Before the sun approaches

the horizon of my daily life,

I am awaken by the thoughts

put inside my head, and as

light appears in the room

through the window from outside,

your words have been put on paper

for all those who want to read them.

2-15-11

Our voices unite into one

voice that speaks for a nation,

that speaks for the world,

that speaks for a universe when

we say good shall overcome evil.

5-3-11

leave me alone today

to face my enemies,

and I will salute you like

I have truckers who

like to pass going up hill.

3-26-11

Only once,
maybe twice,
well maybe three
do we pursue the dream
we know cannot be;
littered throughout our mind
is the debris of failed attempts
and ravaged memories of love . . .


-  if we can call it that  -

rebuked and turned away

as often as raindrops fill

the patterns of our soles;

taunted by the rhythms
of the past that no longer
vibrate sympathetically,
haunting echos of silence
bound by restraints of age
few tolerate until garbage day;
new versions of love
released quarterly like dividends
wander through our memories
to see what can be pawned.

3-23-12

We are bound and branded by limitations,

forged and hardened by desires;

We taste the sexual fantasies of our

middle-aged awakenings, but lie in bed

alone when aged is deemed detrimental;

Our eyes spin false truths of attraction

while senses proclaim emancipation

and interracial relationships are as common

as the flu without a vaccine, and we

willingly submit to the domination of pleasure

regardless of who we are supposed to be.

3-21-12

evenings spent in

distant spaces;

feelings,

lost inside the

rotten marrow

of a log;

shadows of our

youth diminished,

burned brightly once

now gives little warmth;

aged indifference

rains each year

and seeps into

the ground quicker.

May 3, 1986

Just this once, thoughts

need not appear;
words need not form;
forced through mental aberrations
conclusions random as
stranger’s lives and
absolute opinions.

June 17, 1986

alone, I run down the

streets of my feelings,

mental corridors just

out-of-reach of introspection;

the agony persists for weeks,

living with malignant tumors

as if it were some kind of traveling companion;

no one with whom to talk,

no one with whom to share these feelings,

the hangman’s rope dangles above

my head with each contemplation;

I speak when I am told,

answering what they want me to; so,

who are you to question my misery,

even if it were déjà vu for both of us,

like walking down the streets of my gold.

August 7, 1987

I am not like

All the others
And yet, I am,
My thoughts and
actions appear
to be taking a
different direction,
so let me in.

July 18, 2011

She spoke from the heart and I tried to look at her,

only in a way that was professional;

all I could see was her beauty;

her eyes and what I wanted them to say;

her lips and how I imagined kissing them;

her hair and how it made the attraction more appealing;

she spoke of her husband and I thought of my wife,

pretending neither of them existed;

And, as she read my poetry, I could see us as lovers,

merging our creativity into an expression of regret; yet,

we would write our feelings on paper, sharing the

intimacy of what we could not possibly have.


August 12, 1987

Recollections of a depression
Failed my expectations
Sifted through thoughts
In regular intervals
Like pennies brought along
For taxes or placed in
Counter-top jars for causes;
Invasion enters into its force a
New structure, altered preserved;
My once quiet little corner
Far from the marketplace
Lifts its waking eyes now
Towards a new promise,
A new set of regulations and ideas
Stored and eludes my grasp
Becoming as spoiled as I;
We live inside the world of
Group participation, each with its
Own list of variables and values;
Cruel may it be

To enter my world,

My isolation,
My space;
At peace with myself
Relaxing with a non-interfering afternoon;
Toss the coin and wait,
Our rights differ – each right honored –
At least for a time;
Unknown strangers make me nervous
Strangers leave me uncomfortable;
Not talkative with my friends; so,
Can I sit by myself a while?

May 10, 1986

silent moments

wait like

expectations of a memory

downstairs in my

thoughts;

we linger along

lifeless trails

pronouncing

an end to our

imagination

and developed ethics;

drawn towards a

conclusion,

a solemn bit

of evidence,

a controlled fantasy,

highlighting the

unmistakable,

the undeniable . . .

if truth could prevail

and we did not . . .

 

if choices offered us

more than limitations . . .

silent moments wait

with me like

always, carefully

controlled and

obedient as ever.

April 8, 1986

from the hallway, outside your door,


a vigil stands; once inside, our promises

hang wasted on the “do not disturb” sign;

your guilt melts like ice cubes in a

glass of alcoholic apprehensions,

violated by a self-imposed rationale;

quivering hands remove all remorse and

courage sinks deep into retrieved passions,

now substituted for patient faithfulness;

two shadows embrace as tremors of

excitement race intermittently behind closed eyes;

heard and felt, your fury is released, imploding into

controlled spasm briefly joined with animal instincts;

proudly, you hide your nakedness from

my pathetic gaze, empty and scared,

marble eyes reject our reunion.

April 10, 1986

what time will it be

please

ten minutes from now,

for it takes ten minutes to work

and I cannot be late?

we waited months,

a year less than two;

in multiples of three

we endeavor . .

we pursue . . .

we dream of the next time,

when dusk and sunrise

are the same, but

except for the clock,

time begins and it ends;

we extend patience in

in that one direction

where it will do some good;

may it please or benefit

the listener, I suppose . . .

what time will it be

please

a year from now,

for I am expected at home

and I cannot be late.

October 1986

morning’s creativity

fogs my mind like chemo,

sweaty palms and a dry mouth,

linger throughout the day;

gentle repercussion of my initial

thoughts glide in and out of

my blurry consciousness;

my eyes refocus . . .

and refocus . . .

a steady tone blocks my hearing

and all I can think about

are bananas on the countertop.

4-28-11

would you tell me true

or would you lie like

all the others I have met before

using subtle sensitivities

to could my judgment.

2-29-11

a blue mouse

lays on the floor

by my feet;

a cat bends its

head awkwardly

expecting it to move;

both are stubborn.

4-30-11

If you were to look

boldly into my eyes
you would see a
hesitation that has
never been there before;
you will see a face
that remains unshaven
until your heart whimpers
to be released from me;
you will see a pool
of thoughts just behind
the iris that will never
be fulfilled with you.
2-22-11

who really lives in my heart

and who has been set free;

who has captured my attention

and who wants me to capture them;

who cares about my feelings

and who shares my attitudes;

who has the wisdom to guide me

and who has the love to let me go?

1-28-11

my fingers carress

your inner thigh;
my arms wrap
around your back;
my lips kiss
your open mouth,
sucking out your
sexual emptiness;
my hand moves us
to where your legs connect,
a wet ooze slips into my palm,
your skin burns
the back of my hand,
thrusting
deep into your desires.

January 2011

I can no longer

put my faith in you
as you have demonstrated
quite the opposite.

February 2011

we deny our feelings,

trained by the game

not by our instincts,

presuming a willingness

is shared and both

announce their intent;

fairplay prevails,

words freeze before spoken

buried anonymously

in a pauper's grave;

denied reality becomes

our abstractions and

fingers of desire interlock

across the barriers of regret;

a natural chasm of obediance

plea bargains with a final denail

that affirms our strength.

January 1987

a fine-tuned madness

pinches my nerves,
thoughts roam uncirculated
like raindrops on a pond;
instincts become as distorted
as dry-blown frizzy hair;
inside the bellow tower of my mind,
sound swirls in rapid fire sequences
like laser beams, increasing
in volume each time they
are reflected off bruised and
swollen membranes;
my eyes, blinded by the light,
retreat back into their turtle shells;
an impression creepsoutside my
physical encasement, a useless
image I can no longer protect.

March 1987

she heard me calling, but would not come.

she heard me yelling but would not come.

she heard me crying and moved closer.

she heard me leaving and came to smell my tracks.

she could have belonged to me but remained free.

December 1987

Death sits on the fence of
my uncompromising personality,
watching as I decide what
lines to write and what to leave out
of a life without substance
but with a purpose
few have really understood;

none of it was ever as it seemed

or appeared to the viewer who
analyzed and scrutinized and prepared
detailed reports commanding me
with what I needed to do;
Death sits on my neighbor's fence
waiting for me to cross the line,
stepping too far into the unknown with speculation,
a deviant look into the future,
hoping we will slow down our pursuits
of selfishness and self-righteous indignations,
regarding treatment of ourselves and our families;
Death sits on my doorstep, waiting.

3-3-12

an old man with a beard

peers out at me in silence;

dressed in black with a
dark purple beret,
his smileless gaze hidden
by dirty grey hairs extending
below his neck and shoulders,
shoulders that slope downward;
a frown covers his forehead
and he appears to have been
crying over the lost souls of
someone we knew way back when;
but, completely enclosed he is
by the gold leaf frame that holds his portrait;
the old man is the only memory
I have when visiting family.

3-4-12

my feelings

typed on paper

written in the

margins of old

poems; painted

on canvases

now worn from age,

hold the sum total,

the complete works

of my life, an

unabridged version;

foretold and retold,

cluttering my room,

yet cannot be discarded

for without them,

I have no identity.

January 1, 1986

drawn down the middle,
a line separates that, which
we have for granted taken,
breaking open our usual,
but casual existence; we,
pretend not to notice
not protest too loudly over
what we have forfeited,
what we have gambled, and
what we have used for reassurance,
for within all our power,
lies a vulnerability . . .
a nakedness . . .
that we continue,
despite all the risk,
to love each other.

2-16-86

kind eyes met mine first
and we shared a smile,
remember the boundaries
of easily forgotten resistence;
nerves paralyzed,
pulse rapid in your warmth,
enveloping my dreams,
my hidden needs;
teasingly, we kiss
tasting each other sweetness,
engulfed in your sensations
threatened by the end.

February 3, 1986

lives forfeited

bells toll in silence

empty street bear witness

headlines pass the grief;

not revenge, but justice

swift and polite

caring and sympathetic;

if not us, who will?

a limitation of rights,

self-denials

and absolutions.

2-9-86

tortured souls accepting limitations,
hang onto their survival,
rejecting their tears for they will not cry,
will not admit the loss or
the nature of the sacrifice;
I am who I am, they say,
I am me and my less than perfect
serves a purpose for both of us,
and the irony of where we are.

February 1986