LOVE
Music
Coffee
Smiling no matter what
Reading
Nature
Rain
Fluffy couches
Fresh laundry smell
Back rubs
Animals
Mountains
Pianos
Velvet
Caramel
Writing
Compassion
Dancing
Autumn leaves
Sounds of trains
Tea
My mothers voice
Photography
Silence
Art
Reflection
Baby laughter
Fuzzy Blankets
Cooking
The Milky Way
Hiding
Snow
Candles
Cheese
Traveling
Soulmates as friends
My son
LOVE
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
Love
And last but not least
LOVE
Afterglow
Swim in my inky black ocean
cushioned in blue blanket nebula
lightning flashing in distance
soft rain blurring vision
tickled with whispering breeze
soul hiding in warm eyes
Trembling nudity and wine
crimson ecstasy in diamond air
look of wanton need
unleashing feral savage
within haven of inner thighs
crescendo of moans on moist lips
breath upon my body
intoxicating aroma of passion
taste of honeyed dew
pillowed by moonbeams
thirsty desire satiated
by waterfall of sensuality
ships on lost sea
of darkness, crashing
only to arise again
sapphire afterglow.
Crimson Regret
I roll ash between finger and thumb,
twilight drenched with crimson regret,
plunging on weight of my world,
drained remains of stained embers,
death strewn amongst the dirt and stench -
a scorched inferno ignited by careless sparks,
misfortune cards dealt by condemning winds
as face of fiery passion dons devil mask.
I turn my back to grim reaper of regret,
pledging redemption to somber black shadows.
All that remains of spontaneous combustion
is a tiny check mark on torn pieces of soot
illuminated by weak neon light, fading.
The P-I-S-S-I-N-G Song
Hilary and Donald streaming in a tree
P-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes aim
Then comes disparage
Then comes Trump in the baby carriage
Sucking his thumb
Wetting his pants
Doing the dance of ants in his pants.
“Trust Me,” Donald yells
as he aims for her head
Hilary wipes pee away
And wishes him dead.
Poetic Selling of My Soul
Words release my congealed pride
in thick layers of deep confession,
can’t expect flowers while still breathing,
poetry begging to be heard -
a creation of memories while skeleton
hangs together with poetic threads,
salty open wounds cocooned by pen
cellophaned in world of phrases.
The Best Laid Plans
I’ve never had any money left over after paying my bills. And now my crotchety Uncle Bert has gone and died, leaving me everything! But wouldn’t you know it – there’s one catch. On his deathbed, old Bertie whispered to me, “You’ll get everything but you have to agree to kill my ex-wife, Aunt Edwina! If you don’t keep your promise, I will know wherever I am and the consequences will be dire.”
Well, I didn’t really harbor bad feelings toward my aunt. She had always baked me cookies and handed me a twenty every now and then, ’just for fun.’ But what could I do. I reasoned that I needed the money more than I needed her. After all, what’s a broke fella to do?
I had to think this through carefully. What’s the point of being caught if I don’t get to spend the money? I knew that poison could usually be detected so that was out. If I strangled her, it would leave broken blood vessels in her eyes. If I shot her, maybe the gun could be traced to me. A knife wasn’t a bad idea but what if it didn’t finish the job or the knife blade broke or I got cuts on my hands.
I finally decided on a fire. Her little wooden house was crowded with knick knacks which would be very flammable. I knew I couldn’t use gas to ignite it because that would make it seem like it wasn’t an accident. It was getting colder so I asked old Auntie if she’d like to borrow my heating blanket which I was about to throw away since it had an electrical short. The last time I had used it, it had started smoldering and almost caught fire.
The next night, it was colder than a snowball in Hell. I slept fitfully as I waited for the news of the disastrous fire knowing I was her only family.
The fire department called to tell me about the terrible news the next morning. “It burned so hot that we can’t even find the body. She must have been completely incinerated,” they advised me.
Since there was no body to bury, I erected a nice plaque in her church in her memory. Next, I got on a plane to Argentina where I planned to spend the rest of my life, living the high life.
I have to tell you something but don’t tell anyone. Auntie Edwina was sitting next to me on the airplane. I just couldn’t bear to kill her after all those years of cookies and money slipped to her favorite nephew. She deserved to enjoy some of the money after suffering all those years with miserly Uncle Bert. But, unfortunately, we are not in Argentina, after all. The plane went down over the ocean two hours into the flight. And I swear I could hear old Bertie laughing, “I told you there would be consequences!”