Absinthe EyesMy muse has green eyes.Like the absinthe, thatDrove the mad poets of The old centuries past,To their creative ecstasies.Like the Leanan SidheInspiring my imagination,To burn so fierce, so bright,So it near consumes me. I get lost in chartreuse, In the sparkle of peridot.In the Forest green Grass green Emerald green Absinthe green Of those eyes.
LookLook beyond her curves,hips flow down the river of legs to her foundation.Look beyond her smile,insidious and vile,full of contemptand corruption.Look beyond her ocean eyes,into the black holethat has claimedas many men as the Bermuda Triangle.Look beyond her words,deceit laid in waitto ensnare her preybefore devouring.Look beyond this woman,Siren temptress leading men to rocksof Medusa victims.Look beyond this womanand imagine more,wait till morningand youll see.
ListenListen closelyto immortal wordsthat escape lips,you might be wiserby seeking their wisdomthan closing your mindto convention.
Formulaic PoetMeter, mixed with rhyme,Formal elements plus stress;Poetry defined.
Morning GloryWake up my dear morning glory, today has just begun,The world has shouted with incandescent rays That morning has surely come, so separate those dreamy lashesAnd stretch those idle limbs, for too soon the moment is gone.Your limbs unfurl like juvenile fern sprouts, reaching towardThe boundless reflected cerulean sky, grasping at the whiffsOf pillowy alabaster clouds straining against the limitlessSky, while your chest barrels out, lifting your oversizedT-shirt, borrowed from my wardrobe, off the sensuous Curvature of your hips as they sway in a hypnotic and nauseating Dance to the popping and cracking of your well-tested v
OceanCurse is the ocean,Colossal waves crashing On my hopesOf treading the vastness,Separating you From my love.
Morning, noon, and after nightMorning, noon, and after night, reading, sitting, and working lead to slight of thought:is it far in dreams to comeor close by, as if Ive won,over might of oceanand strength of trust,I linger notthat I could lay notyet a finger -distant like the cloudsout of reach till fog, when you surround;aura changes from black to whitea thriving life for you to hold,so linger not in distant placesbut come with me, and frame these spaces.
Count the InfinitesimalEver try to count the stars,The infinitesimal number Of ornate star-burst specksPopulating the entrancing sky,With multitudes of distinctive Hues and intensities of light?It's like that. It takes a lifetimeOf awe and admiration,Of faith and determinationTo trounce over the factThat maybe I cannot countTo infinity or lose my place.Should I count that shooting starOr that comet, blurring the Distinction between this starAnd that? But I keep counting,From that pale blue to the Bright red to the intense yellow.Each star its own distinct Hue, flare, and intensity,With its own distinct personality. I've gro
Swallows and BranchesSometimes swallows learn to fly,On lofted winds they stretch their wings;Trees are homes for those afraid.Though all birds fly and flap their wings,Some shall never leave their nests;Sometimes swallows learn to fly.In dead of night they set their sightsOn soaring inside milkweed clouds; however,Trees are homes for those afraid.They stretch their twisted jointsAnd beat their mangled wings, forSometimes swallows learn to fly.A gentle hope of fastidious flappingBreaks the bond of nest to feet; no longer,Trees are homes for those afraid.Goodbye wrestled nest of needles,Goodbye broken shell of home, forSometimes s
Misguided Devotion The current so strong,As if gravity wasn't enough To keep a man groundedIn one spotFor an eternity, The constant surge Of freshly strewn Memories seeping From the duct workMakes every stroke of my paddleSeem forgotten As if I partook in the lusty lotus. Never does the riverS U B S
NightDo not let those crisp translucent dropsDraw the cool clean atmosphere of darknessFrom this summer night under half-moon light.Do not cloud my cloudless view Of impenetrable sky with your opaque shroudTo conceal Lucy's twinkling periwinkle diamonds.And do not pretend that the calming "ness" of blackInspires any unconscious fear from childhood aboutThe monster under the bed or bathing your Furby - Gizmo.Tonight, tonight's night is filled with glistening lights,Gazing down upon us like the earth is some ant farmOr inoculated agar plate in a scientific experiment, finally gone right;Tonight, do not let the stars fall down
Listen closeListen close to the quiet cracking,tapping of sparrows breaking nuts outside the frame of early effulgence.Listen to the coo, coo of dovestheir heads rock forward and backas they walk, coupled for life.Listen close to your high and low tideswash over your chest; my elbow straddling the edge of the cliff for you to awaken.Listen for the sounds of morning, sweet whispered mementos of your time alone,time worth waiting for, before the sun peeks through the blinds.Seek refuge in the sound of silence at the closure of dawn;seek refuge in my arms so you too can listen,listen to my heart poundfaster for you in t
ChokeCrimson glass molded to verdure stemsOnly last collecting allergenic dustTucked away on shelves with little light.No suitable environment can encourage growth,As the other baker's dozen mold, rot, decay, and die,Withering on the table surface in a vase of festering water.They always say, "till the last one fades,"But never did you think protection necessary In acts other than animalistic aggression and love.This single rose, even more delicate than the eleven deadScattered across the lawn fading into soil,Is to be protected not with reckless love or dedication,But with the simplistic removal of devotion.What kind of
Papa, do not cry...Papa, shed not those tearsbecause angels lay in heaven:watching you push away those dear;mother grasps-beckons-pleads; met with resistance.You conquer nothing nor strengthenthe bonds you held diligently,shattered in the wakeof your torrent of negligence.Papa! I won't stand nor makeexcuses for your decomposition,but do not cry as mama has takenher leave from your destruction.Your constant stream of woesno longer saddens, but suctionsall essence from thosewilling to stand by you.Please do not doze...Papa, please listen too.No longer cry your dissatisfactionas tears shall not do-Heaven is home, my satisf
RainRain, rain, rain down on me,Landing in puddles that reflect what you seeOf tall skyscrapers that muddle the skyIn a torrent of light by floor 95The window pane crashed and landed inside. A little too late the wind began to subside,And what do I see, but a calm gentle giant, now resting his eyes.Snoring mightily his eyebrow flashes and then diesAs a bolt of lightning rains down in tides -Only to hit my car, now on its side.On floor 95, the giant now stirs,Waking his eyes the sun now returns,Yet it is too late for floor 95As the window is gone, down from the sky.The papers are scattered, flipped and torn,Might as w
Teardrop fallingWhy do you flutter my alabaster teardrop?Ebbing and waning as petals falterOn wafts of I love you, I love you not.
Eternal devotionEternal devotion - sealed with a kiss.