You

Kissed me and said
you loved the way I taste

Fucked me and ran away
saying it wasn't what
you thought
I thought
anyone thought

It was

The pheromones
the white nights
the black magic

In my eyes as dark as
the heart of the woods

On the pink tip
of my silver tongue

(it's not forked as you say it is)

Do you still hold my candle?

Remembering your nails
rending my back
diamonds etching
the man of glass...
your fire still lights
my ever-night,
if you could see it--
with eyes sewn shut
by your own
practiced hand

The fire--
or the last sunset

Faces in a green
emerald lake fade
and are ghosts
dancing under glass

You kissed me and
told me you loved
the way I made it real
without pain
without hesitation
without fear for the
inevitable
loss

I'm waiting...
watching your light
dance away like
fireflies in October

I loved your every way.

...

Did I ever know you?


I am the worst blogger ever for not letting you guys know that I'm OK. Things are hectic and worse, but I'm alive. That counts for something.

I hope to see you all soon, but I'm not sure when. I still have much to do this weekend so I won't be around. Believe me, I miss the days when I could blog away the hours and write. And just as much as writing, I miss hearing all the familiar voices I've come to know. I'll reacquaint myself with you all soon enough.

Peace out.

Inspired Madness

All that is dust
will glitter in their eyes
all that is broken
will be whole once again

The voices
ceased their chatter
a long time ago
as long as the darkness
surrounds me
I am not alone--

Poetry smears the page
like tears on green ink

fingers crossed,
we dance on our own graves
because on paper
we live in the forever country

cherry trees stretch up
into the grand blue reaches;
poetry, fallen, layers
lying lush
is the dirt that nourishes them

take one more step toward me
and the night will tumble around us
as this world on a spindle

already our clothes are mountains
on the floor next to the dimming light
of our so-called better judgment

chips fall where they might--
pick up the pieces with me
and poetry will be born tonight
and all the million other nights
that will know love
when they see it.



Top: Does this really need commentary? I think not.

Middle: Going with the 'Loony' or Lunar theme, this is a close up of an area on the darkside of the moon taken by a new satellite called Clementine.

Bottom: The Dark Side of the Moon.

She Has Curves~

She has curves~
that must be said
first, middle
and last...

She has curves~
and a penchant
for the dramatic

"Speak your desire;
I'll make it happen
tonight"

She has curves~
the body of a seraphim,
the powers to match.

Her touch
heals the deepest wound

Her voice
calms the maelstrom

She has curves~
a roadmap to desire,
a city of divine sin
rising from the desert,
a monument to time
spent rolling through
satin,
lace,
and the too-small hours

She has curves~
handle them with care
or she'll take you deep
into a turn you'll regret

She has curves~
roads winding onward
blistering to the touch,
and I'm melting--
melting

drifting

floating

around

and again...

To walk her promised land
for ten thousand nights,
I have a lovelorn lust.

The sweet lady she,
sings to me the words...

She holds my key

She
has curves~

Top: A Shadow Bar dancer at Caesar's palace. Sin City isn't called such for nothing, you know.

Bottom: The Hourglass Nebula, as photographed by the Hubble space telescope. This too has curves. Prrrrrrrrr...

As for the nebula formerly called M82, it is decided by the powers that be that hence forth it shall be known as "Stellacious1". Skinnylittleblonde, the heavens thank you for naming one of their own. Runners up were the only other suggestions, given by Charles and Lana Gramlich, and were "Purple Haze" and "Pink Star Puke", respectively. I was leaning toward the Jimi-inspired name, as well as the plucky, smart-assed moniker so much after my own twisted heart, so the decision was not a light one.

Thank you all for your generous comments. As a friend of mine said recently, is as though I had never left.

Until we meet again in an electronic venue near you.

Womb

In these waters do we find life,

In these waters do we find soul

In the darkness do we find sleep,
as the world waits for her light

In the darkness do we find
ourselves

Eyes closed then open

Like minds and avenues

Bathed in steaming waters

Waiting on time

On love

In the arms of midnight
I feel the blood rushing
and it will consume

The darkness knows
one of its own...

Waiting
for my love
to turn out the light

Thanks for all the love, you guys. You do me proud. If I haven't been by yet, I soon will.

The pictures:

Top: some kind of crazy cellular development phase.

Middle: 2001, A Space Odyssey. Wonderful and yet haunting. Does it have to stare at us like that?

Bottom: Ahhh... The return of my semi world famous intergalactic centerfold! This nebula is ignominiously call M82. Perhaps one of you could think of a better name for it. I'll post the winner next time!

Alleycat Blues

Scratching...

At your back door
a tin pan alley cat
with silver bullet teeth
coming up for air
for the light
for a long windy night,
and the kind of warmth
that sticks with you
and only comes
from one lonely little
flub-dub heart

not of gold
not of ice
but a tin pan alley heart
pink spray painted blue

the choice is all yours

scratching endless
songs of love
at your back door

The Gold Rush

The gold rush ended with no bang
no pearly gates slammed shut
no storm
no quake
no volcano
no sound or fury or drama
to be spoken of when the children
woke up to find that all they knew,
all they loved was gone before the light.

The long winter nights grow short
as the streams swell their banks
only the devout remain
with gold in their hearts
if not in their pockets

Faith, Hope, Love

She's something else
somewhere else
quiet, wondering--
drawing faces and stories
on steamed windows.

Wondering, always
lost in spellbindings
and a haze of drugs
called hope
faith
love.

Wondering
where I have been.

And now it's my turn to wonder
why?
wonder how,
wonder what I was thinking
when I missed the window
where was it?

will it ever be open again?

The train left tonight
at 9:15
dragging faces and freight
along the cold iron tracks
passing through a land
that ancient eyes wouldn't know
by sight or smell or taste
and I'm still waiting...

Another one leaves just before day

Feeling your stories
in the tongues of our own language
like tattoos under skin on my back,
I write a Kama Sutra in blue ink
on white washed walls next to me
wondering or divining
what happened
to those old drugs
that we used to live on.

Hope you are all still with me. I'll be around soon to see you all. Really!

It's been a long time, for certain. I was out for a while with a bad tooth which had to be addressed with copious amounts of antibiotics and a root canal. It was bad enough to make me physically ill. So ill and so painful that the root canal was nothing, and I might have went without Novocaine--except that there's no need to take things that far.

In between bouts of nausea-inducing misery and a steady stream of high (cash!) paying work, I've been watching my youngest sister, Sarah, leading her hockey team, the Rebels, to the local Silver Sticks championship game (which has yet to be played). If any one thing took some sting out of the week, it was seeing her scoring goals and taking her seat in the penalty box quite often. That's my sister! Do what needs to be done, say you're sorry later.

Top: The Heart and Soul Nebula. Been saving that one for a while! Mid: Obvious symbolism, I'm sure. Bottom: The Blue Water Bridge, between Port Huron, Michigan, to Sarnia, Ontario. If I have thrown a penny off of a bridge in a wish for good luck, this is the launchpad! Current water temp, 32.9 degrees F. Even in the height of the summer, the lakes are "invigorating", to say the least. Ice flows lasting into June are not uncommon.

Florida! I could use a warm vacation.

Triumph and Defeat by the Nightstand

A man plants his waving flag
amidst dirty gray sheets
warm, new world shores
a stranger's bedroom;
triumph by the nightstand
red rivers flow wild
in the garden of Eden.

nothing falls like the beat
of a crushed heart
or brimstone tear drops
on the heads of the
unsuspecting damned.

You believe your lies.

I'll believe in mine.

I used to walk beside my love
every night
as all eyes followed us,
some in bleary reverence
some in malicious intent.

Her face was soft but shaded
a fine-detailed masterpiece,
made from sunset clouds,
even as she walks away
I see what I will always miss.

The slow-burn
kicks me in the slipshod soul
deep within my neithers,
and now I know;

Conquerors make wonderful
monuments
from which battle flags
are raised.

**********************************

Still strapped for time, cash, all that root of evil stuff. Working like a mad beast on a crass capitalistic crusade to get some debts settled.

I miss all of your glorious pages and I hope to get a chance to drop by soon. Thank you for all the comments, as they are quite inspiring and help to keep me going.

Addendum: Massive edits. You who utilize google readers know me; can't leave well enough alone, ever.

Homefire

One lone minute
or
one million more like it...

All that's needed is a spark
to keep the fire burning
another night.

What do you say?

Keep the fire burning.

Home is wherever
you sleep tonight
so tell me your dreams
as we lie in shadow--
I will guard your sleep
like a treasure of Avalon.

Give me one more minute,
and I'll have the words
for the rest of the story.

Tonight I'll be home,
and the fire will follow
like a sleepy-eyed lover
who knows no lesser god.

Above: Belly dancer in a ring of fire. Below: The Orion Nebula, photographed in the IR spectrum. Fire is my theme again, mostly because it's three degrees farenhiet at the moment.

Can I stand next to your fire? I'm pretty skinny, so I don't take up too much space--unlike the Orion Nebula, which is several parsecs across. How big is a parsec? We'll leave that until next time. As it stands, I have to get some sleep so I can aclimate to the climactic upheaval all around me.

Forever Fire

Pure liquid fire is her hair
pulled into long silk strands,
blowing in the wily winds
of a late summer's dream.

Entrancing
advancing
closer
her lips to mine
meeting
feeling
tingling
reverberating
recollections
electric emotion
of a young boy's first kiss

A picture never forgotten
often repeated
never duplicated
by other lips
by soft sighs
by long nights
not long enough
not soft enough
or the manic dreams
of a young man growing old

The summers are still windy. The air still crackles electric, and emotions still ride high on the moon's puppet string tides, falling to find their level in time--whether or not all is said, or silently left undone.

But the enchanted dance of her hair
the constellations of freckles,
each a star in my nascent sky,
each a tribute to a memory
that is untouched by what is
and what will ever be again.

I was lucky enough to talk to the woman who inspired this, the subject of this poem, earlier today. She was my old neighbor in Port Huron, Michigan, my first crush and first kiss, a year older than I, but hey, some guys do have a monopoly on the luck factor, however briefly. She now has three children and is married to her second husband. Quite a bit of kissing in the interim for the both of us.

Above: Flaming red hair. No, she didn't look quite like that, but close enough. In remembrance, she looked a wild world better. Below: The Red Square nebula in the constellation Serpens, an unusually symmetrical object about five thousand light years away. Photograph was taken in IR. Those cheaters! I thought we paid NASA for the facts, noty a bunch of starry eyed bull. Leave that to me!

I'm going to be gone for quite a while longer, as I found some high paying side work, and the car is till not done yet. But I will be around when I can, so be patient. Not that you all are chomping at the bit for my long winded comments. But they will be back soon, I promise this. Thank you for all the sweet and insightful and hillarious comments. Peace out.