The shortest day of the year
Winter solstice cold icy air
Nibble at my skin
Dec. 21st two thousand ten

It’s cold in the south
Overseas in Europe, mammoth snowfalls
Hundreds of planes grounded
And thousands of people marooned

It’s wet in California
Heavy rains, flood lands
Take over sundry homes, folks wading waters
Cars congested, mired traffic

In the winter chaos
A lunar eclipse spectacular
Captured the minds of countless
Won’t chance again till Dec. 10th 2011

A low evening sun
glowing through a yellow sky
gilding snow patches

Ostracized from quietism
a renegade unafraid, traveling
back along the track that you
have laid.

Interfering as you thrall
not to loose a brawl
What fires would implode
your omniscient demeanor.

The complications of perceptions
my thoughts through your eyes
taking five to summarize.

The unforgiving inch loathing the
unending mile, bleeding lesions
the slow death of your reasons,
what understanding to implore.

.
cold
stares of venal lust
rejecting pleas
from the smiley gleeful

brutal
clubfisted songs bash
communions of the polite

hard
rocks of salty thought
tossed off soft, bouncy, heads

stomping
boots of dog kicks
sweep the feet from under
Giselle toed lightfoots

and yet, forgiving softness,
despite the unforgiving nature of
hard, cold stone,
survives

and thankfully,
thrives
on cushions of fluffy grace

The past helps to define me
as I adjust to the present grade,
my vision of the future's, dim
after watching my dreams all fade;

crowded by my dissappointments
as my lonely accomplishments, flutter in the breeze,
knowing these things to be true, is enough
to bring any man, down on his knees !

Surrounded, by everyone's else's opinion
and all alone, in that very regard;
there's enough dirt being thrown my way,
I should have a cornfield-sized, front yard.

The days are dark,
The nights are black,
From this doom,
I wont come back.

I am too tired,
To live another hour,
My life force is weak,
I have no power.

So I must go,
I can not dwell,
With you I leave,
My story to tell.

Please don't weep,
This is for the best,
I have to move on,
So I can rest.

So come to me,
And hold my hand,
Maybe some day,
You will understand.

I'm not a girlie girl
i don't wear pink dresses,
i didn't play with Barbie when i was a child.

I long for unconditional devotion,
but i haven't spent my life
in pusuit of the perfect white wedding.

The love i have to give is infiniite.
when passion hits , ill be a slave to fervor,
i'll be adoration's bitch.

But i will not surrender
to the dark side of my gender
I won't be a girlie girl.

Bursts of Imagination

It is only rarely
That my imagination bursts out
In a way volcanoes do
The ocean gives just some comfort
To the tsunamis
That may surface
My mind is a jug full of juicy joy
A sort of commotion
As someone before did ask
Why don't you leave something?
To imagination
I took the cue
Metaflorically I flew
From the wilds of my inner imagination,
Into the far folds of seeding eternity
As my mind of its own does fathom,
Albeit mysteriously
Unbeknown to me

Turning green as Sycamore trees
But can never smell as sweet
All because the bumble bee’s
Always come to me,

The worker ants carry their load
Without the slightest care,
But it seems that your back
Has never seen wear and tear,

Babbling like a brook
Constantly without stop
All that you say
Just crashes against deaf rocks,

The flowers that bloomed today
and wither on the morrow
Seem to have more sense
Then all your yesterdays,

I once more dip my toe into free verse.............

Ruins
not just for the old world
any longer

Old factory abandoned
victim of neglect
and time
inexorable

Broken windows gazing
like cataracted empty eyes
no longer seeing anything
save memories
of more prosperous times

While within.........emptiness
where drafts ( or ghosts ? ) stir cobwebs
where once looms flew
or furnaces blasted
for an older generation
replaced