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After completing the swimming round-n-round
in the confines of the steaming coffee cup
(on maybe it’s your Pu-Ehr tea)

time to indulge in another morning ritual
opening the iPad
and allowing the screen mesmerization

to occur, focusing only on the two foot space in front of you
the loud voices of the printed word from the screen
affecting the internal dialogue that was only shut off while sleeping


No matter how accepting society becomes it's hard being a Queer,
You feel your not part of like you don't belong here.

Queers and gays are not sexual deviants,
No, were not missing any ingredients.

Being Queer is not evil or a curse,
It's not something we practice or rehearsed.

It's not a sin, wrong, weird or strange,
It's not a phase or something we can change.

No one should have to hide who they truly are,
We are not retarded no need to lower the bar.

A star with a scar

A star with
a scar
lead out of
the light.
Longs for
love yet
the night .

Living in New Mexico, Longing for Rhode Island

There's something about when it gets cold:
when leaves whisper in the wind a gentle word
a soft goodbye
when iced coffee tastes sweeter
even though it leaves a shiver down my spine
when the air is filled with the perfume of apple cider
and cedar smoke and roasting Hatch green chile
and something that can't be told or shown.
every year I watch that show about
two boys climbing Over a Garden Wall
and plunging into an ice cold river

Into the Bird-World

The two words
Pandemic and lockdown
Terribly lonely and upset
I have no one to talk
And I lose human languages
I begin
To go around and look for them
From steep-hill tracks of Kensington
To Holland Park
I fail
And I have nothing
I only hear from birds
Suddenly I feel
I could understand them a little bit
And I flying
Into the bird world

Exes, again

Your terrifying childhood,
with young decisions gone awry,
shelter was not always a home

With insecurity to spare,
the best you could do
I struggled to forgive
Sometimes we could see each other,
but mostly we could not

In between the absent days,
when you were here
but in some other place,
love may have been there
but I had to guess most of the time

and I was terrible at it


I only wish you had been to Niagara
romance never ends there ever,
I would love to have one each day
come what may winter spring or snow
Niagara always does sweet love grow

upon my life’s arc
there is a permanent glow
how I wish all of you
sooner than later to Niagara go
make the most beautiful
of all God's presentations of love
naturally within you flow

Thy Divine Dinning Design

Golden Steps to churn the pot
One day is a hit while the other is not

Solid foundation
Yet no stones on top

Thy grey steps destroy the pot
Clear sight, yet blind to the skies

Divine dining only to die
Thy improper method to cook

The Boundless Sea

I wish to know if my spirit could be bound

Like the seemingly endless sea we found

Nobody recalls the beginning of one’s life

Stormy times we go through, amounts of strife

I wish I could tack from New England to Old

See all the glorious stories I had been told

Yet I can only see but the sweep of a gull

Above our boat and off the beat up hull

I wish I knew the meaning of you

Endless sea of greenish blue

Where storms, then calm, bring satisfaction

Where there really is no thought - planned action

The Day After Thanksgiving...

Half formed flakes of snow
like almost opened parachutes
spiral toward the ground
Splat, they die, melting
like the Wicked Witch of the West

The crows, already evil-tempered
envy the squirrels holed up
and plot revenge, for the first sunny day
Everything stops and I am aware
of the silence; forced by the shivers

Bedraggled pigeons, leave the wires
finding solace in the house of God
where the pastor forgot to nail screen
He is dozing by the fire, unaware of
the soft voices in the belfry


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