Ballet of the Branches

Fall trees finally shed all of their leaves,
Vastly displaying their unabashed nakedness;
What was once a settling rustling, now marks a strange silence.
Branches move to and fro as if they were marionettes;
The winds blow and cause them to dance,
Like a ballerina adorned with a diamond tiara, in beautiful snowfall,
Under a midwinter’s trance.

Beneath

Beneath the facade, lies the darkness
that bubbles near the surface.
It hides behind gentle gestures
and overtures of kindness.
The potency of its viciousness
is well concealed in subtleness.
The metastasis of the heart and soul
is the unsightliness of its unfettered sickness.
If aware, one must be careful around it.
Only the discerning eye can see it.
Unveiled, it is horrific in its hideousness.
Released, it is vile in its actions,
and poisonous in its utterances.
Parasitical, it eventually renders its host —
a gaunt, discolored husk of flesh.
Men and women with grey hair
that know of its ills over the years,
make gestures with index fingers over lips,
lest the darkness hears;
the recollection of their time is when
the mercilessness of men — caused famine,
starvation, mass death, destruction,
and the cold winter wailing
of the children’s tears.

Unimaginable Love

In his suffering she held him and listened to him,
And in that instant, his heart started mending,
Leading to lasting healing, and loving longing—
And on the evening she kissed him, he wept,
and said, you are always what was missing;
And he held her in his arms from the twilight, until morning,
Whispering loving utterances as the tears streamed from joyous crying,
And on that day, after a beautiful dawning,
She became his everything.

A Beautiful Age

Silver rivers flow gracefully over skin that shimmers in its beauty. In her nakedness she dances; an evening dress from the past invokes memories. In a silk black robe she drinks her morning coffee; in her aura, their is a subtle sensuality. Plum colored pedicures are a favorite pastime; maybe next time she’ll get a multicolored design. She is young at heart and it shows in her glow; young men pursue her and she is certainty flattered. Men of her own age, try to appeal to her intellect while holding lustful desires. Her favorite attire are, short sundresses and wedge heels in the summer, and tweed dresses, scarves, and leather high heel boots in the winter.

Her makeup compliments her wonderfully; her lips—the gloss and sweetness of honey. She never answers questions directly about her age, but instead, allows the inquirer to guess three times, then contemplate. There is an ethereal nature about her that is calming; she is well versed in matters of sensuality and pleasure, as well as politics, current events, medicine, and academia. She is able to mingle easily with members of high society, as well as rough personalities in the city. In her maturity she ages wondrously. Sitting on a French day bed with her legs crossed gracefully, she looks into an oval mirror with gold trim and brushes her hair.


A Series of Events

Emerald rain falls on magical kisses.
The world is seen through purple lenses.
Redwood trees stretch their branches to the heavens.
Grey whales communicate lovingly;
Sunlight glistens on jumping dolphins.
Kodiak bears stand on their hind legs
Searching for the North Star;
The Earth spins on her axis,
And the fire inside her dances.
The Sun looks at Mercury and notices her jealousy;
Saturn shows off his ringlets
And taunts Earth’s gravity.
Earth responds quickly and teases Saturn
About his low density.
Pregnant mothers feel the kicking of their babies;
Persephone escapes the underworld
And promptly divorces Hades.
Dionysus stands unclothed in the company of many ladies.
Twilight lovers whisper to each other passionately;
Sensual dreamers awake suddenly in lament,
trying to recapture their fantasies.


In the throes of death take my last breath;
Inhale me for once last time before I see my mother’s eyes;
Exhale me in white starlight under a red sky.
Kiss me; let your tears fall on my face and become mine.
Before I touch heaven’s twelve gates, let us dine
And commune in intimacy divine one last time;
Let me see clearly the radiance of your countenance
And adore the ethereal beauty of your eyes.
I ascend on the wings of the mighty archangels passing the sun
To the higher heights where the world begun.




See Them

They fall like leaves violently shaken from towering trees.

They die young with unrealized dreams.

The grieving look upon their countenance for the last time,

And the die is cast in their memory.

The old clutch rosaries, and the young weep silently;

They are loved—forever captured in their beauty.






Temper, My Heart

Temper, my heart, lest you give yourself away too soon
And tell her that you love her, and that you would die for her.
Preserve the mystery, do not give your secrets away so quickly;
Do not cast aside the cloak that covers your desires.
Hold back your true feelings until it is the right time;
Perhaps with rose petals scattered on white linen tables
Furnished with delicious entrees and Riesling wine.
Be careful not to startle her mid sentence with talk of
Falling in love and adherence;
Your words must be delivered as smoothly as silk
in the truth of forthrightness.
Talk of long held feelings, and compliment her beauty
At least twice during the evening;
Preferably, in the beginning, and at the end tell her again.
Do not be sheepish in your approach;
Draw out of her words she might not normally convey,
But do it tactfully and respectfully.
Remember she is a flower and must be handled delicately.
Inquire about her family and ask her about her favorite recipe;
Speak to her lovingly, and infer that you see her in your destiny.
Finally, be humorous, and in the tone of her laughter
Seek the secrets of her soul and the substance of her beauty;
Caress her with reassuring words that appeal to her feminine sensitivity.



The lust of my wayward thoughts set me adrift on the waters of intense intimacy and unfettered sensuality. I want you uninhibitedly; I want you to want me with primal instincts, holding back nothing, reacting to waves of movements with no time to think. Whisper to me the secret lusts of your desire; do not temper your spirit—release your fire. Look into my eyes intently when you reach your climax; do not hold back; we are wild roses in our flourishing. You belonged to another, so I’ve waited eight seasons now to satisfy my longing. I want you totally; you are my predilection. The scent of you alone moves me to pleasure. Let us spend beautiful evenings in a canopy bed surrounded by white lights and white roses. Let us enjoy the textures and colors of beautiful silks and vintage quilts. You are the passion of my heart; I render to you all that I am and all that I have. I love you with a definition not yet discovered or written. The literature of my spirit are writings of you filled with love, passion and eroticism. The subtle beauty of you are the undertones of a queen draped in purple silk over a golden throne flowing. I marvel at the softness of your skin and its beautiful tone shimmering. Oh, that I should be so fortunate to witness the beautiful sounds of your rapture! The contours of your silhouette alone hold me in your capture. We are two blue fires who have finally come together. My desire for you is obvious in my approach. I touch you with emotions overflowing; in my overtness I reveal long hidden steps leading to the depths of my soul. You touch and see the parts of me that for so long have remained untold.