Two Hearts in Delight

Can I reach into your heart
for just a moment and feel
it’s palpitations

wander into your soul
and feel the spirit of
your giving not as
nebulous as it’s portrayed

Can I touch the softness
of your skin pressed against
my cheek and as my lips
warmly challenge yours

then whisper those little
words that become
truly so large in the imprint
they leave behind

If you let me
I’ll brush your hair back
taking pleasure in your eyes
as they peer deep into mine
noticing Love
emote from my heart

Walk with me by my side
from the dawn of sunlight
till crimson dusk of day
let those that might see us
share in the delight
of Love at play

And the moon gives
the night a romantic insight
and the stars begin to dance
providing you and I
gentle memories of
two hearts in flight

The Quiet of Life

Sometimes I take your heart to task
your souls aghast
your mind to the undesirable past

Life is not, all
chocolate filled cherries
some will have their pits

We all want that golden sun
to awaken our morning eyes
with the sound of an aviary
when we rise

But once we open our eyes
we must face the storms
that sometimes fill the Sky’s

We choose to read
the sweet poetic words
and listen only to music’s
mellifluous sounds

when words read not to our choosing
and a note is dissonant or flat
we close our eyes
cover our ears

John Lennon’s ‘…Imagine, there’s no Heaven,
there’s no Hell…’, then;
roaring ocean waves would not be feared
but be viewed like the harrowing of soil
needed for new growth in Spring

We should embrace the storm
for then will come the calm,
when there's pain and angst
then comes appreciation of
it's cessation, then,
quiet and health

Do not shush me,
turn your eyes
or cover your ears,
share me with others,
I am Life

Welcome Home

If I say to you, 'thank you'
do you hear me through your pain
your flashbacks still haunt you
beyond the patriotic refrain

My return back in the seventies
not a voice or hand extended
lungs still filled with agent orange
and the napalm smell offended

inculcated surreptitious motivations
of sacrifices upholding liberties
Communism, arms of mass destruction
fear replaces truth's entreaties

trust is garnered by a leader
from sons, daughters, husbands, wives
to dispense an ideology of democracy
interfering in a nation's sovereignty,
asking for the sacrifice of lives

we bring them home from hell
a feigned handshake and nod
give them alcohol and a pain pill
without insurance or a job

we bring them back to families
whose children now have grown
sitting at their dining table
surrounded by little faces now unknown

we've now brought them back
another war wrapped in a lie
how many more Vietnams and Iraqs
so much more 'life' must die

the world view of America
is hypocracy of Christianity
conjuring reasons for making war
and our politicians saying to our soldiers,
an unrepentant, 'Welcome Home'

Brrrr

Even though my ears are being warmed
by my folded arms up covering them
the edges and the lobes are bitter numb,
forearms have forgotten feeling,
fingers immobile frozen stiff,
underneath me pebbles and stones
feel like jagged boulders
pressed against my side and back
From below, my belt loops feel
like fence links with my
pants stiff of piss and shit
like medieval jousting wear
warmed only when relieving myself
down to my socks rolled over
the tops of my shoes frozen
by sweat and yesterday's relief
over the laces crusting them
permanently tied till Spring
I reminisce of the secure warmth
as my buddy and I waded in the Mekong 'bush'
before the ugly 'swish and plup' sound
from a AK-47 found him, not me
These days are freezing cold even as
shards of warm sun pierce down
giving an occasional ray of hope
The black of night comes colder still
with that insidious veil of fear
of not seeing another sunrise
not seeing my buddy or those
who once shared my love
Will they know how cold
my last minutes were,
when my last breath hovers
as frosted vapors carrying my soul,
rising from this 'cold' Earth?

Where I've Been

walked in Life’s flower garden
stepped carefully
but not quietly
left footprints where I’d been
knowing that time,
the sun, the moon, the wind
would corrode the imprints
I had left behind
others would walk
leaving their foot prints
atop mine
and through all this
before time forgets my
being there and other
footsteps cover mine
I hope someone
will look down
in this flower bed
asking of my steppings:
whence he’s come
and to where’s he gone

Smile, At Least

Today I gave
not money
But a heartfelt thought
a smile

Hope you accept my gift
I have no money but
I do have a large trunk
of gifts in my heart

I will say
only nice things
about you
my brother, my sister

When you rise today
be not afraid of
what I’ve said
I will pass along
only good things

I must ask
of you
the same

Make this
a true holiday
and pass it forward

Innocence Lost

Come back to me
a memory where there was
the pureness of gaiety

smiling while running
traversing the fields
the empty lots

scrapes on my arm
my knees, hands
thanks for t-shirts

'Scar', my first American book
first drawing, 'the Virgin Mary'
my first love poem

warm shy gentleness
of a girls hand in mine
first cheek kiss

campfire, 'Sleepy Hollow'
showing off, guitar prowess
infatuation, my teacher, older woman

Beatle’s haircut, singer in a band
mixer with girls
Ahhh! Kiss on lips

sports, football quarterback
dating, sex (ooohhh)
cars

Vietnam War draft, Yuk!!!
fear, fear, carnage and Death
naivete, innocence lost

snob

entering into the realm of creative expression
is like entering a forest of wild flowers and fauna
the sentient artist steps carefully and observes
non-intrusively supplanting oneself in the wonderment

expressing through melody and instrument
or through word with rhyme
a canvas of colors
portrayed in a moment in time

the artist is the conduit
to the aesthetics of life
providing the human spirit
with momentary pleasures
interrupting mundane strife

but like other coteries
developed in societies
members become elitists
thinking themselves ’better’
creating their own pieties

skill-sets formed from academia
regurgitating strict paradigm
disavowing nontraditional line
of those choosing an unwillingness to rhyme
restrict creativity and new flowers blooming
in the forests of our children’s time

do not shun them
or ignore them
listen to their music
listen to the words
for all have something to say
keep eyes and ears open
all people are artists
and everyone must have their day

Ride a Nebulus Sky

gossamer wings ride the quiet wind
amidst the nebulae sky
hovers unheard unseen
the wind blows hard
it flounders
but stays adrift

all else below
seems anchored and stable
yet immobile, inflexible
doesn’t move in the wind
its vision limited
knows not what lies beyond

rules regulate
the physical limits
staying within the lines
a smile from the heart
breaks down borders

Life’s winds gust
press against my frail wings
gently I ride it’s angered might
I fear not it’s approach
I do fear being anchored

I smile while I ride the wind

Oh, Before I Forget

Suns, rainy days

Snows

Daisies, purple passions

Walks holding hands

Joy, tears, fears, hugs

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

Large mountains never ending skies

fingers in streams running cold

Tapestry of marigolds

Blue, gold, red and purple colors

Donkey-ear deer

Bald Eagles soar

Twelve thousand feet

Near the sky

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

Waves over starboard

Over stern

Tall masts tickling cotton feet

hanging from the sky

Crimson cheeks of morning skies

Seagull salient cries

Your head resting

Counting my heartbeats

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

tortillas rolled with sweat

Waft; frijoles, cilantro, onions, cumin

Mamasita then quietly leaves

Incessant tears, deep heart pain

Hugging, holding frequents

We've years with each other

Aging, time, not a friend

Friends come and go

Oh, before I forget

I love you

Did I forget something?

Oh, before I forget

I Love You

Wandering, my Heart

Today, right now, at this moment
I’m wandering in the wanderings
of my heart

The journeys I’ve never taken
the steps I’ve never walked
but those I’ve always
wanted to

Listening to the sultry vocals
and piano prowess of Diana Krall
how the wind swirls
around the hills in Rio
where Jesus with open arms
watches over it’s rivers
and valley’s and ocean side

My wanderings take me
into a reverie
of the warm moist touch
her hand in mine
feeling the pulse of our hearts
beating in rhyme

Into the arms of Mother’s bosom
where not often enough
did she hold me
before she wandered onto
Heaven’s path

The ghost like fingers of the Sun
reach through my window pane
gently touch the nape of my neck
waking me from my wanderings

Nature’s soft awakening reminds me
of how life still abounds
dressed in flora and fauna
awaiting my embrace and gathering
of my future wanderings

But for this moment
I’ve escaped the
tears and pangs of
my Life’s disdains

Sound of Paper Lunch Bags

The many voices peacefully gather
utilizing a means provided, freedom
to assemble by the long talked about
understood rights and liberties
freedom to speak about parity, equity
hope, dreams and aspirations
promised by the authors of
our forefathers and those empowered
Used to watch these gatherings
on television that seemed to come from lands
far away which caused introspection
wondering how sad how unenviable

Today received a single paper slip, a notice
I can now watch more TV at home
‘temporarily’ not needed at work
soon my TV no longer works, either
Can’t afford to repair or a new one
My car is not running
no money for gasoline anyway
Unemployment check is used to feed
my children and warm the house
I now wave, sadly,in the am at my children
in the school bus that has replaced
our bonding ride to school,
miss my kids bantering, sounds of lunch bags
in the back seat of our car
Warm soup and bread for dinner
can’t afford paper for the resume
On the TV at the corner coffee shop
'...Wall Street companies make record profits'
'...Congress can’t tax these companies
they’re the job creators'
Why don’t they give me a job
If we tax these Wall Street companies
they might not donate to Congressmen
Oh, those are the 'created' jobs they’re talking about
Have to run home, soup on the stove,
school bus coming, hope I don’t get sick
no work insurance

Tomorrow I’ll walk down another block in town
I’ll find a job

I Treasure You Still

When you take time to look at me
You don’t hear me speak
But you look at me anyway
What do you see?


Am I still a soft and gentle memory
Full of your life in me
Will you touch me, feel me
Have your way with me


Still think of me with pleasure
Not with judgmental eyes or measure
Can you care for me again
The way you once did


Am I still your Knight in shining armor
Or am I smudged, my sword dull
Is my white stallion no longer impressive to you
Will you ride with me again?


If you take time again to look at me
Peer into my eyes and see the reflection of what I see
You will notice a shiny golden fleece
That has never dulled in measure
Since when first I saw you, my Treasure

Nocturne

When you wake up in the morning
will you gently touch my hand
so my eyes open and share
the days beginnings
as the crimson morning sunlight
reflects from your hair

Like the warmth we shared
last night when your face
pressed against mine
and our eyes closed together
wandering into Love’s abyss
Oh yes, and then there was that
sensual lust filled kiss

I wish it to go on
beyond the crumbled beddings
and the pillow on the floor
that still hold the words
we whispered in each other's ears
and our warm breath hovered
while our lips gently touched
our tongues wrestling
to dominate the other's

The world outside this window
knew not of what we
spoke last night
nor did it hear
our bodies grunts and groans
intertwining into each other's loins
dismissing for some moments
all the goings of worldly woes

The crescent moon cast
shadows of our conjoined
bodies on the wall
a seductive temptress view
curtains left un-drawn
vapors rise from two bodies
in a dance askew

And as we pay required attention
to the day, we anxiously await
the lust of tangled beddings,
the warmth of moisture
between our legs and
a new Moon smiling
upon our shadows
once again

Days of Yore

The contemplative mind
hovers silently
on an Autumn day

observes the verdant dress
turn to gold and red
fall away

Reminds one of
the cycle of life
adrift from
day to day

Tears fall
from the heart
quietly of
yesterday

Music assuages
the pain
rides away

and the faces
no longer present
ride this wave

soon I shall
join them
the red and gold
shall no longer
portray days of yore

This is for 'U'

Unapologetically,
I embrace my sadness
my tears fall
with violent splatter
near my feet
No one hears them
No one feels their pain

Uniquely,
my human make up
unwittingly assailed
with passioned emotions
from sad and distraught
graduating to glee and elation
are disguised in uniqueness,
seemingly, from other
variant Life forms

Undoubtedly,
cerebral inheritance
vacillates in appreciation
by it’s limited ability
anguishing by the indiscernible
esoteric knowledge
distant and ungraspable
by human understanding
of our genesis:
a conceived Deity as our maker
or are we a byproduct of ‘meme’ (R.Dawkins)
via higher intelligence

Unresolved,
are mundane human conditions
arising from ethnic, race and cultural prejudices,
uncompromizing ideologies, religiosity,
for the equitable distribution
of earthly riches
and to this
I lament
my tear drops go unheard

Angela

Angel in Spanish
you cast upon us
so many smiles
even if, but for a little while
you stole away
the mundane

This day will be yours
as a celebration
of what you left with us
a memory
the Angel who brought
this world a smile

You comforted me
when all the while
your gleaning smile
while repairing mine
did not speak
of your own trials

Selflessness is an
angelic trait
and I’m sure the reason
why your friend,
your Mom
named you Angela

Gracias for my Smile
and when I do
it will be for you
A welcoming key
you’ve left with us
that opens the gate
where clouds form
the floor boards and tile

The door bell sounds
of heavenly rings
and in the closet rung
now hang your wings

Silence is Golden

She quietly sits staring
sometimes at the bruises
on her arms her legs
wondering how they got there
She doesn’t recall her husband,
son, her daughter lifting her
from the floor.

He now has time to
reminisce and hash around all
the sermons all the words written
from sixty years of ministry
Lies down ten hours at a time
with tubes and needles
feeding him nutrition
and cleansed blood

They come together
for short moments in the day
husband and wife, life partners
instinctively embrace
sit on their irreplaceable sofa
on that one spot
molded through time
and sit without speaking
just stare forward
Her tiny arms and feeble chest
wraps tightly around his
his arm blankets around
her shoulders

When once his words were his sustenance
her violin titillating
ears in concert halls
and churches
Now words no longer spoken
fingers no longer stretch strings
once awakening angels
They now sit
in silence

Unscented Flower

I show my face
hoping you notice
but your world is surrounded
by things other
than me

Like a middle child
when adversity appears
or a swale between
high waves
that parts them
we are left unseen

Silence is heard
as quiet resounds
a single flower
born unscented,
simple words
without pretension

Will you see me

Autumn's Clarity

The Autumn’s crispness
highlights colors
dawns and dusks
with yellow and
rusty auburn leaves

the homeless man
sits in this one street
all year around
his attire doesn’t change
with the change of season

He wears the same three layers
t-shirt, shirt, Vietnam War Army green peacoat
jump boots have not seen
a spit shine for a while
his blanket over his shoulders
dirty, holey and frayed

Wonder'n what he’s thinking
Where his memories take him
does he look forward
to a new day
finding small moments of joy
or at least of contentment
in some way

What lost or forgotten corner
lie his childhood pictures now
possibly sixteen millimeter film clip
of him being held by a mother
when once he enjoyed her caresses
someone’s embrace
being comforted while tiny childhood
tears trickle down little cheeks
his hotdog has jumped off
the paper plate
he sits unconsolable at a
picnic table in a park
his mother assures him
all will be ok

The coolness
and bright Autumn colors
will soon be covered by frost
become unforgivingly cold
the rendered clarity
will be darkened in gray
our eyes will seek shelter
in a haven of warmth
while his peacoat
and blanket,with his memories
once again left alone
in the cool of Autumn
in this street corner
his home