Look into my ocean eyes
Of blue and green surprise
Then you will dance your own dance
And someone new you will find

A dance filled with passion
Which will lead to the place
Where it seems
That heaven and hell collide

Let go of your senses and ride the waves
I see your heart as a darkened cave
Open your mind and forget the past
Take the pain throwing it away at last

Quench your thirst
With the waters of satisfaction
It is found
In the soul of perfect attraction

clove magic

flower of clove
essence of orange
mingling esters in
ether's province

begets a boon
of
boundless olfactory

crisp as flowering
orange blossom's scent
in humid
southern nights

made crisper from
exotica of myrtle's
clove magic

Szygium aromaticum and
Citrus sinensis

one sniff
mind's eye entertains
new horizons

where hate cannot
exist.

vcp

30 December 2010

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Train is slow,
Day is dawning-
Feeling low,
Can't stop yawning-
Four o'clock,
And I'm still up:
Christmas morning...

Dark ringed eyes,
Didn't sleep now-
Quick good-byes,
I could weep now-
God, it's cold!
And I'm told
It's Christmas morning...
.
.
.
.

Finger tips etching grooves into the earth’s crust,
I’m clinging , precariously,
Frantic struggling, against the abyss.

I’m an enigma,
Descending into ambiguity.
Clutching at sanity.

Mistrust of reality,
Crushed under its gravity.
Grinding me into dust.

Cataclysmic hush,
As my world, rolls in on itself.
Leaving a husk of my former self.

Be still, be quiet,
In a holding pattern.
Inertia creeping.

I’m ineffectual ,
Off the radar.
I’m in stasis.

ALMOST "49": AN APOLOGY

You dropped them in their tracks,
Hit them harder than an axe,
Now I realize you did that without tryin'...
It was far, far too late
To save the fallen 48,
But I could stop becomin' "49"!
Oh, I'd hate to be your number "49"...

Nobody's Child

doll-baby

tumbling

through hands

of the Master

falling fast

causing

porcelain

fractures

spidery-web

cracks

all through

the plaster

painted smile

on lips alabaster

broken doll-baby

tumbling faster...

una oración

BLOCK AND TACKLE (PEN IN HAND)

And though the world is coming ‘round,
This old heart says I’ve sinned…
Sit here breaking no new ground,
I’m only breaking wind,
But, in the grand tradition,
I burn the midnight lamp,
And sit here, poised with pen in hand:
An imperious knight,
With a serious Writer’s Cramp…

THE LAST DAY OF APRIL, APRIL…

…And it was on the last day,
It was on the last day of April when you said you’d have to leave-
When I could find no way-
No reason to make you stay, least of all me,
That, on a grassy patch,
'Neath a starry April sky,
In unfamiliar territory, I
Did attempt a desperate, hopelessly botched explanation…

cold-blooded killer

life is a cold-blooded killer
from moment you're born
it stalks you --

eventually snuffs you out
with rest of humanity
not to mention, birds, weasels,
pigs, grandmothers, fleas, sweethearts,
mice, hawks, polar bears, salmon,
grocers, presidents, carpenters,
butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers
and other conglomerates of single cells
that managed an ambulatory form --