Happy New Year........Long, Long Ago

Auld Lang Syne

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?

CHORUS:

For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !
And surely I’ll buy mine !
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine ;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine^† ;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand my trusty friend !
And give us a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

Poem

Gifts in a Dark Time

“The weight we lift with the finger of a dream…”
- from An Ordinary Evening in New Haven, Wallace Stevens

the velvet
parted lips
of the sculpted woman
cool one spot
beneath my chin
in the palm
of your palm.

the silken
brown shoulder-length hair
offers itself over
and over
to be combed, to be
tossed back
and about a black
velvet gown,
a string of pearls.

the burnt
sienna tongue
draws a line in the sand
of my desire, needs
to be crossed
as much as the ‘t’
in betrayal
or fidelity,
life and love lines
of your palm crossing
to make a point.

the silken
chestnut hair offers itself
over the shoulder
and in the palm
of the man to study in
adoration
and afterthought
for times of darkness,
for times of risk
and the creation
of our heart
and imagination.

Poem

Shelter

in the moss
on the backs of trees
I can always find
my way
home
and by memory
of Starry sunlight
in your sextant eyes:
North, South, West,
East. It is
a great comfort
to hear you,
your compass words,
if only in my head
where they always sound
sweet, intrinsic, full
of knowledge
of things I know
nothing of.

Happy Holidays to All!!!!!

Poem

my love II

my love walks with me like the lily
in her hair.
my love stays in my eyes
like the shadow of a hawk on the sand,
graceful and silent,
circling for prey.
my love dances eternally in my hands
like water or sand
as if nothing
could hold her.
my love whispers the meaning of her life
with each breath,
with each word.
my love carries my half of our heart
with her
when we are apart.

Mariscal Breeze

Along the ocean
edge and beach sand
a ghost crab races
a lone white triangle
on the horizon,
the breeze firm
as it kisses waves,
a spotted dog
chasing a ball thrown too far,
the yips
and barks
coming in
and out
with the smell of her
coconut-oiled skin
browning softly
as my loose hair,
beach umbrellas,
the wings
of a passing bi-plane,
distant moriche palm trees
and book pages
dance together
en masse
as she sleeps.

Poem

What Passes Between Us

What you take
for pleasure
I contemplate
in pain.
What you take
for pain
I demonstrate
disdain.
What lies between
us – pleasure,
pain – pales next to
our love, hate
in desire’s flame.

poem

Cold Rain

On the last beach
of the night
the rain collects
in my heart
without teeth
or steely bite
but in a beating
puddle, small ocean,
in the concaves
of this last muscle
to enter any conversation
on a dock
where the fishing boats
smack back
at the ocean,
as pessoas vivem em
casas caverna,
and your lips
meet me
in the cold rain.

To Fire a Clown

The sun is hot and low in the sky
like a spotlight or peephole in the circus tent.

The ringmaster tinkered with the earth’s
orbit to attract people through the front gate.

Spontaneous wells have dried. Tigers combust.
Skulls of ushers have horseflies for eyes.

A barker attempts to shout but can only cough,
hack. Caged turkey vultures cackle and laugh.

The report of a daredevil’s cannon is as silent
as a monkey tree’s faint in a deserted forest.

An elephant sheds its skin on a high-wire
and falls off into an oasis mirage. Trapeze

artists shrivel in the hammock of a safety net.
The Buffalo Bill impersonator sidesaddles a cactus.

The Chippewas have consulted their Sun God
and will not chant and dance to bring rain clouds.

The bearded lady dreams of a waterfall’s roar,
of the squeal of children allowed to bathe

in a smattering of raindrops pocked in the dust,
and of the eternal sucking of air from the straws

of lovers drinking from the same empty glass.
Clouds of cotton candy float past like tumbleweeds.

The moon is a visible stainless steel canteen
and all stars are giant pulsing sponges of light.

A rubber nose and giant tear are my trademarks
but now sweat streaks my mascara and whiteface.

The sweet nonsense of my patented somersault and flop
used to depend upon the darkness of the big-top.

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.