Happy children are all-stars, curious jugs of sunshine, their faces radiant,
their eyes metaphors of emptiness and fullness perfectly contained, their naïveté keeps us entertained,
they don’t think about anything too long, peanut butter keeps them energized, they have happy feet, elastic faces,
like acrobats they ride bareback on wild stallions with wings, they train smarter, not harder, slow and steady gets them there,
they balance fun with rest, and they lie on their backs and take pleasure in moments of nothingness.
Crystalline Clear
I sometimes imagine us like we use to be, together holding hands, kissing, fighting, just being,
I reach for you too late, my nails biting into my flesh, I clutch nothing, just bloody me,
never in reality, would I ever imagine you not with me, have I seen you everywhere watching me, watching you,
I see you giving me a stoic farewell salute, in clouds rolling over and over, then disjoining and vaporizing,
in my afternoon Coke, tiny air bubbles fondle and nuzzle, as if us, then the ice cubes dissolve, my future crystalline clear.
Journaling Love
As if over-ripe 40 year-old grapes on a vine, sorely waiting to be plucked, aged curves and sun-toned appeal,
not soured by time but improved like wine, hot days and long nights, wanton juices burst, in love at last,
I am free, until,
bright neon lights, fears and scars illuminated inexplicable pain, a new seedling in a new time,
and captured in her tiny face is love, whose heart in a few years will be ripe for the plucking.
As an artist I will admit there were unfortunate moments in my intensity, when crippling insecurities left me limp and passion-free. When I'm busy doing something I love,
there was progress to my spirit. Keeping busy always put me in a better mood. I am many, but not always the fairest to gaze upon, my smoldering aura embodied the
holy, unholy and the human form; I confess I've opened my exalted head and body to Pablo Picasso who perceived me in strange and abstract ways; and there were times when I've summoned the most evil,
known as Satan for a few hot unholy days, then joined Moses and the Greatest Mother of them all, until I tired of their perpetual sermons, on the hills, if I recall;
three watery graves once called out to me, I offered John, Jr. a Water Lillie, as well as his wife, Caroline and her sister, too,
lastly with an urge to breed, I began following John Travolta around when his quivering wings reminded me of a night spent in the arms of the angel Michael,
I offered him a Lilac Blossom plucked from my own bosom...laughed and kissed him long and hard, becoming this poem for you.
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