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