Haiku # 427

Photographer unknown

Moon in the river
alone crossing
the banks of autumn


Free Verse # 375 (my poem, what has it become?)

poses her hands
on my shoulders
like a forgotten lover
who wants the world to burn
with desire for her kiss,
so I burn and kiss her
with the lips of poetry.


My poem is a clock
that doesn’t tick;
my poem is a silent clock
always pointing towards her moon;
my poem is a clock
ticking in her womb.


His touch dilutes the moon
in the silk of her skin;
she walks and the night
around her trembles,
his waters rising
to wash her feet.


The autumn rain falls,
Under the brown leaves
Fireflies awaken,
The fires of longing
Burning in their wings
As they flutter and lead us
In the forest deep
To the beginning of all things,
To a heartbeat in our chest
Pulsing with spring.


My poem…
a flower poised
amid her thighs.


Today on my birthday
What do I wish for ?
What do I wish for?
That I always have
A jasmine flower
To tuck in your hair
Beloved poetry.


This poem inside of me
Will not let me sleep,
With the burning lips of the night
It wants to touch you.


Like an eyeless candle
Burning in the night
Without you in my heart
My eyes cannot sleep


Soaked in dew
the parched earth sighs at dawn,
its scent wafting to my bed
and caressing my lips
with the warmth of her name.


My poem,
what has it become?
A garland of stars
dripping from her dark hair,
in the candle of her eyes
a moth burning.

Conquering Death

What is eternity?—is it not this:
That I am alive, have lived, and death’s thumb
Will erase not one line that I have writ
Nor his nothingness wipe out my imprint.

I existed, I exist—this echo
Like thunder will ripple and roll through seas
Of life and death will never untangle
All the widening ripples of the I.

To have been once, to have been forever
So summon your life in her wild thunder
And sear your lifeline in blood and fire
On pages that never will fall to dust.

Wandering Thought # 41

The wine only becomes wine in dark cellars, my friend. When a darkness sets in, welcome it, show it the way out by using it, by putting it into action; use it as a motive and motivation, and if you cannot see the shore or where it is your going, then just use its dark ferment and awesome power just to keep going. Use it in a poem, or jog it out, or let it be the edge of your brush pouring color on a canvas, or let it be your lips spilling out the most intimate things to your lover, even they don’t make sense, even if you don’t know exactly what it is you’re saying. When a darkness sets in, welcome it, embrace it, and after a while you’ll begin to understand what a blessing a darkness is, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll begin to befriend and miss it.