ground tremble
thunder
a stillness rushs
rising up like dust

fingers of amber
poised like jewels

discarded parties
woven
meangingful
and meaningless

chipped corners
and scarred forelegs

like rain limps
dream trips

archive scatter
the black velvet
ghosts

the claws on cold
tile
make good shivers
while a moon
sharp as a shiv
shines through
the torn curtian
bright as a sliver

Today’s great undead poets,
awash in the internet sea,
seek to fill the void of sensible emptiness
of our cyberspace world.
Following the heroic tradition of Man,
these daring individuals look to gain acceptance
through the expression of concepts.
Mirroring the virility and vitality of Life,
in defiance of critical naysayers,
the blankness of virtual paper
is scribbled upon with hurt, hope and ideals.
Writing styles and topics,
whether expressed in romanticized language

Cemetery gates
swing open wide.
Beckoning me
to step inside.

Rusted, wrought iron
hinges that squeak.
Through the veils
I amble,
unable to speak.

Yew trees bending
with wear and tear
on lifeless limbs
I float, unaware

Beaches thick with ash
wash away
as black waves
of memories crash!

With a halt,
my body comes to rest
a wooden box closes
upon my chest.

Beneath the ground
is now my home
until my spirit begins to roam....

When the moon grows to a fullness
of tunnel's beckoning silver end
I move through many things I grow
to feel sweet feather kisses
of breathing darkness on my skin,

and down between tall rows of corn
and pungent onion scent I kneel
to reach beneath wide prickly leaves
and test with touch the ripeness of
the treasure of my summer squash.