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?' "