Poem

Sordid Cabana Boy

Not knowing the difference between men
and women has confused my life.

As a child the stars and moon made vulgar
motions at the earth causing quakes and

eruptions. The crosswalks of my city
were drawbridges; pavement like moats.

I shivered when the sun glared in July
and perspired in the blizzards of my mind.

The mailman kept secrets from me; garbage
men kept my nails, breath and soul.

The sinews and tendons of my appendages
pulsed to the pull of the moon and each womb.

My hair grew from my head and armpits
in braids, bows supplied by a fairy godparent.

I pledged allegiance to no country; I swore
allegiance and vehemence to you. Rain

seeped into my skin, skin flowers blooming
in the sun, and I wept from the fragrance.

I spat on paper money and fed coins to pigeons.
I lived on books, eating each page by page.

Later, my skull became as pliable as a thin shell
of aluminum; my heart pounding hard as a diamond.

Now, I dream the same dream all of the time:
I am a child and contract scarlet and rheumatic fever

and layer upon layer of skin sloughs away
and I lose my identity completely.

As an adult all of my writing and poetry
becomes untranslatable from a new language

that I know but like rain do not understand
the difference or the perception of men and women.

Bend in the Road - Paul Cézanne

Paul Cézanne. (French, 1839-1906). Melting Snow, Fontainebleau

Poem

Snow Moon

Under the full, white
moon reflected in the lake
I dream of your brown eyes
swimming towards me
like two animals
of seminal desire
that I reach out
to pull you into my dream
with empty arms.

Under the full, white
star-laden sky
I dreamed of you
on a hill in a flowing
white gown, your profile
carnivorous
against the Hunter’s moon,
some prey stalked
in the vale of my sleep,
unknown and circled.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

To all those who believe in family, friends, community and religious freedom

Poem

The Wading Pool

My fingertips glide
down the spine
of her back,
a breeze over
a mountain range,
to the small
of her lower back
where my hand
can rest in silence
and contentment:
a wading pool,
toes in the slight
lapping of water,
then ankles
as the coolness
travels through
my salient being
and my bony knees
tremble, deep
in the softness
to my involved waist
that invites my desire
to succumb
to her larger body
of artwork.

Poem

First Kiss

1. It is the distance to

It is the total distance
between you and her lips
that moves you now,
an abyss of doubt
and fear and the desire
that it will bottom out,
and the hope
she will move
toward your magnetic core,
as if aliens do exist
and will enter
your atmosphere
to be explored,
accepted, touched.

2. It is important

You move without
moving with this importance:
as if veins of coal
were suddenly rivers
of diamonds, as if puppets
were suddenly children,
as if her eyes
were suddenly near.
And the weight
and extent of your feelings
validate the attempt
and the salvation
of your lips.

Poem

Near

The young woman in the near green
dress contemplates
the music of Blackcaps
that she cannot see.
The young woman with the almost smile
cries into her hands
as her happiness
fills her lungs
like noisy laughter
at some small, satisfactory
word choice in a poem.
The young woman with the just cut hair
leaps across the room
to see the shadows
of her just cut, jet black hair
fly across the room.
The young woman with above average shoes
kicks them up
and off her feet
to see off-pink painted nails
sparkle as she jumps
into ravenous rain puddles.
The young woman in a near fatal collision
between her joy and sorrow
grabs hold of her self
and won’t let go
as her joy and sorrow
hover like a constant
rainbow or raven.

Poem

A Goodness

There once was a goodness of morning air
and then no more.
I saw her smile: a November snowflake
and then no more.
The sun smiled too upon the earth
and then I stared
at her coming through the shadows,
kept her figure
to the corner of my eye, periphery
of my desire
and she glistened in the light and she was
then no more.

This heart must beat, must beat, must beat
and then no more.
The goodness of air at night: breathe of stars
and then daybreak.
The light touch of care weighs and wears my body
and then no more.
The goodness of air hangs on the muted night
and in her eyes
the clear moonlight knows my meaning and being
and then no more.
I am not goodness of man until less than man
and then no more.

Poem

Heart-quake

black and blue blood
in my veins ripple
into the aortas
collapsing the walls
of my heart

a merry-go-round
of hope and desire
spins my world
like a gyroscope

shelves of thought
thrust away from each
other, disconcerted earth,
and the crust of my face
undulates with lust

music plays somewhere
amid the desolation,
what is the song? I know
that song? It is right on
the tip of my tongue:
an aftershock.

Poem

Largesse

You cannot love me more than your eyes tell.
You cannot believe the largeness of your heart.
You cannot feel the words on your swollen tongue
or recall the word forgotten
in the silence
of the air between our
lips to measure the weight
of my intent as a plain fact.

You cannot love me more than your eyes hold.
You cannot believe more in the appetite of your soul.
You cannot hear your eyes speak,
a plain fact of beauty
and the weight of your skin
in my mouth.

Your eyes cannot love me more than your reflection
in mine.
You cannot believe in the largeness of my heart
without proof.
You cannot smile
wider than your heart
will allow, your smile a pump
in the well of my heart, a plain fact:
you in my eyes; my heart pounding forever.

Haiku

Spring kisses,
tongues catch concentric rain drops;
lily floats

Poem

Trust

Turn the dog-eared page,
put aside
the well-worn book,
the time and the next
thought;
put aside
the cup of oolong tea,
the warmth of the fire place,
throw off the shawl from
your body, turn
off the radio;
put aside
the pen, turn the light
switch and thermostat down,
put aside
your glasses and see
that you can grasp
her heart, the blood
as it pumps out
to the last veins in the outer
regions of her universe,
her adrenalin and desire
coupling as a vessel
in your hands,
uplifted and forgiving.

Thank her
for this gift.
Thank her for
how different you are
in her presence, in
her eyes, in the back
of her mind
where you are
human
in the feel
of her heart.