“hey you…”

“posturing is pointless
when you simply need a hug

to deny one’s own
humanity
is to deprive
that of others

the terrible fragility of every facet
of our existence
must always be considered

i know i could use a hug
and so could you

the truth of love is universal

why am i still talking?”

shuts up and hugs you

Love Most Valid

arid mist
of rhapsodic
waxing

long sought
to dismantle
the essence
only to reveal
its Gestalt

assigning
attenuous tenets
composed of pretense

to valence
resigned

but love validates
existence
through open commune
of fluid mind

with trust
respect and
shared silence

nascent intimacy
airs triumphant

while astute observation
inherently deferent
endures

for these are the matters
of consequence revered

Shores of Implore

plastic melts
like sugared air
and time conforms
to nothing

songs persist
through voices shared
with context
ever shifting

if only
you could walk beside me
on these planes
of swallowed hope

placid seas
would then return us
sadly
this will never be

As Sorrows Bleed

meet me
where the shadows drift
apart
from who we are

where waning tides
reveal the rift
that weeps
into the stars

wrap me
amid layers
of a long
forgotten kiss

our voices
led astray
upon the solace
of your lips

shake me
to the rhythm
of our innocence
denied

pray not let us
fall
into a conscious
state of lies

for all
this world
has proven
naught
but torment in reprise

and so
we take our leave
as sorrows bleed
for you and i

Fancy Free

When life doth air too serious
So weary I become
My notions turn nefarious
To whimsy, I succumb

I then proceed to longeth p’ruse
Mine Frederick’s catalogue
To sate my need for silken rouge
And frilly lace corsage

Of course they must be crotchless
Lest I err a thoughtless cad
And should I dare wend topless
Throw some pasties in the bag

With preference for tassels
‘Tis a hassle otherwise
I might start feeling sassy
Thus, such foresight would suffice

Ne’er I display such imprudence
Hence, I buy in bulk
For countless corsets have i torn
asunder with mine hulk

As proven on the eve
I wast locked out of mine own house
And all the poor old maidens
Swooned as if they’d seen a mouse!

Did grant, I may stand
Two inches just over six feet tall
With brawny build and buns that filleth
Panties with a sprawl

Which tend to draw the ire
Of the gentry’s night patrol
Who seem to never tire
Of cruising past me ever slow

Why then, would anyone
Blame a lad for simply trying
Were I to say I did not look
Hawt in lace I’d be lying!

And thou knowest quite well
This spectacle sings flourishing
Within the theater of thy mind
Where it is now showing

For none dare intermit
The thought of such a rogue delight
Frolicking in flowery peignoirs
All throughout the night

Shades of Pompeii

somewhere
along this wayward
path

i lost
the sum
of you

in broken
buttons

crumpled
papers

whispers

faintly
promised

to reflections

we once
bared

scattered
over trails
capricious

memories
thread precious
pleas

plotting
their escape

like petty fools
from plighted faith

parched
from implore

upending
thoughts

would mark
the path

that led me
to your vested
heart

when vagrants
sought
the stars

and charted
the descending
hours

of our last
reverie

rapt
in such despair

’til all
that i could
see

were driftless
streaks
of blackness
stripped

amid
the grip
of shame

unearthed

where flashing
shades
of pompeii

stayed
in grim dispart

impressed
upon

the distant
sky
estranged

a world
apart

End of Deus

stifled

by the sound
of words
preserved

perched
in a madman’s
hallucination

of halcyon days

ere hope
had wintered
this vale

velleity
vanquished
its ceremony

in sermon
rescinded
from restive
err

 

 

[photo: Art Redwing & Alberta Kelm]

Remembrance

wherein lies
the heart
of evocation

that strikes
the mirrored
hour’s toll

vague abstractions
courting fear

or starkness
of the bitter
cold

biting
with its sharp
precision

meteoric motes
of mind

reassemble consequence
once shed
in distant
folds of time

florid wafts
drift
through the ages
softer
than a maiden’s mien

torrid thoughts
slip
through the pages

faded laughter

aimless dreams

rage once pent
from whence forsaken

ageless
as a lover’s touch

brash and bold
our burdens
linger

longer than
the artist’s brush

When the Hour Fell Bleak

when the hour fell bleak
a rippling spied
the outlier

appearing
in ragged reproach

an artifact without
precedence
that spoke of adoration
dire

ere a doting hope
sang
its parting prelude

from where i now sit

in a cold eclipse
of dreariness
laced
with mistled tears

spent aloft
these long planes
of bondage

i fondly resigned

my mind’s production
flashing its garish marquis
for all to see

foreshadowing
disparity profound

were it not sustained
by wispy druids
of pigment piqued

no further
query

averted eyes
trained vigilant

this chronicle
of maddened youth

swore your rigid head
invalid

with never more
truth
scorned a lustful red

as prideful irony
now reigns
in the void
of expectation

Thy Beauty

thy beauty,

prosody
to parchment

petaline
pan silvery waves

as time
forgets
to squander

the frailest shade
peculiar
of a vespertine avail

assailing
listless seas

sweet aureate
avolens

how verily
i doth adore
thy sighing wells
of svelte
pretense

This Latent Lament

your words
are the sinister fire
that burns
truth
through holes
in my head

with thoughts
that forever conspire
to spurn the unheard
consequence

i look to your kingdom
of ire
to learn
of my lost relevance

with hope
i may someday
retire
from churning
this latent lament

the days
of conflict
and desire
were earned
but would never
be spent

this love
once so fervent
and dire
returns now
to fine
sediment

[Photo: Mary Pickford]

Final Frame

i awaken
into dream

the essence so precise
a place
i know so well
it seems

this feeling
permeates every aspect
of my being

where i can
never again
expect
to be

time has turned

forbidden
spurned
forlorn

for the life
of me

i cannot
discern disparity

alas

my conscious mind
soon finds
the glass rift

as what was once
life shifts

the past
sight amiss

all is ripped
from this fervid grasp

in that fleeting
final frame

of perfect
freedom

forsaken

Separation

imprisoned
in irons
of ivory’s irony

inconsolable
impenetrable

in spite of ourselves
a splintered perfection

o, splendorous winter

let us seep into the silent spring

to sing assuagence
and sate the urgent seas
with tempest

“Feed the Kitty” – Everyone Needs To See This At Least Once In Their Life…

Feed the Kitty [1952]

Behold, the power of true friendship and love that transcends all boundaries.  The single greatest cartoon to ever be created.

*BONUS RHYME edit

cats are adorable this is the truth
it would be abhorrent to try to dispute
and if you should make an attempt to defame
any kitty cat then you might end up slain
for i don’t take kindly to negative words
aimed at my kitty cats or at their purrs
all hell will break loose i start kicking caboose
and there stands a good chance of someone getting hurt
cuz i’m smitten on kittens you’ll see if you look
it’s written throughout all the history books
it’s deemed as a crime to fuq with the sublime
and you might just wind up hanging from a skyhook
should you ever dare to disparage a cat
by claiming domain then we must have a chat
and heads will then roll because i lose control
and i will proceed to then beat on the brat
for cats are the ones who have stolen my heart
their fuzziness is just like way off the charts
so cuddly cute should ye ever refute
then you leave me no choice but to rip you apart
i know what you’re thinking “this dude is insane”
“the toxoplasmosis went straight to his brain”
these may be the facts so I suggest you act
on your best behavior and show some restraint
cuz i will risk all to protect any kitten
it’s highly advised that you best get to gettin’
i pray you comply otherwise you will die
cuz i’ll end your life in the spot you’re now sittin’!

In the Key of Beauty

there is beauty in all things
for it exists within our words.

one mustn’t hazard any
further contemplation.

the time to speak is now.

resonate sonorously
with prosody profound.

each soul must
sing its song.

imbue your voice
upon the world
’til your heart
rings the truth of love.

with harmonic resolve.

Listen, For I Have Kept A Fanatic Heart -by Ray Smith (Poetry Magazine Feb 1944)

Some poems seem to reflect the very essence of our being on an intimate level.  This is the poem that I most relate to.  The poet, Ray Smith, also happens to be the grandfather of my primary source of inspiration in my personal life.  My wife, Mira Meunier.  Ray was a poet who enlisted in WWII to serve as a combat medic.  He fought in several of the most noted battles, one of which was the battle of the bulge.  It’s interesting to see the marked change that took place in his poetry from the period before his deployment to the period after which he had experienced the horrors of warfare.  This transformation can be observed in the poems published by Poetry Magazine during those years found here https://www.poetryfoundation.org/search?q=ray+smith&refinement=poetry_magazine&page=2 for anyone who might be interested in reading them.  He would become a decorated soldier, having risked his life on numerous occasions to save his comrades. Speaking of comrades, in a vulgar display of cruel irony, he was blacklisted for being a communist after having served his country.  He spent the remainder of his years serving as the library director at several universities and served twice as poet laureate for the state of Minnesota.

Ember

love looms
amid the earthen shrine
in contrast with truth
pressing onto parchment
muted musings left lingering
for glancing eyes
that gaze in contempt
aghast at the ongoing display
of decadent debauchery
never have they known
such indiscretion
yet none can speak
for what is known

the radiance
disarming
its cadence grows stronger
echoing into the abyss of anguish
from one
to other
bearing no consequence
of relevant toll
rolling like a snow-bound stone
enjoyed by the sun

all of these ancestral affectations
airs of artifice
agonizing over every breath
spilled out onto the landscape
like leaves leading to disarray
in lost portrayal

sweet strands of vermilion
lick like flames
framing such fragile alabaster allure
alone and aloft
soft tones of humility
exuding from hearth
set upon this heart
rekindled by kindred coalescence
windswept into one regret
and set to the serenity
of solitude’s song