A voice in natural wilderness…

If nature could speak what would it say,
could it’s comments be about us today.

Would it say greedy,
or merely lost.
Maybe say needy
not understanding cost.

Perhaps it would shout,
death to a planet.
Caused by the ones telling the lie,
that a god had began it.

That man on this planet,
just should not be.
You just don’t belong here,
why can’t we see.

lean against the warm enamel
water beads
releases
falls

and the fan purrs
luxurious
behind the yellowed
chrome

all lifes illicit
want
encircles

warm
soothing
turning
cold

like the bitter bold
this pain that flows

and behind beautiful
eyes
while outside the
snow gently drifts

another drop
another breath
in the hollow
of the ache

the memory
that serves
to make

To slide deep inside, to feel the warm wet.
The touch of your skin, I will never forget.

To feel your hips sway, to welt your ass.
To pound like a hammer, I want this moment to last.

To get lost in your body, to drown in your lust.
To learn every inch, and to nibble I must.

To follow your legs up, beyond your knees.
In between thighs, and under the trees.

I have trust in your mouth, and the things it can do.
Have trust in mine, and my serpent tongue too.

The splintered echos of a secret
seem barely audible;
but on this night,
though it doesn't seem right,
my pain is now, multiple.

I ache for all you've been through
your secret's safe with me;
without a doubt,
it's finally out,
that alone, should've set you "free".

You're defined by your pure, negativity
coercing rumors to become, true;
you can't feel...and can't grieve,
so, you decided to leave,
like it was the thing to do.

Hew man smile….

A man speaks
on wasteland,
not many listen
to his words.

Though his smile
is well liked,
and the rocks fall
to ground.
Shelter he offers,
they smile.

One person speaks
of wrongdoing,
no monies for shelter.
He smiles.

They like his smile.
He’ll build on
wasteland
and smile…

Leaves playing tag in the cold wind
as they sprint across the ground
while winter nears its chilly end
last blast ere spring comes around

In airish skies cirrus clouds race
foretelling storms now on their way
often dimming the sun's winter face
on this brisk and blustery day

Shoulders hunch and ears grow cold
eyes squint against the swirling dust
lofted by a breeze grown bold
interspersed by howling gusts

Sleepy morning visions
of ducks at play
scrape
yesterday’s misery
away.

Vapid imagines
of day-break dew,
I fathom fantasies
brand new.

Given my way
I'd savor
only
you, me,
and ducks at play.

Another Revision.

We got a kitten, Siamese
my little sister could only grok Chinese
hence his name.

What do I hear, I hear the cars,
what do I see, I see the trees,
while the gulls huddle on the lake`s rectangular blocks of floating ice,
and the weeping willow`s pale green branches sway in the biting wind,
yellow squirrels tracks, seeds, brown leaves,
Cleveland`s grey skyscrapers grey against the grey sky
grey, grey, grey to the horizon
that melds with the distant mist,
silent presence, lake,
vast,
wide world
so small.

This demon’s tongue and its hollow soul,
gravediggers that dig an empty hole.
The angel’s wing and her gentle ways,
dying people and their futile days.

A bloodied face and an impaled eye,
a lover’s spat, both will die.
A baseball bat and a caved in face,
yellow police tape now wraps this place.
A gunshot accompanied with an exploded chest,
this careless cop, wore no vest.