I have a collection of poetry

that numbers approximately 4,000 works,

many of which will be transformed into songs

as I age like fine wine and cheese.

I will be posting some here

in the discussions to come back to

and transpose into music

and for all of you as well

to hopefully be inspired by.

Thanks for reading and listening to my work. 

<><><><><><>

Fingers are what 

happens to an arm 
when it disagrees 
with itself. 

Thankfully the brain 
rectifies the argument 
at least for poets with 
words that flow harmonius 
to  the lips and eyes. 

Perhaps poets will be 
granted special 
compensation in heaven, 
long after our hands 
have evaporated, 
we will be able to 
dip our wings in 
a pool of imagination
and paint poetic worlds 
beyond all of our humble 
attempts here as mortals. ]

Imagine that!
 <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
<><><><><><><><>
 

What a joy to

live vicariously

through the toddlers

we care for.

To regress

with them into 

that splendid

world of innocence, 

and just be childlike

for a day. 

Perhaps a

national holiday

for all the 

stressed adults

is in order, 

a chance to

just have fun.

 

Even men at war

would lay down 

their guns and

simply point fingers 

and go,

"Bang...Bang...

your dead, "

as their enemies

fall laughing 

to the grass or sands.

Perhaps Republi-cans

who can't......

could for one

day at least, 

cease their

adult tantrums 

over speeches

by current leaders 

that are utterly harmless.

To just stop

being silly fools

chasing boogeymen, 

and also lose their fears

over health care plans

that sicken no one! 


Let them all

simply play 

a healthy game

of Monopoly 

where their

treasured riches 

are non-negotiable

paper money,

and their vast

"real" estate is "fake."

 

We all need to

learn to play again 

and laugh

for just a day

without regard

to skin color, 

religion, creed

or politics,

letting the world become 

a giant carousel

spinning round, 

till we are dizzy

with delight

at the beauty

it holds 

and we all fall

in the grass, 

giggling at what

we've missed 

in our angst and

our haste to 

have things

only our way. 

Sorry for

the sermon, 

The child in me cries

out for such a day. 

I grow weary of

the false scare tatics 

of death panels,

financial ruin,

socialism unleashed 

and children

constantly

denied 

the wise words

of leaders, 

who cannot dance

with their dreams.


Simply because

the disenfranchised,

 who have lost

their grip on power, 

keep pulling

the oval rug out

from under their

nemesis's feet.

 

Peace to you

and yours, 

regardless

of your stance 

in this world of

turmoil and tears. 

Apathy and rage

have inspired

this poem in me, 

which I will post,

not as a comment 

but as a poetic wish 

for such a wonder to

someday  occur. 

Let's all go

back soon

to sit again with

and as children 

to simply share

the beauty of

their precious

innocence.

 

A Date Worth Remembering

Perhaps a horse drawn carriage, 
a white steed with an ivory mane
His big brown eyes reflecting thanks
as we hand feed him carrots.


A carriage with a fringed top 
and a plush oversized bench,
stocked with a large cooler 
of white and red wines,
merlot, chardonnay, peach
cherry, and champagne.


Plus cheeses of provolone,
garlic, cheddar, mozerella,
gouda, pepperoni speckled
and bleu next to some

straw hats and a guitar.


Pulling up to your door 
with that clippety-clop,
sound of yesterday 
when romance was cherished,
and sweeping you 
away from the doldrums
of modern life, 
like a fair maiden of old.

Some Fabian style driver 
to cart us along,
lest I fail to meet 
your full expectations,
then at least you could fantasize,
but most likely you would be lost
in our sweet conversing between 
sharing sips of wine and hand feeding
each other succulent cheeses.

Then off to a private beach, 
secluded and pristine with
two striped cabanas for changing
into less clothing on 
a warm summer day.

We would relax in the tropical sun,
with only the sound of the ocean
intermingled with our sighs,
in two lounge chairs side by side
holding hands and watching time go by.

Soon enough the urge would strike us
to race into the restless surf,
then I would grace your flesh
with a warm massage of sun oils
to protect your lovely complexion,
in a gentlemanly fashion,
and bid you to do my back,
before our refreshing dip.

Then off we would dash
splashing and giggling
like children in the salty froth,
wet bodies embracing
just long enough for a sampling
of how it would feel,
if fate chose to grant us romance.

After we had frolicked to exhaustion,
we would climb together on a raft for two,
and float on our backs side by side,
gazing up at the blue of the sky,
when we were not gazing
into each others eyes.

Later we would paddle back shore,
a team effort, to get us back to 
the picnic basket on ice that awaited us.

There we would share King crab salads
abundant with the oceans bounty
and finger sandwiches of thin sliced
prime rib or turkey breast 
with lettuce and tomato, 
as well as two generous 
covered dishes of chilled
crème brulee for our dessert.
sharing smiles between ravenous bites.

Then off for a long stroll down the beach,
hand in hand, collecting sea glass,
just enough to form a heart of
multi-colored gems that we would glue
onto a white square of cardboard,
a souvenir of our summer date.

As dusk set in and sunset dappled
our paradise with oranges and golds,
I would set a driftwood fire ablaze,
and we would enjoy its heat,
roasting marshmallows, making smores,
and watching the day dissolve before us.

By firelight I would lift my guitar,
and compose love songs for you,
encompassing our day together,
with hopes for other days to come.

Then back to the carriage which 
would arrive at 11:00 p.m.
for a starlit ride home,
with the fringe top removed,
so that we could enjoy 
our Night ride together. 

Soft murmured conversation,
accompanied by the gentle 
jounce of wagon wheels,
and steaming mugs of cappucino,
till we reached your front door,
where we would tentatively
blend eager lips into 
a short farewell kiss,
that would joyously become 
a long timeless blending 
of two lonely souls.

Pulling away only 
with great regret,
gazing deep into 
each others eyes
with somewhat sated moods
as I slip you another ticket 
to your next date in the 
paradise of each others arms,
an evening of theater and dancing
on the following weekend.
Then you'd promise your attendance,
giving me one more delicious peck
on my lips and vanishing to 
many happy dreams 
beyond your door.

 

 

XXX Equals Emptiness Shared-XXX

Her kisses are pure poison.

like one too many Oxycontin

or some blow-fish containing

too much nerve paralysis,

but oh, how I love the taste

of her succulent lips on mine.

I get higher than

the half a million

strong at Woodstock,

and some paralysis does occur,

a tight stiffening in at least 

one of my joints.

But she has a well known habit

of treating her lovers as Kleenex,

disposable relief for a temporary 

blowing off of the steam of lust.

And I know that as soon as I

take the plunge into the depths

of her tunneled silky bliss

I will be added to her list

of conquests no longer worthy.

Yet here I am again,

falling prey to my addiction,

committing self esteem suicide

in such an oh, so delightful way.


"Please Kill me before I stop again."

 

SomeThoughts On

Cats And Kittens

When I think of cats, 

I sometimes visualize,

L  o  n  g , black

sleek machines,

Like rental limousines,

purring softly

in dark alleyways,

Prowling boldly

down bright avenues, 

Seeking out all

the mousy types,

Who are looking to

fulfill ego trips.

But if I

ponder kittens, 

I’ll often picture,

The soft fuzz

of a dandelion 

that has just

gone to seed,

Tumbling in

a velvet ball,

Across the

jagged grass,

in pursuit of

butterflies or bees. 

When I

envision lust,

Which is quite often

I think of cats

rubbing themselves

between any

available legs

begging to

be stroked,

and then purring

at the pleasure

strutting and preening,


then lapping eagerly

over the taste

of tuna fish,

all the while

pretending 

that it’s caviar.

But when I am 

comprehending love,

I see a tiny,

fluffy kitten,

I feel a warm

fuzzy heat.

like a ball of fur, 

in the bed

of my lap,

I taste sweet,

milky kisses

and a perfume

of downy musk,

My breath quickens

as I nuzzle

up against

my warm memories,

and dream of

joys to come.

 ^     ^

/   .     . \

|   =0=    |

\    ~     /

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