s glue.
No longer did they sample from beneath
yellow skirt and sweater taut and blue.

When I chance to go afield
to harvest the wild places' yield
of the myriad sights and sounds
which in this sylvan spot abounds

Matters not how far I stray
once it comes the end of day
like an old trained milking cow
I know where I must head to now

To the warm hearth of my home
at the finish of the long day's roam
and the ever young girl I call wife
with whom I've shared most of my life

Half the world is starving
and look at Suri Cruise -
a four million dollar wardrobe,
and a hundred pairs of shoes.
At nearly five she has everything
and throws a tantrum if refused,
Tom and Katie you’re too foolish.
You should be ashamed of yourselves.

my logic in a tartan knapsack of my
scientific mind,
i searched until i found who
was who, looking for the
essence that is me
behind the pontifications of the
ego that would be mine

i traveled every well-known path
worn and frayed around the edges
until i was smooth as a
stone in the river of my being,
i trudged the meanings of what it means
to be until
immersed with every shade of green
in the constancy of my open heart
echoing pineapple winds of change

bask
I feel
wanted
celeste
wonderfall
with glimmer
appeal

Distant thunder grumbles discontent
here at dimming of day's light
as the storm builds
in brilliant flashes

This tempest erupted suddenly
an hour ago skies were clear
then the sky exploded
from a kernel, like popcorn
latent energy
unleashed

Now set into random motion
direction determined by chaos
and of duration
short

Such is the very nature
of life's storms
so often seen
so seldom endured

Malignant Highway
Dark boulevard of mutilated imagination
spectres of lovers dead and buried,
haunting ancient reveries.

Heinous immortal creatures scavenge
throughout the torturous night.
Death clutches with intangible grip.

On a dank night, one soul nears madness,
roaming the darkened avenues seeking solace,
from his driving blood lust.

The squalor of the city opens it’s
filthy, bedraggled arms to swallow him,
on these streets, devoid of corporeal humanity.

Someone waits in Timelessness
dreaming The Path for me;
guiding me through the school of manifest
and the bedrock of eternity.

Someone is Being in authentic divinity.
I’m costumed in my stardust machine.
Together we dance in our own special feature
brought through to life through our own unique dream.

Who is dreaming the dream I am walking
in the ageless I of consciousness?
Who is directing the strokes of the brush
Which, little by little, paints my eternalness?

Gray giants standing all around
supporting solid canopy of green
which dims most light and muffles sound
as well as sun from being seen.

The highest leaves, far out of sight
send quiet rustles to the forest's floor
caused by a breeze so very slight
which seems to whisper "nevermore."

I've never heard of any town
that once may have been hereabouts
yet crumbled masonries abound.
It's best to leave! subconscious shouts!

beautiful pictures
cascade in eyes of lovers
with each intimate stroke

liquid emotions
erupt in an orgasmic
riot of colors

ecstatic throes
echo spirit of union
with flashes of lightning