continuing writer's island #14 the journey

as if to persuade we move forward
ladle years with memories
currents run between us
absorbed with indecision
I’m proud
I have been foolish
in matters of love
with a skill I continue
on this road
holding on to the trident firmly
moving against the undertow
of life

in the summer big tent poetry #13 pop icons

incense and peppermints
who cares
long-legged hippie girls
in silk-upholstered chairs

lady godiva
I'd rather be in philadelphia
manic depression
manic depression

the wind cries mary
haven't had a good day since '69
haven't had a good day
my makeup's divine

old worn out carpet is tearing a hole
in the old worn out image of you
broken shoes bother my feet sometimes
Hey, mister. Can you spare a dime?

incense and peppermints
who cares
long-haired hippie boys
longings and images I can't forget
take another little piece of my heart
Another little piece of my heart

lovers poets united #8 sultry

the smell of you upon my skin
pheromones
whirling through my senses
of infinity


round and round
scents of you, pleasurable
hold me fixed, caress my skin
infinity


you touch my hair
kiss my lips
gaze into my eyes
infinity exists


trace my finger on your skin
the shape of the neverending
with no beginning, no end
sign of infinity


what happens next?
wait for a sign
till the morning comes
infinity finally leaves me

when I think we write poems #12 yesterday today tomorrow

yesterday carnage filled the vestibule
no way to navigate through it to theorize
as bitter feelings foster scorn
today envelopes hope that utters
serenity that may expunge
with well-crafted precision
tomorrow you will guess and keep
flurry hanging over appreciation
with replicated heat inside

virtuosity of mine POW #13 music

don’t surpass me
in this life
as you weave
your fingers through
me softly and take away
sorrow
breeze me
feel me
sing me
dance me
one last time
give me something to embrace
light the candles to show
a promise to cross

Joni Mitchell-Both Sides Now (The Johnny Cash Show)

love carry on tuesday # 63

Life without love is like a tree without
blossoms or fruit
it doesn’t scintillate
no triumphant promise
nothing is superb
it’s a struggle
frenetic feelings
straps it down to precipitate
like walking on stilts
high above the prehistoric carbon waste
that doesn’t circulate within
the unbeliever’s soul