WANTED

One Higher Power,
understanding, kind,
all knowing, patient, wise,
forgiving, near, compassionate,
attentive to mankind,
More powerful than TV,
pizza, beer
and sex.
From you I'll ask
but won't expect
that miracle,
(the little ones will do).
Just so I'll pray
you'll keep disasters checked,
for justice, vision,
peace and mercy, too.

Adore me,
keep me honest,
make me laugh, feel needed,
special, healed and whole.
I need your silent help
on my behalf
to live,
each day abstain,
rebuild my soul.
And what I’m grateful for
you'll hear from me on hold,
while pumping gas,
and as I pee.

IF ONLY I COULD HAVE SAID

Hey, parents.
Back off.
Thanks, but leave me be.
I've got a mind to stretch and
flex and tone
to challenge speed,
test time,
tease gravity.
I've got to do it now
and on my own.
You want to help?
Okay.
Hear my demand:
Safe space,
all day,
some friends and
open air.
Please trust me.
Let me build
my "what if" land,
a stage to act out
triumph and despair.
Those hyper ads
would make me beg and
yearn to hoard
the moving, plastic,
painted stuff.
The more each does for me
the less I learn.
For pure imagination
its enough to give me
mud or snow and
sticks and rocks.
Return that gadget,
but I need the box.

WHAT I'M OFFERING YOU

First, my attention, 
you will have, my time
my thoughts, my energy. 
Soon all I'll seek
will be to meet 
your unmet needs,
for I'm committed to your wants 
before you speak. 
Next, I'll embrace your family 
and your friends.
Your teams will be my teams. 
Your schemes my schemes. 
If I offend, 
I vow I'll make amends. 
My dream come true-- 
to see us live our dreams. 
You'll have my ear. 
Your secrets I will keep.
When asked 
you'll have my feedback, 
frank but kind.
You'll have my hand, 
my lips 
when you're inclined.
My body heat 
will warm you when we sleep.
By day your back 
I'll cover on the street.
At night your back 
I'll cover with a sheet.

WHAT I NEED FROM YOU

I need to know 
you're really here for me,
that I can be myself 
and you won't mind.
I need to know 
it's safe for me 
to be exposed or 
silly, 
furious or 
kind. 
Like cloudy days 
please tolerate my moods. 
Be playful, 
patient 
as we learn our roles. 
I'll need some privacy. 
Ignore my feuds.
Respect my time, 
as I too have my goals.
And tell me you need me, 
often, please.
When I'm at my worst 
I'll need you most.
I need the truth. 
Watch how you scold or tease.
What joy to break my fast 
with tea and toast,
and see you raise of your brow 
without a word to bust me, 
as I'm reaching for my third.

THE MUTABILITY SONNET

Though no one really changes,
many try
or say they will.
Some mellow
freed from strife,
a lot betray themselves,
yet feign and lie,
and most adapt to loss
with scares for life.
It seems we all get more set
in our way.
The bold wax bolder
till they're grandiose.
The frugal seem
more miserly each day.
The quiet don't grow chatty,
just morose.
As kernals linger
for the sun and rain
An avalanche
awaits one falling flake,
Believe me
change can come,
transform,
remain.
With kindness,
love,
a new man you can make.
I'm stuck.
See past my gut and
snatch that hunch.
Grab hold my ankles,
curse me as I crunch.

CUPIDITAS AND CARITAS

At dusk
the city's restless crowd
begins to thin
into a park, or
cemetery,
beach or
alley way.
Each contemplating sins,
their need for love, and
hopes beyond their reach.
It's dangerous and yet
the drive is strong.
The risk of punishment,
attack or
shame
cannot detour
the longing to belong
the rapture
each one's seeking to proclaim.
This urge
will not be satisfied alone.
It seeks
another's touch,
one other soul,
a fellowship of wounded
seeking to atone
a hopeless life
with needs beyond control.
A shifting shadow lingers
with the wish another's foot
will dare complete a fish.

MY BURNING HEART

I some days get
this scorching in my chest.
It might be I just live
too rich a life.
It might be
all the tension I digest.
I stuff my feelings down.
I swallow strife.
And most days
fending off the jerks and fools,
the stupid things I do
just make me ill.
My stomach churns
when battling the ghouls.
I'm trapped.
I've yet to find a helpful pill.
And some nights
I'm afraid to rest my head.
Too tired to think
I doze off for awhile.
Then bam!
I'm facing scenes and fiends
I dread.
I scream and gag
as bounding out of bed,
I feel and taste
my spurting issues, vile,
That acid sting
of my subconscious bile.

NEVER EXPLAIN, NEVER COMPLAIN

You ever notice, 
if you break your arm,
each friend shows such dismay 
at your account
and then, 
(though you're the one 
who's come to harm)
each tells THEIR tale of pain 
the type, amount?
You ever notice 
how they know 
so much about the ins and outs 
of treatment, 
share the symptoms, warnings, 
firm advice and such,
as if your doctor 
doesn't know your care?
They mean well. 
But they wonder why I stall,
as each detail and clue 
they try to learn.
It's really not 
about MY health at all.
Their OWN health ought to be 
their main concern.
I'll not report, excuse, 
take heed or whine.
Now all you need to know 
is that--I'm fine.

CONFESSIONS OF A FIVE YEAR OLD

Upon the cellar door
I wrote my name in chalk.
I scrawled it backwards
to avoid detection.
Bored.
I did it as a game.
My parents guess.
Once more they were annoyed.
How tempting was
the dust upon your shelf.
I wrote my name
without a second thought.
I'm sorry.
I was only thinking of myself.
I meant no harm,
nor thought that I'd get "caught."
You thought that was my way nasty
to say that you're a slob.
If you did that to me
that's what you'd mean,
I fear
But can't you see
Perhaps my only motive
was to play.
No, I'm not minimizing what I did.
It wasn't me!
That was my inner kid.

LET'S MAKE A DEAL

Though seldom seen
he's always hanging 'round.
You're never safe.
He'll elbowed his way in.
I fear if I deny him
he'll confound my plan,
surprise me with his killer grin.
I keep out of his way,
because I hope
if I ignore him,
he'll ignore me too.
I tease him sometimes
(it's a way to cope)
A moth and flame game,
one cannot undo.
I fear he likes his humor
gross and grim.
I've lately thought
"Should I make him my friend
till he gets bored with me?'
I bet the end will come too soon
when I've forgotten him.
I ask
(though I seem morbid, prying, rude)
What deal have YOU made
with that reaper dude?

DIRECTIONS FOR USING THE ENCLOSED

   

The best ingredients, 
some fresh, some aged,
in new, exciting ways 
have been combined.
For your delight and health 
they have been gaged 
to please you senses, 
aid both heart and mind.
The contents packaged here 
have been condensed.
When prepped and ready
just add water warmed.
A small amount 
need only be dispensed.
With gentle needing 
you will feel transformed.
Apply, 
let set, 
rinse well, 
and then 
repeat.
Forewarned: 
void excessive cold or heat.
Discretion recommends most 
for adults.
Do not expect 
immediate results.
Assess effect 
when process is complete.
(Not pleased? 
reply! 
Get refund--with receipt.)

CANDLE POWER

Some at attention, 
standing on display,
anticipate that one important night.
In drawers the others
let their scent of
bay,
vanilla,
citrus
mingle out of sight
of lipstick red or
holly,
votive white.
They long to warm,
to move,
illuminate,
to be consumed,
to flare up,
flashing bright,
to be enjoyed
a simple,
ancient fate.
The tallow in me
longs to radiate.
I want that sudden flash,
to feel aflame.
I'm burnt.
I'm gutted out.
My wick awaits
the glance,
the touch,
the calling of my name.
If I'm a stub,
left lonely,
lost,
confused,
Ignite me.
Bliss arrives
from being used.

MY BEST RECIPE

In one bowl 
scoop in truth 
with fine milled grains.
Too much is data, 
less seems trite,
though which way will affect 
the wisdom this contains. 
Next measure beauty, 
cause too much is kitch
and less seems dry. 
Tradition makes this rise.
When foaming mix 
(or you'll get lumpy prose)
Then knead the words 
to build good lines 
that ties it pliant, firm. 
Next leave it it's repose.
While ferment builds, 
the magic's starting, 
for it's up to chance.
Then, when it's at it's prime,
you punch it down. 
Then punch it down once more.
Next shape to form, 
let rise, and
bake in time. 
Then test it if it is done. 
You'll pay for haste.
This sonnet's hot and fresh. 
You like the taste?

DISCLAIMER

FOREWARNED: 
all works within 
are pressurized
as image, metaphor or simile.
Mature material 
(so be advised)
enclosed 
could irritate complacency.
Proceed with caution. 
Do not drive and read!
These may induce 
strange day-dreams, 
fantasies.
Rare nightmares 
may occur or 
sleep impede. 
A blush or gasp 
might some displease.
You will be teased. 
You will encounter rhyme. 
At your own risk 
you read between the lines.
Remember, 
you can stop at any time.
To reproduce unauthorized--
face fines!
Misread-- 
you risk the loss 
of hand or eye!
Misquote--
you're banned! 
Dare misattribute--
die!

HOW I SURVIVED

First fact of bitter life: 
all parents lie.
Not just the loss of Santa 
made me grieve
I was a fool! 
That I could not deny.
How could I've been so stupid 
to believe?
Humiliated, 
shamed 
I grew morose.
My parents feared 
I wanted to be cruel
as I absorbed the gruesome 
and the gross.
I mastered farce, 
sarcasm, 
ridicule.
Years later, 
overwhelmed by sex, 
the lewd gave me relief. 
We come to terms with death 
through satire, wit.
We learn what's cool, what's crude.
Those jokes of puss and barf 
and snot and shit
were more than just rebellion 
on my part.
It's so absurd! 
Just laugh. 
We belch! 
We fart!

WHAT IS APPARENT...

To be a parent 
is the greatest charge.
You must provide and guide, 
protect and cheer,
Yet slowly backing off 
as they grow large
Empowering away 
what you hold dear.
I'll never be a parent, 
but I write.
The words I pick with care, 
the lines I hone.
With pride, I seek to share, 
to teach, delight,
Empowering away 
what I would own.
No test, no standard, 
no prerequisite now separates 
a from a daddy from a dunce.
Some worry 
if a birth's legitimate,
While any fool might breed 
who fucks just once.
And any fool 
can fill another tome
with words on paper, 
calling it a poem.

DOG IS GOD BACKWARDS

If puppies know a canine God, 
how can He justify 
the wanton ways of man?
This world was once 
the land of dinosaurs 
till suddenly 
they all became extinct 
by nature 
(who creates and 
then ignores us all) or 
by a nodding God 
who blinked. 
Who keeps the bees 
so social in their hives?
Their age old dance 
communicates the track.
Each working 
to insures the clan 
survives disasters and 
intruders who attack. 
A Group Of Drunks 
all longing to connect
who pray some 
higher force will intercede
to heal the wounds 
of strife, abuse, neglect,
create a Power 
out of human need.

THE WAY I SEE IT IS

"Oh, God,
here comes another load."
"Whoopee!"
Beneath their helmets
two guys scratch their heads
deep in the bowels
of an old factory.
"So much, so fast, so gross!"
"Look it spreads.
There's just no placed to put it.
Every crack and cranny's full."
"God damn,
I don't see why
we have to store it all"
"Just shove it back!"
"Remember that
'down-SIZE-ing memo' lie?
The way I see it is
we need a break."
"Or force a new extension."
"Maybe two!"
"You'd think he's see
just what's at stake.
We know he knows the risk and
what to do."
"Let's tell the Big Boss
'Wouldn't it be great
if you got off your ass and
lost some weight?' "

THE REST

I later heard
she almost died.
Although she didn't try
to keep the fact from me,
the how and how come
wasn't mine to know.
My feelings
weren't her first priority.
So when I heard,
I had the time to think.
I didn't see her, call--
as I was bid.
Another time
I might have forced a link.
She didn't want my help,
yet help I did.
Musicians read staff measures
scanning notes.
The order, tempo, volume,
are displayed.
A rest is more than silence.
It devotes a value, beat,
a presence still conveyed.
My absence, silence,
were not crass neglect.
They proved my love,
support, - trust, respect.

BREAK TIME

Consumed with anger
and self-pity too 
I heard 
my wounded inner-toddler whine.
Before the vending shit machine 
I knew to poise above the C, 
to thumb the 9.
As good as chewed and flushed! 
"Oh God, I hate myself!" 
I fed the bill. 
Without a doubt it sucked it up. 
I said, "Now it's too late."
My chin dropped 
as it spit the dollar out.
The jones-ing was still running
in my skull.
I pray to God to show his love 
and then...
My second thought 
was "It's a miracle"
My first was 
"I can't put it in again."
I bought a Diet CokeÆ. 
Then pinched my jaw.
Left feeling weird, 
yet with a kind of awe. 

WAITING FOR THE FAT LADY TO SING

So awkward I feel,
agitated, trapped,
but I feel that way
even when alone.
I checked my watch
while everybody clapped.
Why aren't you here?
I hate it on my own.
What's all this ruckus?
I can't comprehend what's funny,
tragic, planned coincidence.
It just goes on and on.
When will it end?
Repeating louder
doesn't make more sense.
But human nature
tweaks the line of life.
In every trial, marriage,
death, and birth
we seek a graceful arc
to give us worth,
as if were living tales
of joy or strife.
They're lies.
All lies.
It’s years since you've been gone.
I don't know how
I keep on keeping on.

MY INHERITANCE

I have his plyers, 
hack saw, 
ruler, sledge,
the tools my father 
taught me to maintain.
and which to pick to cinch, 
or torque, or plane
and when to grab a chisel 
for a wedge 
I have her grater, 
pitter, 
rolling pin, 
utensils mother 
used for every need,
She said 
"You picked the right one, 
then proceed
to whisk, or slice, 
or chop, or strain, or skin.î
They were so skilled. 
Each gesture was concise. 
They often said "You can't..." 
How I'd resent it,
chided "hasty, lazy, ignorant."
I learned to spot the cheap, 
the imprecise. 
Just so you can't rely 
on what you've heard.
You have to think and 
pick the proper word.

REHEARSAL

The theatre is empty, dark. 
The stage is bare. 
My heart is all I hear. 
My temples ache.
I'm caught within 
a piercing spot light's glare,
That follows every step and turn I take.
I'm tired, pissed. 
What contract did I sign?
Where's my director? 
Feet up in some seat?
Why am I here? 
Who said this script is mine?
I long to stop, 
yet once more repeat:
"See HOW you ARE?" 
I scream, "Just go way!"
I whine "Why me? Poor me!" 
and then I start:
"It's fine. It's fine. 
It really is okay."
I even hear me 
speak the other's part. 
A nightmare gives you 
gifts that you can take,
But fret-filled day-mares 
never take a break. 

AS OF TODAY

I left my parents 
chanting few complaints.
Too hard I stomped my footprints 
amid the crowd.
I did a lot 
in spite of most constraints 
to help by lending hand, 
of which I'm proud.
Though many sought 
to bury me with shame,
I owned my own. 
I fought for what was right.
Though some may roll their eyes, 
few curse my name. 
In peace I dream my dreams 
and sleep the night.
Though time erode 
my epitaph of facts,
I chiseled deep. 
I hope my words will hold. 
And though I second guess 
a thousand acts
the love I lived was staunch 
and kind and bold.
No "If I hadn't, 
had." 
No "If I could."
If I should die before I wake
...I'm good. 

MISTRESS MARY

I bought a suit 
then gave that suit away.
"It goes with everything!" 
so said the clerk.
Not so. 
My brown belt 
made the pants looked gray,
but then the black belt 
somehow didn't work. 
I swear by day 
I'd call the color stone,
but underneath a lamp 
it could be sand.
In photographs 
it had a purple tone.
It seemed by plan perverse, 
but just looked bland. 
Please tell me 
why you contradict your boss; 
claim yourself vegan 
at a bar-bee-que;
at "Daddy's temple" 
you wear "Mommy's cross."
You must know 
it's a pain to be near you. 
Your answer to each offer's 
always "Nope."
Go die. 
I bet your cosmic aura's taupe.

ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

Braccae Tuae Aperiuntur

Ya, this is really awkward
I confess.
I'm glad you're friend enough
let me know.
Perhaps my troubled mind,
some sign of stress or chance,
uncovered what one mustn't show.
What I've betrayed
comes from my inner core.
It's vital to myself
and to my pride.
Though I sense your discomfort
most abhor what's dear to me
and will not be denied.
I am no fool.
I keep a constant watch
to hold in check
what I have hardly tamed.
Perhaps I had
to take me down a notch.
Though I'm embarrassed,
I am not ashamed.
Forgive my human-self.
I don't know why
somehow I've left undone
my moral fly.

AGE INAPPROPRIATE

I wish I had 
more heinous sins to hide
for all the grief I suffer 
and for what?
Reflecting back 
past follies pierce my pride
Aflame in shame, 
my heart hides in my gut. 
Who in their twenties 
isn't foolish, lewd,
at thirty striving, 
forty-five irate,
by fifty overwhelmed, 
at sixty rude, 
by decade seven bitter, 
scared by eight?
We act polite, mature, 
refined and fair,
but under pressure 
we go just so far
until we snap, 
each soul stripped bare. 
At every moment 
we are who we are.
We're liable forever,  
but to live
we have to stop, 
reflect, 
ourselves forgive. 

MOURNING

The room was crowded, 
somber, stale, dark.
A wake?
No Shiva! 
(and I'm not a Jew). 
The widow's look at me, 
a question mark.
I didn't know them or 
what I should do.   
"And who are you?" 
I froze. 
"I'm Marty's boy."
Then from the back, 
"Wait. Marty Fitch? 
That guy with duct tape 
saved my life." 
I felt such joy.
With hand shakes, hugs I stood. 
I thought I'd cry.
He was a handy man 
who knew each tool.
From holding things for him 
I'm sometimes deft.
He wanted better things from me 
like school. 
I'm older now 
than he was when he left. 
I woke up feeling grateful, 
glowing.
  Glad I was his son, 
and proud he was my dad. 

THANKS, I NEEDED THAT--NOT!

Wooo! what a hateful, 
hurtful thing to say. 
Most people try 
to hide their ignorance.
It's harder then 
to take a counter-stance.
At this 
I will not blindly walk away.
We will our wants 
and push to make that change,
to have things new or 
just the way they were.
You crave reaction 
from a rough exchange,
but did you think 
I'd thank you for that slur?
Just so the noir anti-hero 
smacked his femme fatale 
as if for her own good.
Who listens, changes 
when they feel attacked?
I lean but never lash 
although I could.
I'm tempted 
just to volley back 
your crap,
but no one, 
no way, 
ever needs a slap. 

YES BUTTING

I hear your pain, my friend.
You do seem stuck.
With every effort thwarted
you're depressed.
Yet, while you blame
your fated, lousy luck
you veto
every option I suggest.
You either have a god
you must appease
who seeks to do you ill
at every turn
or else
each time you do
ìjust as you pleaseî
creates a consequence.
It's what you earn.
You cannot change the past
although you try.
You cannot change the weather
or your lot.
You cannot take
because you haven't got.
You cannot win
because you rage or cry.
You whine,
yet seem invested in your mood.
You have the strength to change--
your attitude.

CHARLIE HORSE

We drove to see a play
I'd only read.
I'm really glad
my seat was on the aisle.
Act V, scene iii
all eyes were watching,
while old Lear holds in his arms
Cordelia, dead.
The only dry eyes in the house
were mine.
(All tears
were beaten out of me 

when young)
Instead, a ham string knots.
I jump.
I'm strung out on the carpet,
bent,
with bouncing spine.
It's years since you have gone,
not months or days.
Not every thought's
disheartening to me.
Not every ache
springs from a memory.
I feel your loss
in many different ways.
Yet there are times
I find the slightest strain
can zap and twist my soul
in wrenching pain.

JACK ASS

So just how stupid
do you think I am?
Did you think
you invented sex or crime?
Do you think
I can't spot a fib or scam?
Your silence,
jokes and jabber
waste my time.
Today your body
may be at its prime,
but, trust me, not so
is your growing mind.
Your nasty wit's not wisdom.
Mostly I'm annoyed
by all the many woes you've whined.
I'd rather have a mule.
Though unrefined
they're sterile,
tough,
and don't shit where they eat.
I'm sure less stubborn,
lazy or unkind,
not prone to blame,
sarcasm or deceit.
It walks the day it's born.
You're life ain't rough.
Just nine months?
Twenty years is not enough.

TIME FOR A CHANGE

I can't forgive myself
for feeling trapped.
Resentments grow.
This isn't what I planned.
My faith begins to fade.
I can't adapt.
I slither off
from where I used to stand.
My old convictions
simply do not fit.
It think it's time
for me to slink away.
Campaigns and hobbies, tasks
I have to quit,
abandon games and music
I don't play.
It's time to throw out
worn out clothes.
It's time to toss
old books and odds and ends.
To free myself
of tastes and creeds
all goes.
It's time to shuck off
relatives and friends.
It's not betrayal
or fear of what's ahead.
So I'm a snake.
Well, this one's got to shed.

ALLERGIES

It doesn't have to be
a germ at wait.
Just anything
my body thinks is strange,
some substance
I inhaled or touched or ate
and instantly
my body starts to change.
My skin grows hot or cold.
I sweat or shake.
My head
becomes too heavy for my spine.
I gag. I gasp.
My muscles cramp and ache.
All this
for what may really be benign.
I marvel at
each ready white blood cell.
I'd give them
shiny metals to parade
They're on patrol
for agents to dispel,
defend me well
and seek to be of aid.
We must maintain the best defense
and yet our fear
may be more harmful
than the threat.

TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS

In your dismay you cried,
"Look, I've been bit!"
"You play with serpents.
You, the charmer charmed."
Distressed you wept till,
flailing in a fit,
the shock set in.
At that I grew alarmed.
I'm scouting trained.
My friendship I can prove.
I lanced your wound
and sucked and spat
and sucked and spat again,
the deadly poison to remove.
I saved your life,
so why do I feel fucked?
And even then I thought,
I can't ignore I risk this venom
getting in my veins.
And what's in this for me
for all my pains?
And haven't we done
just this thing before?
I watch you limping back
to find that snake.
How often must we make
the same mistake?

AM I CRAZY?

Just stop and listen.
Don't you have some song or other
always running 'round your brain?
Why THAT tune?
Each one's driving me insane.
Some dawns I think:
"Did that play all night long?"
And worse yet,
there are voices in my head.
"You dassen't do that!"
How she'd pinch my ear!
"A nigger might have touched it."
I still hear my grandma shout again,
though long since dead.
And I confess
I hear your voice as well.
I'm thinking thoughts
I'm sure that are my own
but hear them spoken
in your rhythm, tone.
I'm glad.
I guess it's just part of your spell.
My life is moral,
sound and never dull
while you are living
rent free in my skull.

THE PROFANE AND THE SACRED

"You green shit" Koko, *
"Dragons of Eden" Carl Sagan

My father said
he knew he loved me
when he volunteered
for my first diaper change.
It wasn't something done
by men back then.
"Your poop was green and gooey,
really strange."
All life seems one long,
time consuming quest to separate
the good things from the bad.
We hoard the precious
and discard the rest.
If we are not that other
we are glad.
Alas, "shit happens"
much to our dismay.
We often panic
trying to stay calm.
We search in vain
to find some other way.
But ask a farmer,
artist,
healer,
mom:
In life
there is no me or you or it.
'Cause everything is sacred,
even shit.

MI CASA, SU CASA

Hello, come in my friend!
You're welcome here.
I have an extra toothbrush,
towel and comb.
You got here safely.
Hope I sound sincere as I say,
I want you to feel at home.
But I'm not sure
just what home means to you
and what if
how I live
to you seems wrong.
Well, be yourself
and somehow we'll make do.
I only ask you
not to stay too long.
With every year
we're more set in our ways.
As we grow strict
we're destined to offend.
So let us make the most
of these few days.
You wouldn't be here
if you weren't my friend.
Sit down,
relax,
be real.
Just understand,
you cannot be
both comfortable and grand.

MAINTENANCE

I have to brush and floss and
clip each nail,
take aspirin, vitamins
to ward off ills,
clear gutters,
flip the mattress,
sort my mail.
I can't forget
to pay the rent and bills.
It's time to change the oil,
inflate my tires.
There's laundry,
windows, dust,
electric wires and cords to check,
shampoo and trim my hair.
These tasks
when done
all build my self-esteem.
Self-care's the price you pay
for being free.
These make me fit
to function in a team
and no one else can do them,
only me.
I know if I don't start
these things today,
tomorrow I will
pay and pay and pay.

MY INVITATION TO YOU

We're all alone.
Sit down.
Relax.
Lay back.
I'm here for you
and, yes, for me as well.
Adventure's what I'm offering.
You lack experience, excitement.
I can tell.
A bully makes one small
to seem more tall.
I don't seek private joy
at your expense.
I won't make you
do anything at all.
If safe,
if free,
if fun,
it just makes sense.
I think there's part of you
who wants this too.
Let's get past shame,
embarrassment and
fear.
At every step
there is a choice for you.
Your every secret wish
I want to hear.
Come feel.
Come taste.
You want to.
Don't just guess.
It's ripe.
It's sweet.
It's here.
It's yours.
Say "YES!"

THIS EVER HAPPEN TO YOU?

From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
"FIRE AND ICE" by Robert Frost

You're trodding on your track
from day to day
when suddenly
you see a trick of light,
a twirl of water,
gush of wind,
a play of shadows,
sizzling stars at night.
Perhaps
a phrase of music pierces you,
a cookie's taste
pulls moments from the past,
a detail in a painting
strikes you new.
Just so a flash provoked
me fading fast.
One day,
at school,
some class,
a film:
"THE BLIND."
(At that some moron slurred
"Another 'tard!")
A woman reading braille
another signed.
"Some say the earth will end in fire..."
Off guard,
Surprised by joy!
By me as well!
I forgot (had been so long)
the first tears spurt out hot.

THE REAL REASON I LEFT

I went into the staff room
on my break.
I opened up the 'frige and
got inside.
The door slammed shut.
That made the bottles shake.
Good sign at least,
the light stayed on.
I tried but failed
to find a latch.
I thought:
'Cold trap!
To yell
would use up all the air in here.
To sleep
I might not wake or
I could tap in hope
that someone, sometime
just might hear.'
I woke without a scream
but wet with sweat.
The trap was not my job
but my despair of doing
what I someday might regret.
To get such good advice in life
is rare.
I faced a truth
I never would admit.
With no excuse
I said "I have to quit."

SNIT

How dare you take away from me
the love that others gave me,
leaving me alone.
We're trapped.
I gnash my teeth and groan.
We're pushed around.
I wince with every shove.
We're not like you.
Our world we can't control,
Ourselves as well.
Addictions feed our face.
In pain inflicting pain
we stay in place.
I won't give up
but cannot save my soul.
I hate you.
Hate myself.
I stink of gall.
Let's have it out right now
and then be done.
I have my hostage
pinned against the wall
and at my temple, look,
I place a gun.
I'll shoot!
No?
Yes?
I want to see you nod.
I dare you!
Show me that you love me, God.

MORE ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET

Perhaps you don't want me
to know you're done.
Your thought's complete.
Perhaps you don't want me to note
an insert,
clause, or
series has begun, or
when a thing's possessed, or
strange,
foresee omissions,
"quotes", or
something that's left out
--as in an after-thought,
some (F.Y.I.) or
something emphasized.
We read without a hint.
I fear we often go awry.
A play is written
for the eye and ear.
When reading one
you search the text for clues.
Once poems were heard and seen,
passed year to year.
Please make me write your poem.
Please be my muse.
Give me the signal
when to pause or
wait and breathe and think.
Please, poet, punctuate.

A COMPLAINT TO RACHAEL RAY of "Thirty Minute Meals" (tm)

It's not the food
that makes me dread your show.
It's "sammies,"
"stoups" and "choups"
"E.V.O.O!"
Just so I hate to hear,
"It's time to PLATE UP."
Someday "eat" will be "de-plate."
You grate my nerves like cheese.
Why make each noun a verb?
The urge to "fork" a pie crust
I would curb.
Things change,
perhaps evolve,
to meet new needs.
New foods, new tools
demand new words, new deeds.
"Pop-OVERs" make me smile and
"simmer DOWN."
At "finish OFF" like
"Where's it AT?" I frown.
"To stir" makes sense.
So why so much ado?
You stir it "IN" or "UP" or
"AROUND" or "THROUGH."
I sit and eat and watch you
just to scoff.
Perhaps it's time
to turn my TV OFF.

A PERSONAL HABIT

That brilliant paradox 
on Keats' Urn would seem
the pinnacle of art.  
But truth is rarely beautiful 
I've learned
and beauty's seldom truthful, 
ask my heart.
In some way 
every simile is true,
yet faced with truth 
we mostly ask for lies.
While often pretty things 
please me and you,
an ugly image 
can be fresh and wise:
 
I get a metaphor. 
I pick at it for days. 
Perhaps it rose up 
from within-- a mental boil, 
or maybe something bit me in my sleep, 
or scarred my soul's thin skin.
And when I pull it free, 
oh, such delight,
Relief as well, 
"That's one less poem to write."

TO YOU (PLURAL)

For all the times
I made you ill at ease,
for all the times
I showed up unannounced,
for all the foolish things
I did to please you,
all those times
you felt your boundaries trounced,
I want to thank you all.
You were so kind.
You tried to firmly stop me
at the start.
You showed how much you cared
as you declined to match my efforts,
take my willing heart.
You would not
let me cheat myself,
divert you efforts
that I sought to misconstrue.
So easily you could have
used or hurt me.
You know I'd have let you do it too.
For stares,
unwanted words,
my many tries at closeness,
I hereby apologize.