Month: March 2017

Ak-Nobb

A tremendous red sun was setting in a tremendous red sky and Ak-Nobb was perched 1,454 feet in the air.

His coat was dark brown and his wings were black.

He was huge, even for a peryton, and when he stood on high and spread his wings – he looked most impressive.

From his ruined skyscraper, he looked out on a ruined city, riding on a ruined world – and he was lord of all he surveyed.

From his vantage, he waited and watched until a tremendous moon rose over the ocean. Then, dropping his head, he quit his perch.

His antlers cut through the wind as he swooped toward the city below. The shadow that he cast was that of a man and, as he flew, his shadow was joined by others as he gathered his flock for the hunt.

Hundreds of human shadows slid against the gutted buildings that served as nests for the peryton.

No humans lived here anymore — the peryton was a man-eater.

Released!

The bark cracked!

Do enchantments wear off? Do spells and charms entropy? Do the fey finally succumb to the laws of thermodynamics? Is it a contradiction in terms? Is it a lack of proper perception? Perhaps one magic finally submits to another…

The tree shook violently and began to split from the top down. Ripping and cracking, it tore itself apart. It burst and shattered and split to the earth, exploding into a rain of toothpicks.

“There!” said the wizard, stepping away from where the tree once stood.

“Beware Nimue, if you are still in this world, for Merlin walks again!”

A Short Selection of Short, Short Stories

Over the years I’ve ended up with a collection of short, short stories. I’ve considered putting them all in a book one day to be titled, “A Short Collection of Short, Short Stories – For People With Short Attention Spans.” Here is a brief sample.

This first story was one I wrote in 4th grade (my first story). The other two were written in the late 70s or early 80s.

IT  

It is.
It lives.

It draws breath in the dark cellar.
It climbs up the creaking stair.
It opens the cellar door….

It lets out a terrible scream!!!

It falls and tumbles down the steps.
It saw YOU when it opened the door!
YOU scared It to death!

It dies.
It isn’t.

—

The Hero Dies

Dr. Russell Oversleave stared pointedly at the frankly stupid geek that stood in his way. “Excuse me,” he said indifferently and began stepping forward, eye contact broken…

The frankly stupid geek drew the club he held behind his back and bashed in the doctor’s brains…

“UH-HUH,” he laughed and lumbered on down the hall, “UH-HUH, UH-HUH.”

—

Elkin and the Puma

Elkin stared at the puma. The puma was dead. Elkin had killed it.

It was July. A hot, hazy Friday. The sun was well into the sky, beating down relentlessly on the skyscraper city.

The puma was dead and Elkin was late for work.

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Poems From The 2000s

I’ve previously posted a selection of my earliest poems (from 1972-1976), selections of both my early love poems and of my ‘love lost’ poems (from 1978-1988), and a selection of poems from the 80s and 90s (as well as some lyrics to “Songs for Ill-fated Lovers” from the 1990s).

This is a selection of poems from the first decade of the new century.

I put myself in a friend’s shoes for this one to tweak him a bit….

I’ve Got Penny for My Thoughts

I’ve got Penny for my thoughts.
She hasn’t any faults.
In a chat room we met.
We’ve talked for hours on the ‘net.
She makes me feel alright
but she keeps me up all night.
What can I say?
I’m sleepy all day.
I’m walking into doors
and neglecting all my chores.
Everything’s a blur
’cause I’m talking to her.
Now, I must confess…
without her, I’d be Penny-less.
Could this be love?
Penny’s from heaven above.
I sure hope I’m not caught
because I’ve got Penny for my thoughts.

—

This one was an attempt to combine absurdist poetry with art surrealism and quantum mechanics (among other things).

Theories of Chaos

I can almost taste the butterfly (without any precognition of consequence)

starting a hurricane from the other side of the Earth

with one beat of its wings….

generating theories of chaos,

fluttering across my dreams and

creating surrealistic nightmares

(in-between the elephant).

 

I can almost smell the bow String (with extra really small dimensions)

launching the Arrow of Time into the Field of Action

(Like a Big Bang!)

piercing the Dark Matter of the Apple-headed people,

and pinning them to the locomotive in the fireplace

before you might gasp

(as if Determinism still worked).

 

I can almost touch the parallel universe (or the “multiverses” written here)

where One is Two and Two is Three

and from Three all Things come

(or from where Everything You Know Is True Somewhere…).

Adding equations as I need them,

to explain it All in Time

(while my watch lies melting on the counter).

 

I can almost see the probabilities of Quantum Mechanics (clumsy as they are)

exploding into Einstein’s world of elegance–

like a principle of memory –

or a persistence of uncertainty

amplifying the moment…

because Schroedinger’s Cat is neither dead or alive –

(until I check his box).

 

I can almost hear his paradox (even without my spectacles)

like the sound of one burning giraffe clapping;

It whispers to me…

esse est percipi

(to be is to be perceived)

But I don’t believe it.

—

This one is purely absurdist….

I Forgot…

I forgot the memory

of her weeping breasts

her lucid attire

and the eloquence of her doorstop….

She would squat before me

with sighing eyes

and fairy fuselage

with mustard on her mind.

She was a flaming dog in Jell-O

with extra outlets.

She was a dripping cow in mayonnaise

with plug-in accessories.

She was a rubber pig in custard

with outdoor sockets.

I used to treat her like a bastard chamber pot

with giraffe’s antennae and moose ears

and she would just sit there

on a pile of expired coupons and junk mail

manipulating chocolate.

—

Another absurdist poem…

Expecting the Unexpected

Expecting the unexpected…

I dance to the door-steps,

ascend to the bottom,

and stumble to the top.

I desperately try to calm my serene hysteria

as I stand upon the stoop —

Imagining the nothingness of her substantial void

as she approaches the receding door.

I hear her silent footsteps…

like the quiet shouting

of a screaming mime.

I visualize the tempting dismissiveness

and the repulsive attraction

that I don’t see in her at all.

With a sudden slowness

the door opens and I am shut out.

With her back turned, she faces me

and appears to disappear —

leaving as she arrives

and coming as she goes.

—

In this one I imagined Anonymous as a real person…

By Anonymous

To have my thoughts assimilated

into the human consciousness

without me being noticed.

Influence yet obscurity

would be ideal.

 

Songs for Ill-fated Lovers

During the period from the mid-to-late 1990s, I wrote some lyrics to songs that I imagined might be done in a rockabilly style, and that they could all fall under the heading of “Songs for Ill-fated Lovers” for an album. This was all for fun, of course. 

This first one was what got me thinking about that….

Ride My Dinosaur

I’m walkin’ under ladders, honey,
I’m spillin’ salt.
I’m breakin’ every mirror for ya,
and it’s all your fault.
I let you rock my cradle, baby,
in the tree tops.
You know I’m fallin’ like London Bridge…
and Humpty Dumpty when he drops –

Come ride my dinosaur, darlin’.
We’ll see what we can see.
I got a tower in Pisa for ya.
You got the key.

Let’s go crusin’ in my Edsel, honey.
It can’t be beat.
We can listen to my 8-track tapes.
Hold onto your seat.
I’m tempting fate now, baby,
I’m spittin’ in the wind.
There’s a black cat crossin’ my path.
Here he comes again –

Come ride my dinosaur, darlin’.
We’ll see what we can see.
I got a tower in Pisa for ya.
You got the key.

I got us tickets on the Titanic, honey.
You won’t want to leave.
I’ll take you flyin’ on the Hindenburg.
My fortune, you won’t believe.
We’ll get a place on 3 Mile Island.
It’s a beautiful scene.
We can capture it all on BETA, baby.
Do ya know what I mean?

Come ride my dinosaur, darlin’.
We’ll see what we can see.
I got a tower in Pisa for ya.
You got the key.

—

Waffle House Woman

She wears too much makeup –
and she’s got really big hair.
I don’t want to break up
over dirty silverware.
I say…
Do it over easy;
I like it real hot.
I know its kinda sleazy;
I like you a lot.
Clear off all this clutter;
bring a spoon and a cup.
I’ll need lots of butter
to butter you up.
Waffle House Woman,
Please come back.
Waffle House Woman,
would you take it back?

She’s got a ring for every finger
and she’s got the reddest lips.
I want her to linger
but she’s livin’ off tips.
I say…
Do it over easy.
What can I say?
I’m feelin’ kinda sleazy;
I’ll have it all the way.
I’d like some sugar, honey,
sweet and low.
Ya see,
I ain’t got much money,
but I don’t want to go.
Waffle House Woman,
please come back.
Waffle House Woman,
won’t you take it back?

I wonder should I tell her
this ain’t my cup of tea?
But there’s something about her
or there is something wrong with me.
I say…
Do it over easy,
I like it well done.
I’m feelin’ kinda queasy;
I think you’re the one.
I’d like my sausage smothered
and I’m hungry for your buns.
But now its all covered,
and I think I’ve got to run.
Waffle House Woman,
please come back.
Waffle House Woman,
I’ll be right back.

—

Lucy on the Web with Icons

Picture yourself on a page on your PC
with hypertext links to Internet sites.
Someone sends email, you see the attachment,
a girl with cyberspace eyes.

Lucy on the web with icons…

Search engine hits in purple and blue,
waiting to lead you astray.
Look for the file that’s saving her picture
and it’s gone.

Lucy on the web with icons…

Follow her surfing through links to a chat room,
where online users lead virtual lives.
Everyone :-)’s as you lose your connection;
your server is busy today.

Lucy on the web with icons…

Newsgroup binaries appear in the window,
fresh from the info highway.
Mouseclick the JPEG to download her image
and you’re spammed.

Lucy on the web with icons…

—

The Less I Know

Well…
I ain’t got nothin’ but the shoes on my feet,
the clothes on my back, and the food between my teeth.
I ain’t gonna work no job nine to five;
bust my butt just tryin’ to stay alive.

Ya’ see…
The less I know, the less I got to worry.
The less I know, the less I got to do.
So you can see why I don’t have to hurry,
’cause I don’t know where I’m goin’ to.

Well…
I’m gonna stand on this corner and beg for my food.
Hopin’ some woman takes pity on me soon.
All I need is some food and a bed
and when she gets some time…
give a little head.

Ya see…
The less I know, the less I got to worry.
The less I know , the less I got to do.
So you can see why I don’t have to hurry
’cause I don’t know where I’m goin’ to.

—

She’s a Puritan

She has no cell phone, no headphones, no MTV.
No indoor plumbing, no car, no electricity.
She’s got no miniskirt, no bathing suit, no hairdo.
No microwave, no movies, no drive thru.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Honey –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Darling – –

A Puritan, through-and-through.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Sweetie –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Baby – –

She has no DVD, no lap top, no birth control.
No washing machine, no jewelry, no Tylenol.
She’s got no hair dye, no lip-stick, no blush or rouge.
No push-up bra, no fishnet stockings, no high-heeled shoes.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Honey –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Darling – –

A Puritan, through-and-through.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Sweetie –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Baby – –

She’s got no radio, no plane ticket, no book on tape.
No hair dryer, no jogging pants – –
But here’s the break…

She’s got —
a bible,
a rooster,
and a high necked collar.

She’s got —
homemade soap,
an outhouse,
and a quiet that will make you holler.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Honey –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Darling – –

A Puritan, through-and-through.

She’s a Puritan –
A Puritan, Sweetie –
A Puritan –
A Puritan, Baby – –

And she’s got her eyes on YOU!!!

 

Poems From The 80s & 90s

I’ve previously posted a selection of my earliest poems (from 1972-1976), and selections of both my early love poems and of my ‘love lost’ poems (from 1978-1988). Here I will post a selection of a couple of other poems written in the 80s (to finish up that time era) and some of those I wrote in the 90s.

Feeling I was finally over a lost love…

Phoenix

I am a fiery flaming torch
burning and blazing in the night.

I am a roaring raging inferno
lit and lashing against the wind.

I am a booming blasting furnace
choking and consuming the air.

I am a scorching scalding fury
illuminated and ignited from within.

Tonight, I am shining
bright as a star
and hot as a phoenix —

Reborn from the ashes of my own fire,
I spread my wings to fly.

—

I spent many years living on or near Wrightsville Beach, and this is an earlier poem written in tribute to the beach experience.

The Sun Is High

The sun is high
and hot
and heavenly —
And I lay and sacrifice myself
in fire
to the bounds of my endurance.

Only then do I give myself to the sea….

And there is water,
an ocean of water,
tumbling, thundering water,
rising and crashing on the sand —
And I am drawn to its oblivion
and I do not hesitate.

The attraction is incredible on approach….

I run,
jump
and fly –
into a breaking wave —

dashing spray and spindrift
in the explosion of my impact.

And I am quenched,
finally…
in effervescent ecstasy.

—

Playing with rhyme, alliteration and minimalism….

Cold Country

Cold country,
Dead flowers,
Trembling trees,
Icy towers.
Sudden snow
on the land.
Frozen fingers
in my hands.

Winter world,
Black skies,
Frosted feet,
Teary eyes.
Bitter breath
in the air.
Wild wind
in my hair.

Numb nose
Red face,
Warming wood
Fire place.
Burning blaze
at my feet.
Marshmallow
food to eat.

Camp coffee,
Chapped lips,
Amber ash
Sailing ships.
Crisp crackling
sparks of light.
Soundly shivering
throughout the night.

—

Playing with art, alliteration and minimalism….

Vincent’s Vacation

Sending…
painted postcards
picturing
airbrushed asses
assaulting
watercolor waves
washing
sandblasted shores.

Wanting…
Salvador’s sun
shining,
Vargas’ vixens
vexing,
Warhol water
wetting
Seurat sands.

Watching…
cubist clouds
cumulating,
surreal skies
spilling,
dada drops
drenching
pop art porches.

—

Late summer on the beach…

Summer Shadows

Last night,
I saw them surfing on the ocean.

This morning,
I saw their footprints on the beach….

They are on my porch now,
relaxing in rocking chairs
on a sunny, late summer afternoon….

The ghosts of summer
linger…
on the wind.

—

I put myself in a friend’s shoes for this one….

She’s A Natural Disaster

She’s a hurricane outside my window,
a tornado at my door…
She’s a natural disaster
I just can’t ignore.

She’s a storm surge on the water,
a cloud bank in the sky…
She’s flooding all my senses —
I know I’m going to die.

She’s lightning on the rooftop,
a rain that’s going to pour…
She’s a tidal wave of calamity —
I can’t take it anymore.

She’s a whirlwind of destruction,
a tempest tossed at me,
She’s a wrathful rising hailstorm
I think it’s time to flee.

—

I put myself in another friend’s shoes for this one as well. It was meant to tease him…

If I Only Had a Spine (lost song from the Wizard of OZ)

I wouldn’t take a snubbing
or any social drubbing
everything would be fine —
I would stand up to any foe
and I would tell ’em all where to go
if I only had a spine.

I’d cuss ’em out for hours
and I’d send ’em some dead flowers
I’m sure they’d get the sign —
I’d respond with a zinger
and I’d give ’em all the finger
if I only had a spine.

I know I’d really love it
to tell ’em where to shove it
up where the sun don’t shine.
I would hum this merry tune
and then I’d show ’em all the moon
if I only had a spine.

I’d talk about their mother
their sister or their brother
I’d lay it on the line —
I would knee ’em in the nuts
and I’d kick all their butts
if I only had a spine.

It wouldn’t be a bummer
to ask ’em for a hummer
and to kiss my behind —
I would wave my erection
and I’d fart in their direction
if I only had a spine.

—

A friend’s movie script inspired me to write this one…

Accidental Satan

He was –
unintentionally evil.
He was –
mistakenly bad.
He didn’t think it could happen to him
but it
drove him mad.
He was the
Accidental Satan
He blundered into Hell.
He thought he was joking
when he
cast the wrong spell.

He was –
incidentally damned.
He was –
unexpectedly cruel.
He didn’t think it could happen to him
but he
was a first class fool.
He was the
Accidental Satan
He fumbled into Hell.
He thought he was joking
when he
cast the wrong spell.

a simple miscalculation
a slip of the tongue —
a misapplication,
and the deed was done.

He was –
casually wicked.
He was –
surprisingly cursed.
He didn’t think it could happen to him
but
this was the worst.
He was the
Accidental Satan
He tripped into Hell.
He thought he was joking
when he
cast the wrong spell.

It was an –
unforeseen blasphemy,
a diabolic chance,
an accursed misstep
into the
devil’s dance.
He was the
Accidental Satan
He stumbled into Hell.
He thought he was joking
when he
cast the wrong spell.

—

A bit of sexual fun with synonyms…

Abutting

Keep hold of the land –
we verge on touching.
Impinging contact
in close quarters.
Untamed encounter
at my fingertips.
For I am hard upon you…
butt.
Bouncing on…
butt.
Bumping into…
butt.
Abutting…
butt.
And you are on the threshold –
And I am on the brink –
And I finally come upon you…
butt.
(For I am within spitting distance.)

—

There was 10 minutes to kill at the end of a work day, and I bet that I could write a poem in that time. This was the result (hat tip to Monty Python).

Witch

She’s a witch!
She’s a witch!

Just look at her dress.
It is certainly a mess.
It’s more like a rag,
though it fits the hag.
And look at that pose
and the warts on her nose.
She surely is a sight
when she comes out at night.
I’m sitting on the very log
where she turned me into a frog!
She pronounced my doom
then off she flew on her broom.
And you better fear
if she comes near.
She’ll cackle awhile
and give you a toothless smile.
It’s brimstone you’ll smell
when she casts her spell.
Then you will be
a mute like me!

She’s a witch!
She’s a witch!

—

This one was inspired by a news story (where I imagined the ending).

Together

They died together
and they were buried together –
to lie in adjoining graves.
They were young.
They were lovers.
Their deaths were so tragic
they made the national news.
And their parents put them together
forever.
But…
the last thing she told him before the accident was,
“We can never be together.”

—

A friend went through a divorce and got primary custody of the kids. I was moving back to town at the time and moved in with them for a few years. I had known both his kids since they were babies, and I ended up playing Mr. Mom for a while. Around Halloween one year, I wrote these next three poems for them, but I ended up never sharing them with them because I didn’t want them to get frightened. Anyway, I briefly considered trying to do a children’s book of Halloween poems with these and a few others (including the two above). They are in the order I wrote them. One just seemed to lead into the next.

I Am The Ghost Of The House

I am the shadow in the corner
and the cold spot on the floor,
the rapping in the window
and the scratching at the door.

I am the ghooooost of the hooouse.

I am bad smells and awful bellows
and the thumping in the hall.
I am the horrid phantom
and a gruesome spook to all.

I am the ghooooost of the hooouse.

I am the rustling of the curtains
in the darkness of the night.
I am the weird illusion
and a groaning moaning fright.

I am the ghooooost of the hooouse.

I am that sudden eerie feeling
and the shiver down your spine.
I am the ghastly nightmare
just a haunting of your mind.

I am the ghooooost of the hooouse.

I am the pale unearthly vision
floating shapeless in the air.
I am the grim-faced spectre
creaking slowly…
up…
your…
stair.

I AM THE GHOST OF THE HOUSE!!!

—

There Are Thirteen Steps To Your Room

There are thirteen steps to your room…
and I am on the first step…
You think you hear a CRREEEEEEEEEEEK!
And I am on the second step…
You think it’s just the house settling…but you’re all alone…
And I am on the third step…
You begin to feel uneasy; you’re not sure why.
And I am on the fourth step…
You hear a MOOOAAAANN!!
And I am on the fifth step…
You sit up and listen hard.
And I am on the sixth step…
You wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you.
And I am on the seventh step…
You tell yourself not to get carried away.
And I am on the eighth step…
You KNOW you hear me now!
And I am on the ninth step…
You hear me THUUMMPP!!! and GROOOAAANN!!!
And I am on the tenth step…
Your heart is beating faster; I can hear it…
And I am on the eleventh step…
You bravely go to the door.
And I am on the twelfth step…
You LOOK OUT!!!!

And I disappear…

You breathe a sigh of relief
and go back to bed,
thinking to yourself
it was nothing…

There are thirteen steps to your room…
and I am on…

THE
LAST
STEP!!!!!

—

Someone is Walking on My Grave

I am dead and unsaved
and someone is walking on my grave…

I met my doom on an evening like this;
the horror you cannot know.
Hunted down and killed by a mob
on this night long ago.

I am dead and unsaved
and someone is walking on my grave…

I was covered over at these crossroads
next to this bridge and creek
With a wooden stake driven through my heart
as though I were a freak.

I am dead and unsaved
and someone is walking on my grave….

I am caught up in this time and place
trapped in the in-between.
Murdered at midnight, on a full moon,
buried on Halloween.

I am dead and unsaved
and someone is walking on my grave…

I have had no visitors for eons past
but now, I will be released.
For very soon now, I will break my fast,
on their blood I will feast.

I am dead and unsaved
and…

YOU ARE WALKING ON MY GRAVE!!!

 

 

Love Lost Poems

During the 1980s when I was in my twenties, I was in a number of very passionate relationships. It might have been I was “addicted to love” in some respects. It did seem to act like a drug in a lot of ways, with incredible highs while under its influence, and horrible–sometimes suicidal–lows when going through withdrawal. I previously posted a selection of my early love poetry and promised to post the related heart break poems in another installment. This is that installment.

The selection starts out with a few that might be described as a bit sad, but it gets a little darker from there.

Go So Well

We go so well together –
I want you in all kinds of weather….
I want you when the sun is shining bright,
I want you in the middle of the night.
I want you when the rain is falling down,
I want you when the snow is swirling ’round.
It’s too bad I want you so
just when you have to go.

—

Drawn into the Darkness

Drawn into the darkness
by a siren crying out
like a prehistoric creature
in the night.

I walk lightly
(and sometimes leap)
’til I am lost
in a multitude of stars.

All is…
fear and
magic and
excitement and
surprise and…
at last, I find you!

I see you
calling out to me…
reflecting moonlight
on the ocean…
smiling and
waving and
winking and…
floating away in a bottle.

—

Interrogatives

Who do you call
when your back’s against the wall
and you think you’re gonna fall?

What do you do
when you know it’s up to you
and you haven’t got a clue?

When did you find
you were left in a bind
in a sad state of mind?

Where do you go
when there’s no one that you know
and you’re feeling kinda low?

Why do you think
you’ve been pushed to the brink
and your life’s in the sink?

How can you play
at the end of the day
when they’ve taken you away?

—

Rainbows and Clouds

Simply smiling in a rose garden.
Sitting on a swing
at the end of a rainbow –
My lady and I
holding hands.

Later…

Riding on the top of a cloud
in an icy high wind
with the wild eyes of night
screaming across the sky –
trembling.

—

Magic and Death

There is magic!
There is magic in excitement.
There is magic in surprise.
There is magic in this moment.
There is magic in your eyes.

And…

There is death!
There is death in this excitement.
There is death in this surprise.
And there is death in this moment,
as I stare into your eyes.

Our lips meet
in a kiss
of cyanide.

Shall I die loving you
or
shall I die in disguise?

—

Drowning

Gasping at a spindrift of implications
and…
grasping for your floating influence,
I flail air and water
to no avail….

When I tire, the sea will have me.

—

Destroyed

Destroyed –
Almost beyond recognition,
grasping at comprehension.

Lost –
Directions without reason –
wasted, sick, and beaten.

Hopeless –
crushing total despair.

Vast potential unvented,
vanquished before his time.
Marks go unmended,
mutilated in his prime.

Spoilt –
Scared and spent,
crying.

Young –
Yet old and dying.

Withered –
Wrinkled in waiting,
eyes twinkle fading.

Alone –
The lights go out and
no one is there.

—

Hell

Hell is forever sitting at the gates of Heaven
watching with burning desire
the unattainable possibility of you love

I shall return to the world
though…
no joy is left.

—

Apathy and Death

Coffee boiling as I slip away,
Cigarette burning in the ashtray.
Laying, looking at the TV set,
Apathy and death.
Apathy and death.

—

Death

Death comes to those who wait in tiresome places —
crawling through collapsing spaces —
leaving vague traces —
and silently slipping away.

 

Early Love Poems

Of course, I wrote some love poetry when I was younger. Aside from a lame attempt I made at it in 10th grade, this is a selection of my earliest love poems. These were written to different women between the years 1978-1988, when I was in my twenties. I’ll post the broken heart poems in another installment.

This one was written in college. 

Lady

Lady, you charm me

as a dangling mobile

tempting my touch.

A smile,

a wink,

a reflection of life and light

sparkling as you turn.

 

Lady, you are as this sunrise

burning me up

as I behold you.

Even now I risk being blinded

by your gaze

so that I might

live in your fire.

 

Lady, I could dwell on you all day.

For you grow across my mind

like a never-ending expansion

invading my perception,

taking over the sky,

obscuring my vision.

Here is an obsession undenied-

I will walk to the ends of the world

so that we might collide.

 

Lady, you as this sunset-

Firing up the clouds

in the spectrum

of an autumn afternoon.

And here at last

I touch you for the first time,

and I am born holding your hand.

 

Lady, as I draw you near,

I hear your whisper

as gentle wind touching chimes.

Each breath as music on air,

sounding as you speak,

and seducing my ear into madness.

 

Lady, my arms fit you so well,

I want them always to be around you.

 

My dearest lady, I should like to take you slowly,

for I would like to spend my life on you.

This golden touch we share

will never be satisfied in time,

and this feeling will cross the ages

undiminished.

—

I sent this one to a girl who lived over 4 hours diving time away. She got in her car shortly after receiving it and drove down to surprise me with a 3 day visit. 

Destiny

There is symmetry in our embrace
and harmony in our touch.
We flow together in perfect motion
desiring to be as one.

There is destiny in our gaze
and hunger in our eyes.
We fly together in ultimate comfort
casting shadows in the sun.

There are parallels in our positions –
an attraction between us.
We soar together in absolute ecstasy
and sail across the land.

There is music in our mouths
and passion on our lips.
We fall together in total silence
and kiss, finally, in the sand.

—

These next two were from a heavy romance in the late 1980s….

I in You (Reflections)

Beautiful…
as a dream
or a vision.

Lovely…
as a song
in harmony
with lovely melody.

True art
of form
and color
gracefully conceived.

Intriguing
and
intoxicating….

I drink your shape and essence
with thirsty eyes
until I overflow with you
and spill over….

Your dancing lips
and golden face —
Your electric touch
and tight embrace —
With sparkling eyes
and thunder passion —
the booms and trembles
of the power that is fashioned….

We stare into each other’s eyes…
each seeing the other
and…
each seeing ourselves.

And it is so easy…
and comfortable…
and sweet…
with a passion that is
simply inspired,
and a desire that is
deep as the earth.

You live in me and
I in you.

Whenever I hold your body
we meld where we meet —
and our souls are pleasantly tangled.

—

Flowers and Strawberries

I love your flowers and your strawberries,
the bananas and whipped cream.
I love to watch you sleeping,
for I see in you a dream.

I love your notes and letters
the Sundrop and balloons.
I love to hear your commercials
and listen to all your tunes.

I love it when you moan or sigh,
I love you when you talk or cry,
But mostly…
I love to kiss and hold you
and tell you that I love you
whenever I look into your eyes.

—

This one could be a Hallmark card. 

I Like You

I know that there are things that you like
and I don’t.
I know that there are things that I like
and you won’t.
But…
I LIKE YOU
and…
I would like
to see what it would be like
to be liked
by you.

—

This one was written to a nurse whose initials were ELF.

Rx

ELF RN
Primary Panacea
Salutary Sanative
Reviving Remedy
ELF RN
Oneric Osculation
Tactus Treatment
MFD
ELF RN
Elixer of Elation
End Pleasure
In Vivo
QID
ELF RN
PRN

—

Love at first sight…

He Paused…

He paused…
and paused…
and held his breath and body
and time stopped him in his tracks.

Stilled movement
for this moment
staring in her eyes.

He could not speak or start
for he had been stunned where he stood –
damned and dumbfounded in his awe.

His mouth dropping open
was the only action in the universe.

—

I guess this next one could be read as a love poem or not (and with or without sexual connotations). 

I Am Coming

From the primal bang that is chaos –

I come with energy.

From the fire that lit the universe –

I come inflamed.

From the evolution of matter –

I come with life.

From the womb of multitudes –

I come selected.

 

From the spectrum of light –

I come in these colors.

From the multiplicity of forms –

I come in this shape.

From the doorways of all senses –

I come with awareness.

From numberless places –

I come to this point.

 

In the friction of mass and motion –

I come to spark at this contact.

From endless time –

I come to you now.

—

This last one in this post was written during a lunch hour to a bank teller I had been joking with, suggesting she should be the Azalea queen that year (Wilmington, NC, where I was living at the time, chose a “Queen Azalea” each year). 

To Queen Azalea

To be spoken while on one knee, eyes and head lowered, a beautiful nosegay in hand:

To Her Grace, the Ancienne Noblesse of Azalea; the Rhizanthous Ruler and Sovereign of Shoots, the Herbaceous Highborn and Budding Blueblood, Her Multiflorous Majesty and Radiciflorus Royalty, the Petal Princess and Luxuriant Ladyship, Her Honour and Worship — the Empress of Efflorescence. To Her Excellency, the Floral Highness, Her Flowered Head, the Queen;

A Poesy To A Posy

A bouquet of blossoms —
flourishing foliage in unfoldment —
cannot compare to your style or your stigma.
These burgeoning buddings
fade beside your stamen
and your long, lush stems
This floriferous florescence
withers next to your petals
and perky pistils
These growing gemmations
pale against your radicated corolla,
your anther and ovary,
and rank corona.
Your bloom is the best
for you are the highborn eminence of flowers.

From your servant,
The Prince of Pollination

 

 

Earliest Poems

The poems below represent my first attempts at writing poetry from 9th grade through high school. Most of the poems written during that time are lost or were thrown away, and these just happen to be the ones I retained. A few got published in the school literary magazine. The time period covered is from roughly 1972-1976 from ages 14-18.

The first poem I was ever inspired to write was in 9th grade. I was waiting on second load bus after school when the muse came over me. I found an empty classroom and the poem seemed to come out as fast as I could write it.

Ode To A Pencil

Ah, tis a pencil, fine and neat,
sharpened to its greatest peak.
Wherein my hand it doth rest,
now I shall put it to the test!
On the page it is placed,
pray not it be erased…
a line – crisp and clear,
a graceful line – to me, so dear.
For there is nothing so grand
as this beautiful strand –
Oh, but what’s this???
A curve hath been drawn from my wrist!!
A curve so sweet ~
doubtful that this could be beat~
the curve continues ’round,
forming a circle ~ ASTOUND!
‘ROUND AND ‘ROUND, I DRAW!
( My fingers now quite raw. )
Though, once more before I stop,
all these others I must top.
Oh, the pencil of wood and lead,
something hath happened to its head!??
Upon closer examination,
setting right my anticipation,
alas, my poor token,
the head of my pencil is broken!

—

Possibly the second poem I wrote was intentionally a short, simple, sweet, sing-song poem to be contrasted against the “dream” of nuclear war at the end (though, that part it isn’t obvious).

Shaded Pink

The death of day is shaded pink
and meadows lay, in which to think
Lazy flowers bow towards the sun
Time and space are now as one.

The wind doth blow
the grass doth sway,
Life is short, it fades away….

And in a time, night will fall,
Stars and moon will rule all.
Heaven and Earth will be my bed
as dreams are formed in my head
of a sun dipped in ink
and mushroom clouds shaded pink.

—

I wrote this one late at night before bed. I’m not sure who I was writing it about except maybe the goddess of love.

Falling Upon Sleep

The wind blew misty in the deep haze
passing on to sunset.
The sky was a violet hue,
enclosing the Earth in a dark net.
A grassy red hill stood before me
and I knew I would have to climb,
as warm sweat raced down my face
for there wasn’t much time.

I hid behind a tree, watching you swim in the water.
You and the water became as one…
You and the water…
You and the water…
I looked up and saw a flower fall from heaven
into your hands
And then you expelled onto all the world
content with your plans.

Thus, being tired,
I kissed you and held you and
fell upon sleep.

—

I began to be more conscious of my own morality sometime around 4th or 5th grades, when I was going through puberty (coincidence?). That awareness found expression in some of my poetry over the next several years.

Stone

Sign you name upon the stone
and understand you’re all alone.
Sign it well for all to stare
for no one else will sign it there.

—

Another quick one…

Lost

Lost in a world of confusion,

I stumble…

wondering.

I stare across the night and darkness…

thundering.

From the vines I come, bearing grapes.

To escape this land,

atop a mountain, I shall stand

and tempt the fates.

—

I imagined this one on a tombstone.

Epitaph

Here you see what once was me
not feeling any pain.
But I did not intend to end like this –
merely soaking up the rain.

There was a time I danced and played
and laughed right out loud.
Now, I’m quiet and I don’t move at all –
far away from the crowd.

In life, I had many friends and lovers
but everyone must die alone.
And once, I stood as you are now,
reading words like these in stone.

I have nothing more to say or to teach
my lips will not make a sound.
My name is written on the sands of the beach
my body lies here in the ground.

—

By about 11th grade, I was becoming more ambitious….

Lunar Mantlement

Latent growth surrounds the church temple in divine lunacy,
Cosmic noises erupt from vague distances and expand along the ground.
And I walk through tall, cascading weeds, thick with congruency,
Watching the children run from the silent darkness of sound.

And I believe I’ve said this all once before,
Through days of future and days of yore.
When time and reason disperse through the eve
And noises are muffled by the dark as they leave.
And I’ll sit on a bench and watch the passing of night
And reflect on the moon’s cold silver light….

Lunar mantlement
cover the sea –
and ignore the lies –
the truth in my eyes –
there are those that follow me.
For I am –
the story of a child’s greatest doom –
growing old in the park –
as days pass to dark –
I sit and play checkers with the moon.

The wind cries a despondence of last recourse,
while lonely instructors preach denominational intercourse.
Dismal starlight fades along with the destruction of time
And I see how deep this night seems – living under darkness of rhyme.

There is no one to notice as the lights grow few
And shadows mingle and shadows dispense the dew.
Footsteps approach and resound in my ear
Of things yet unlearned and of things that we fear
Of things that have come and of things that are gone
Of things gone so right and of things gone so wrong
And here I sit and recite the moon’s early song….

Lunar mantlement
cover the sea –
and forget the lies –
the truth of my eyes –
there are those that follow me.
I am –
the story of children’s greatest doom –
growing old in the park –
dying alone in the dark –
I sit and play checkers with the moon.

Death will not escape me, only grow with age.
Only my feelings will remain, forever captured on this page.
With each passing second, there is one less moment before death…
one less moment before death….

And I think I’ve said this all once before –
through days of nigh; through days of yore…

Lunar mantlement
cover the sea –
and ignore my surprise –
that my truths are but lies –
for there are those that follow me.
I am –
the story of childhood’s greatest doom –
growing old in the park –
as days pass to dark –
I sit and play checkers with the moon.

—

My very first poems used a basic AABB rhyming scheme. As you might note in the last few above, I began to include some ABAB and ABBA schemes as well. Here is one where I pulled off AABBCCABC….

Through the Dark

I shot through the dark like a spark
and lit up the night with my plight.
Burning like day, then flickering away,
I missed my mark,
ended my flight,
and fell astray.

—

It wasn’t all death and doom. I did write some that were a bit more light-hearted. In fact, some were positively absurd. In this one, I break away from rhyming and get into some alliteration…

The Pianos Are Falling

SSSSHHHH…
Be quiet!
The pianos are falling…

Outside, the dull den of my messmates
moo at the menu
and perspire on the porch,
inciting lorn and latherous salamander
to serenade and shampoo
their motley minds.

SSSSHHHH…
Be quiet!
The pianos are falling…

Inside, the soft screams of my marshmallow
matches the madness
and heralds the hoax,
exciting cold and clamoring fishermen
to fulminate and forebode
its quiet qualm.

SSSSHHHH…
Be quiet!
The pianos are falling…

And I am a parrot, perched on a paradox.
And I am a parasite, parched on a paragon.
And I am a passenger on this parallax
and a prisoner of this parody,
Poised and posed
under a paper parasol –
puffing promised parables
to be sheltered from the sun.

SSSSHHHH…
Be quiet!
the pianos are falling….

—

The last one in this post of my earliest poems is total nonsense….

Gumbean

Snazum and snounder – I snit
Gumbean…
Gobble Gobble Gunbeam
(Good Great Gumbeam).
Gunbean;
narry not, narry nickle
Oh, sad and grainulated, grandulated cormflake.
(A peace of mime.)

Sot!
Tear us down all
in spare, lod, and lare.
Devus crab –
Mock chair.
Mon oui, bittersweet Greenbeam,
ridus ob little chairs and delite the channel fame.
A kandle dewit obzerd;
A kandle wit a wick.

Dabble at you, placid Greenbean.