Monday, February 28, 2011

Come Back Down














When I feel grand
they call it delusion
shortly after clarity
is a season of confusion

Now i understand though
its like a circle of life
every morning a new day
and at the end another night.

What I want most of all
is to see that smile.
You know the one you had
the day she called.

And to hear the excitement
in your voice again
like when you say his name.
If I hold you will it heal your pain?

K. says I shouldn't compare.
but I just want to know we're there,
in what the scientist calls a compound,
I don't want to come back down.






Treasure Planet

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I Need You






Painting: LoveJeux by @SophiaFine




I rarely slip anything
freudian.
My mind is something like
an accordion.

When I expand it, it expresses
When it's nearly perfect
she undresses.

If my poetry has an agenda
its to befriend you.
To offer up a new perspective
a fresh breath reflective.

Pardon me if
from time to time
I force a rhyme.

Its a tribute
to both the showman
and the recluse

Something like a statue to
The poet, The poem,
and especially the reader.
I'm not ashamed to say
I need you.





Monday, February 14, 2011

A Prayer 4 Desperate Hearts










Photo: Masquerade by permission from LifeThruBlueEyes by Diana Lee @Diana605





When you dream
I dream with you
When you cry
my soul cries too
I wish I could
make you see
how things will be
when you make it through
When love fails you
let it rest
When you fail love
you tried your best
When your whole experience
is in another's hands
When you're tied to things
you didn't plan
When you cant eat
and pay your rent
You did your job
but moneys sent
to duty
to culture
to that failing love
In moments when
you've had enough
I pray that you
would just hang on
and begin again
before too long
but understand
how you arrived
where you go next
you must decide



Amazing

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Nuanced


Photo: Tangerine By Diana Lee @Diana605 from LifeThruBlueEyes






My sunrise was 
the sound of your
heels on the hall.

 

Like the oxygen
was suddenly richer
and there was bliss
in my brain.

The moment your skin
was on mine
Mary Shelley wrote
sequels.


I walked through
my thoughts like
a 6'5 toddler.

 

My mouth searching
for the words
to describe how
I felt.

My lips tasting
your sweet breath
reminscent of
Italian volcano juice
especially
the blood oranges
and tangerines.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Poet 2 H.E.R.












words are guns
that ive lived
and died by


trying to create
reality in me
ordering things unseen

learning about intentions
drowning in deceptions
no need for corrections

get up again

beautiful in scars
needing to see
is blinding me

observation without comment
my pain becomes
her epic tragedy

embracing her feet
protesting her retreat

I Still Love H.E.R