Sprinkles of Thoughts, Splashed on the Page.

CURBED PASSION

Her chilled words brought

thunder to my heart,

which bolted crooked in my chest,

and condensation gathered quickly

on white orbs to cloud our eyes

it was raining on two souls

when our love was

washed into the gutters

where the curbs of life intruded

and dampened passion with a sputter.

~~~~~~~ + ~~~~~~~

It's Raining Paranthesis

It's raining parenthesis

in shades of yellow

they fall into place....

In the barbershop

parenthesis are raining

with a clippity clip

snippity snip sound

as tiny golden

2 year old curls

toddle and tumble

from the head of my

son's first hair cut

smiles wrap around

a lollipop as the

scissors separate

the many particles

of youthful exuberance

grown wild

from a seldom

calm head.

(()()))())())(())
()()))()())())())
(((()())((()(())(())))


Weathering the storms

September 11th, 2009


It's raining

here today

on a world

with almost

three thousand

less souls

then when it

rained 21 years ago

today it's just

condensation

a tear for every

one of them

and all the rest

of us who remain.

Thunder rumbles

and I see that

smoke again

over two candles burning

high above New York

on the fat of

humans sacrificed

in the name of Allah

whose head

is turned away

from the sins of

those who credit him

for their murderous offerings

there are puddles

here now

reflecting my face...my grief

there were puddles

of blood 21 years ago

reflecting the insanity

of unguarded shores and skies

We stood behind a Bush

and those who tended him

men making the calls

that would bring retribution

and re-election of course

or so

they hoped

when it was all done.

I walk in from the rain

sadly shaking my head

unprotected from it's downfall

realizing how unprotected

from our own downfalls

we all are

until we take measures

to weather the storm

Suddenly

my seven year old

leaps off his school bus

and runs like

a mob of one

through my front door

to the shelter

of my arms

and I hold him

tighter then usual

cause it's

raining here today

in the skies

and on my face

Tears for what

is yet to come

tears for all he

may inherit

trickle down

in a stream

of consciousness

that stains my shoulders

with its weight.


14 kt. Mud

Shoes wedged

in puddles

and muddy footprints

point the way

to a child who shivers

like the last leaf

in an October storm

Freshly waxed floor

marred by mother earth

muddy socks slip slowly

into the black plastic

of a jumbo

ktchen trash bag

steam curls up like

inviting fingers from

the hot bath tub

toes dip ever

so slowly

into the perfectly

heated H2o

then a smug

smile stretches

across the tousled head

of clean and warm buoy.

Suddenly the bathroom

door flings open

and a shadow

looms ominously

as mom holds out

shoes and soiled socks

tossed and refound

she shakes her head

drains the water

face drained too

from a too long day

drops the shoes

and socks

into the bath

after removing the boy

cleans the soiled footwear

then tucks into bed

the somewhat considerate

but sneaky boy she bore

mops the floor again

as he dreams of

wrathful moms and

quicksand timeouts

just another day in the life

of one divorced

with a child

her own shoes stuck

in the mud of despair

that can't find release .

A warm bath for her

reveals a hungry body

that needs more attention

then soap and a washrag

more excitement then

six year old tricks

her legs waxed

as smooth

as the floor

she just cleaned

body still wet

with the virility of youth

fingers bring

temporal relief

and then sleep offers a

dreamless state of

bliss entangled

alone in her

mattress-monie

till dawn

does them part

After the Tears Fall

Ugly, slashed feelings

hang sadly over

the closed lines

of life and love

never really drying

due to the

reigns of grief

that prevail from

just trying to

air them out

so that they can be

separated from

the true feelings

still left untouched

in one's heart

stains that are

only erased

by the warmth

of forgiveness

but it's cloudy again

and the forecast

is for overcast

and gloomy days ahead

as ugly, lashed feelings

are pinned tightly

to a heart string stretched

to it's breaking point

as the chill winds howl

and tug upon them

trying to break them free

and scatter them

without a care

to make room for

the weight of more

feelings heavier

than these

piles of feelings

not yet aired

damp...damned and cold

they merely exist

sitting huddled

like bent old men

in the mustiness

of love's basement

bleeding the colors

of what was

down the drain

forevermore.

Untitled Excerpt

In a cool cave

that lies beneath

long water falling

two embrace

in a hollowed place

where centuries

of blending

took place

bodies flowing together

in much the

same way

as the water tumbles

sprays of liquid making

flesh slippery

and the roar of

the gushing torrent

drowns out the songs

of passions rush

After The Rain:

Oh, that we as

dandelion fluff

could sail high

above our stationary,

mundane world

carried on the

winds of chance

traveling at ten,

or twelve smiles

per-haps an hour

over hundreds of miles

to free-fall......

T
`

u
``

m
```

b
````

l
`````

i
``````

n
```````

g
````````gently

onto a fertile spot

and bloom with

all our majesty in

a Lion's mane of

sunlight, warmed yellow

bursting over the

fleshly turned furrows

lingering long and

growing roots there

Earth and skies entangled

in a blue green....

green blue... emerald blur

as all around about

a garden of

delightful creations

blossom fervently

and verdantly

with multi-colored

tapestries that enhance

and enchant us all

oh to just be fluff

sailing at the

whim of the winds

with fate as our rudder

and love as our map

and tuiny chins

dancing above our

petaled splendor

just to see if they

like Butter.


Summer leftovers.

All the leaves

are backstroking

down the

driveway's lane

in the rivulets of rain

each has one leg

sticking high

in the air

as they sail

together on long

wet kisses

from a very

stormy Indian summer

These summer

leavings vanish

in a raging

turbulent stream

that washes the

curbed channels

and carries

the colors of

the fall like

liquid paint

over the palette of

the sewers grate

and into the bowels

of the earth's

concrete tunnels.

the emptied trees

raise their bare

limbs in distress

tanned brown

from the long

hot summer

they are now

ill-equipped

for the wintry blasts

due soon

tumbled birds

nests lie

like bad wigs

tossed aside

in a bald move

by middle-aged men

declaring the end of

their feigned youth

the air is damper

and slightly chilled

like the basement at

my grandmother's house

cobwebbed and cluttered

with leftovers

canned in jars?

summer has

run off with spring

to someplace

south of me

I am rooted

here without it

what I have to

look forward to

is all of it's leftovers

covered in white

preserved in

the crisp cold

until they can be

savored in

the next thaw.

Vacation Daze

I stood beneath

a waterfall today

and let its turbulence

hammer my flesh

like the massage of

ten thousand

massive fingers

working out the kinks

in my shoulders

and my sore back

realigning, reshaping

rehealing the muscles

that I've abused

for most of my days

Then when I stepped out

from beneath that torrent

into the steamy sun

drenched lake before me

I was renewed and invigorated

as the day yawned on

with even more positive

things to partake of

someday I too will float

away from the drudges

and splendour of this life

in which I live

and as I

ascend upward

to my final

It will be

days like this

here in this

paradise on earth

that I will recall and

look forward to

on a more

permanent basis

if I have earned

the rite of passage

to God's heaven

above there will be

many showers

of blessings


On the Fourth of the Seventh

to Honor Them- (July 4th,)
~
It was cloudy

and the world

was growing dark

British reign

was sure to fall

upon them all
~
But they found the men

who could lead them

on the paths

that follow freedom

so they went to fight

but there was such might

twas sure the

British would beat them
~
It grew colder

and men began to die

you could hear

the women cry

all across the land
~
Then freedom's

powers took command

and drove the

British to the sand
~
And a shout went out

on that happy day

the people danced with glee

Oppression was a buried threat

America was free

"AMERICA WAS FREE!!!!!

World's Asunder

It's quiet here now

just the tapping

of these keys

and a bit of

mournful rain

on the window pane

but in Baghdad

bomb blasted to hell

the shudder and thunder

of the fire and flames

births way too often

a world torn asunder

babies wail and Mommas

cower in dark corners

children shiver

and cry for daddies

who are melted into puddles

of remorse forever

dogs run panicked through

the cratered and shelled streets

and howl at the intruders

that remain unseen above

devastationg all below.

War is never healthy

for the innocent

left to wallow in it's rage.

Excerpt from "Dusty Windows of Time"
~
Playing house

was easier

when it was only

make believe

and mud pies tasted

a whole lot

better then crow.

snowflakes were

edible delights,

falling prey to

waiting tongues

extended

raindrops made

puddle-licous stages

where bare footing

Fred and Ginger Juniors

danced lightly across

rainbow-tinted

oil slick water

and memories

were much fresher

then these

stale recollections

now squatting in the

cobwebbed

cupboard of my mind.

Welcome to Drizzyland

~
Grey skies above

with more gray

moods below

the only bright spots

are the sun

yellow parkas

scattered round

as the rain falls

on each

uncovered place

Beneath vast

yards of plastic

in happy face yellow

huddle damp

grumbling masses

sad eyes hooded

in shadows

in an all day

long downpour

getting soaked

for their tickets

cause it's raining

on their dimes

as it cancels parades

now they feel

like a Dumbo

looking ever

so Goofy

spending hundreds

of dollars

forty more....

(four rain parkas)

nature's slipped them a mickey

their days pleasure is Minnie

"But Hey.....

"Welcome to Drizzlyland!"

were you wish

that Jurassic

was a wee

bit more dry.




All is well with love

Allow me to rain

on you gentlty

like a spring shower

sprinkling passion

in wet kisses

and spattering

welcomed passion

across your fertile plains

as your eyes close

to the soft patter

of my lips and

tongue expressing

all of your hardest

needs into softness

the well will

be overflowing

as the thick rope

pulls in and out

buckets rising

and falling

till we both are as

refreshed as

the sighs echoing

from within us.

let us drink

from the wells

of love that quench

our desires often.

Statuesque Poetess In The Rain

Myra stands tall

beneath the curves

of an umbrella spread

like a pastel mushroom
as she waits

in drizzled splendour

beneath the inhabited

boulders of the

cityscape drenched

while her eyes

scan between

the wind whipped droplets

hoping to soon be plucked

up from the dampness

and gently cradled

in the warmth of

her lovers arms

April showers smiles

Children grasshop

through the needles

of icy water falling

as it tumbles earthward

giggling eight notes

from a spring song

never caring

where the rain's from

as they dance

with their own reflections

in the puddles

freshly gathered

all around them

for their bare feet

to explore

Anniversary of Tears

It rained

when my

momma died

in the heavens

and on my face

a raincoat and

many Kleenex

where my

closest friends

while my sorrow

brought memories of

all those times

she wiped my tears

and buckled my slicker

to keep out the wet

sealing it all

up with a kiss

each thought of this

kept a small smile

on my face

while my heart bled.

It still rains

about the

same day

every year

on my face and

sometimes

in the heavens

so I slip into

my raincoat

with my pockets

stuffed with Kleenex

just old friends

to help me

as I walk with

memories of

such a precious

love lost


Overdrawn In March

I've got a rain check

but I can't cash it

for any amount

it's a hot and arid day

and the skies are

not accepting

any incoming clouds

seeking to deposit

any fresh spring scents

on my arid existence.

What Hangs On The

Closed Lines Of All Poets.

All the laundered

and the stained

wardrobes of a poet's

mind are displayed

Sometimes "All" was used

Sometimes "Cheer"

and often one must

"SHOUT" it out

white sheets flapping

in the breezes

of time

etched with marks

that nights of

dreams have left

ink stained and blotted

pencil smudged and

on onion skin thin

folded memories

a basket full of moments

with hopes pinned high

against the pale blue skies

on the closed

lines of the poets

where readers can gaze

upon anothers

washed out thoughts

putting a spin on them

feeling their blues

tinted with hints

bleaching out the errors

with an edit cycle

offering encouragement

to keep the closed lines

heavy with weighted

words...worlds... and whorls of color

Do not hamper these thoughts

post them on lines stretched

between your peers

and let the sweet smell

of soft sunny whispers

and rain drenched tears

flow over them

again and again

then file them away

behind the glass drawers here

that hold our most precious

and well worn emotions.