The prospect of a ride brightened up my night
Through the inky blackness
Came a set of lights

The car went madly by, as I quickly jumped
The driver was a lady
Whose finger, skyward pumped

She yelled an obscene question, that I barely heard
She was a LADY, did I mention?
I gave her back, the bird

Then the sound of braking, tire squeal and all
Smoking wheels now in reverse
Oh, Lord! I was in thrall

You have seen me through some of the darkest
days, when life sapped, soggy, slapping along
the rain riddled streets, enfolded in that
black gossamer gown of the gathered air

wet through, wind puffed, yet sweating too along
the ambivalent day's incline and its
own way of drenching each human, like some
needy nocturne triffid, ambling along the pavement

I have a shirt I like.
I wear it often;
long sleeves, collar, and breast pocket.
I think it's called aquamarine.

And a favorite chair;
arm rests, scooty wheels,
black, of fake leather, my guess.

Living with the familiar,
such as previously mentioned,
facilitates and expedites
excursions of thought.

At the drop of a hat
an adventure begins;
exciting
spontaneous
and sometimes,
scary as hell itself.

Daring
the dark ages
ferreting out dormant superstitions.

Happy, happy faces all around
nobdy is sad. Well, who made up feelings?
Who encaged human beings? - Nobody

Look at nature revolving,
look at men not evolving:
names, gods, theories, numbers...
believe whatever you want to believe
Stop. Begin.

I got my mind and that is my biggest problem
I got my heart and that is my biggest empire

I stepped behind and I broke a glass
I rose up and I touched your smile
So cmon keep reaching the unknown
Slide down beneath the doors.

I spy a butterfly at play;
its wings, the spring; what one must ink;
it hides to tease, we seek and yay,
I spy a butterfly at play.
We find, and then it guides the way,
and writes with gold what one must think,
I spy a butterfly at play;
its wings, the spring; what one must ink.

I ambled among the Daydreams
bathed in sun lit flaunts,
each one graced and charmed it seems
by drops of lemon light taunts.

I relished every single cup
made of silk attire,
each one tall and all grown up
'midst flames of golden fire.

I watched as people stopped and bowed,
stooped to their gala,
each one wooed and nosy wowed
to whiff their perfume parlor.

neon,
splashing rainbows over
the slow motion silence of a veiling fog

the muffled thump of a car door
footsteps,
a woman, fading away

a distant dog howls

the infernal damp,
creeping lowdown and mean,
lapping mist from oil slicked puddles

a harbor horn bellowing in fear,
buoys clang,
blinded hope, sinking

seabirds scatter

Awakened by the rains of spring
The flowers bloom to woo the bees,
The wrens build nests and then they sing.
Awakened by the rains of spring
The daisies braided in a ring,
A child’s bright laugh rides on the breeze.
Awakened by the rains of spring
The flowers bloom to woo the bees.

I remember , I remember
the place where I was born,
the essence of the holy heaven
embraced to bless my home.
The darker nights there ripened to
a brighter rainbow days,
to paint upon the worn out walls
a candy- polished glaze.

I remember , I remember
how then I hung around
the Arabian Oud’s smoldering
with the best scents around;
so glorious was the essence then
and lingers e'er after,
maintaining happy memories
and a much delicious laughter.

sunbeams
flowering afresh
amid barefoot giggles
a sleepy morning stretch

hold on, wait a minute
this doesn't sound right.
I'm a crusty old curmudgeon,
what the hell happened last night?

did my brain shift on its axis, or something?
was I slipped some kinda slap-happy mickey?
still gleamy eyed, I did a little soft shoe,
glanced at the mirror, and then BAM!, it hit me.