The poems listed (newest to oldest) have been previously posted on this blog or elsewhere.

I wish I had some words of wisdom to impart as a prelude, but alas my mother is still keeping them a secret.


Float on a fire sea
Silver white waters
Where there’s a walking me
Blood red cliffs hover
Hiding what lies

Within it I am discovered
So many strange faces
Erased by the forgotten
Names lost to other spaces

In your eyes you see me flee
My dear human brother
Locked inside your secret places



She was ready
                  .had been
since age forty-three
                  .but now
some fifty years latter
                  .she is
not quite ready
                  .after all


Turn-Turn the Seasons Twirl

this is supposed to be a cooling off period
a time to unwind and let the sap slow
to a drip until it is frozen in the trunk
to lie next to evergreens with children’s gifts
dreaming of plum blossoms dancing
from a burgeoning beginning
of warm weather for which, we will long
to cool down from, come this time again
next year, where we will begin to fall
once more into the wonder of it all

Echoes of Glory

And clouds appeared as in a surreal painting
Dark purple-black, edged in golden orange
Shimmering reflections of a Texas sun
Smiling upon the red, white and blue
Proudly waving in a night’s falling
Light and the moon and stars rose
Ever so gently in translucent echoes of glory


Love’s Reality

There is nothing better than
To be
In love with the outdoors
Where sun beams spark
Between oak and sweet gum
Leaves in cool summer breezes
Being in the middle of nature
With its crazy squirrely antics
Tumbling, wrestling, barking
Nothing beats dining al fresco
Watching reality’s sitcoms play out
Through the neighbors' windows


The Dream
according to us

I saw a miniature black horse; its name was Ninety-two
standing before orange elevator doors
they chimed open, Ninety-two winked and leapt inside

I followed, fell into roses red and white and dripping with dew
every scratchless thorn capped with cotton
as 'round the palace the Queen raced on little Ninety-two

I hid behind red velvet curtains, plush and warm as wine,
while the sweat-flecked horse rode on, faster and faster
and the Queen fixed me with her terrible eye

As she put Ninety-two through saddle breaking phases,
Ninety-two strobed, electric
and she was sometimes me and sometimes the Queen

Like a hot tart dropped in haste, Ninety-two’s
chaotic glow took on a heat of
madness - liberating floating in sweet madness!

Equine strength summoned, she galloped full speed
The ground seemed to give way and suddenly
I and not the Queen was airborne, soaring majestically

Tiny toy houses and doll like people fell away
they could not see me above, light as air
Bliss; until a far north wind came and took me

Orange balloons with black eighteen's galloped skyward
like little winged ponies as I emerged,
Birthday Queen, from childhood's fevered dream

I awoke at last, in my damp and familiar bed
Mother smiling, gently wiping my brow
and little Ninety-two safely corralled in my arms
Daisy Chain

Five starters made it around (to me)
And then no others could be found
Oh me, oh my who was to blame
It wasn’t busy Melissa
On accounta she couldn’t play
Robin sent to Mark and then he to

And I on to Tony and he to Linda
Michael and Laurita were in the chain
And three went missing the email way
Oh who to blame
It was poor ol’ Doug that got picked

And being the good sport, that I hope he is
Said Our Distant Friends are Impetus
And the Citizen Three remembered
July 12, 1979 was like a Speedball

And then they went on to The Dream
Of an Early Spring which weirdly turned
Out to be Terminal

And now you too have been zapped
By the gang and their fun daisy chain


Razor’s Edge

Darkness fell with eyelids
sliding down
Breathing slowed, heart rate too
Unfamiliar sights drifted across
an empting mind

Drip – drip – drip

Behind the closed white door
Down – down – down
then there was no more


The Last “___”

As if they were pushed away
--they fell
till the shelf was all but empty and
all the a-e-i-u and even the y’s
were spilt, lying there in a puddle
I picked them up and grasping
at red and white bendy straws
I kinda just simply used what
--there was



It was hot as the sun beat down
Blistering the concrete
I watched from my apartment
Over the wrought iron

Sweat beads on his forehead
Running down his strong jaw
Swirling over, under
Five o’clock shadows

He took off his hat, red hair spilling
Drawing his muscled arm across his face
Dislodging glistening streams of hard work
Not quitting time yet,
The sun had plenty of energy left

So did he, as he worked on
Steaks sizzled on the grill
Muscles flexed and stretched
Come on, honey I whispered
Between sips of iced sweet tea

Places are set, now look up
Our eyes locked
I held a glass in offering his way
His smile told me, I would not be



I saw a girl up on a balcony
Short sassy brown hair
Lit up by the hot summer sun
Into a glowing halo

Could she see me watching?
Wonder what it was like
To be strings on her denim cutoffs
So close, brushing against her skin

Nowhere near night
And I was, lost in a dream
Up there on the third floor
Hungry for what was cooking

Thirsty for a tall shimmering glass
Like the one she just raised to her lips
Wonder where her heart lay
If it was already taken

There was no glint of rings
As her fingers busily worked about
Laying out one too many plates
Another glass glistened in her hand

Daring to look full on into her face
She rose the glass and motioned it my way
I knew from her gaze
I had been claimed



The music has fallen away
Lips no longer echo lyrics
In harmony on the air waves
Or even in disharmony

The soul does lie open
As an unplayed score
Upon the maestros stand
Wand and hand slice and dice

Through the air, instructing
Notes to bounce and boom
Cajoling voices into instruments
Giving beauty to the rise and fall

Sweet melody ringing, tingling
Tickling the very breathing air
From which the music has fallen
Away, too far away from the heart


Dry Frio River

Longing for the days of drifting
On the Frio River
Its silver threads flowing
Over smooth stones
That now blister in the sun
Or fall into the cracked earth

River, O river come back us
Free yourself and spring
Once again from the hard ground
Roam our Texas lands
To chill bleached bones
And quench the thirst
Of your leathered inhabitants


Hear ye, hear ye
(Brassiere ye)

Hooks and frilly lace binding
Feminine freedoms

Like flags of yester years, burned
Smoke rose as pointed funnels into history

Medium to small and custom enlargements
Advertized as secrets, bared

Pink, blue, white or zebra stripe
So gently put into training

Making fashion statements
Sporting support has shaken
Bubbling out and over
Cleavage of strapless propriety
Bras flung with wild abandon

Anticipation haltered


Look Back

Standing naked behind sheer hotel curtains
Billowing, blowing on gusts of sea wind
Flickering, gliding on my breast, my thighs

Raising tiny goose bumps chilling my soul
As natural as breathing, I hold myself, alone
Close my eyes and inhale

Salty air reminiscent of that last walk along
The golden sands of forever
Like the plane, your plane now flies to

And you, you sit among strangers
Clothed in yourself, breathing their air
Smelling their unknown scents

While I pray that you are missing me
Or at least that you glance out the window
And look for me, please look back



To see life’s reflections in the convex mirrors of your eyes

So easy is your touch to the fallen bird of a desolate field

To smell a white velvet rose is to inhale your blessed scent

So sweet is your engaging taste it is a moist fruit upon dry lips

To hear your soothing laughter as a soft ring of a triangle

So too is the rebirth of my joy in each vivid thought of you


The song

The song of words are a melody

Hard and soft, low and sweet

Meter with feet to stand on

Rhythm and rhyme reach

Into naked air of innocence

Slow for a soul to drift on

Or fast quick words of action

Syllables, constants, vowels

Let them all marry happily

To create style, verse and

Poetic songs of dipody



Disturb the universe
What has it to do with me?
It knows not time, place
Nor me

I cannot, will not
Alter its existence
Yet it will affect mine
Sunrise to sunrise

As Hamlet spoke…
“To be or not to be”
Ha, that is not a concern
For the universe

It will simply be
Without self knowledge
Yet it is time, place
And me
Waves and undulations

Ripple thru this
Universe and out
Thru me



Ready to play a game?
Everyone keep it a secret,
Don’t tell. Here’s what we’re

Gonna do. Take one pen with
Red ink or a maker
Evenly write out the first letter of
Each line in this acrostic poem
Nice and slow now.

Can you guess the
To this special riddle?

Pretty pitiful huh? Go ahead say it
Out loud…I dare you
Oh my, Gummy Butt, it is the
Prompt for red-green cat poop!



Hearts Beating     .A
as one
Filled with sentiments of the priceless
memories we hold
In celebration of time with rejoicing
for plenty more to go
Lifetime as one


A circle within itself
No beginning found, yet
No ending to be had

A concept without description
Meaning one thing to one, yet
Another thing to another

A circle within itself
Having no top, yet
Standing on no bottom

An ideal without question is
An answer sought, yet
Question is not answered

A perfection is of itself
Become a conceptual
Ideal of a perfect concept


Hear Odious

Like a scab is not
Always pretty
But a


Who is the Poet

you are the poet.
It is a duty,
a fate to sing to the world,
its own song.
With words that spill out
decorating by means of
fluid emotion, solid breath
liquid life, petrified evil,
frozen lust, glorified piety
sultry love or forbidden hate.
Providence has given this
Song to you, and me
the poet.
Yes even to me too.
I am the poet.


Cantrell’s Corn

Tractors chugging and lugging
bobbing over hills that are rolling
Sculpting earth, dropping seed
Sprouts to soar high from the earth
high and lovely across the fields
Gracefully thriving full and lush
on this beautiful land of our birth

Stalks taller than little eyes can see
reaching up and out to glittering stars
Swaying and waving in the breeze

Silk drying under an August sun
Running skipping and flying
Through the rows, what fun

Festival rides lighting the night
Saltwater taffy pulled and folded
Pink cotton candy, a tongues delight
In this a familiar story is told
Of Cantrell’s corn and
It’s sweet gift of gold



When green grass becomes
golden brown
When outside is actually inside
a convection oven
When people melt into pools
of hot butter
When air is as sticky as honey and
as thick as gravy

That is when summer turns into
Biscuit days



Though I walk through, I slow my step to admire the beauty of it all. I absorb everything that I can, while I can. Time spent here is peaceful and full of gladness; it is not near long enough. I see the shadows as they fall in front of me, I look upon them, my feet say retreat, my heart says stand strong, and my soul knows I am protected. They are mere shadows to be stepped upon; they will pass and fade with the afternoon sun. Night comes and the stillness is breathtaking. A whole new beauty develops and surrounds me. Yet still the shadows lurk. They are cast about in a haphazard way. I am protected and yet sense them. I don’t let them trip me or make me fall. Serenity cleanses and chases the shadows away. I am loved. I can rest in paradise and all will be well. It is not fleeting; it is here, all around. Paradise valley waits



An amateur writer repeating familiar words in the hopes of a few that agree. They will flow together and bring meaning to some. To edify the reader and listener alike. But how, how to describe and express with pencil and ink that which is in an amateur writer. The words swirl in and out, sometimes with great ease rushing forth barely waiting to join the paper. Laying down upon it with fluid motion and lyrical sound. Other times with sweat and agony slowly grinding onto the bare blank page. Even then only as a mass, jumbled together, not pleasing to the eye much less the lips. They stick to the tongue as peanut butter does to dry crackers. But still an amateur writer must place the loved and hated words on empty paper, in the form of plays, poems, sonnets and tales. It doesn’t matter whether the words are acted out with great drama, sweetly spoken in the ear of a lover or verbalized to a group of the young or old. An amateur writer has the need, the need to write; that is the delusion the anguish and the sweet torture of an amateur writer.


The Buzzzz

Mosquitoes, oh those awful blood banditos.
They circle your head with that distracting buzzzz.
All the while they are feasting on your legs.
We slap ourselves and thump those that go splat.
Just as a reminder whether night or day,
Whatever you do, don’t forget the mosquito spray



Purposeful words dance across the
Open pages singing out to
Enlighten spirits and souls of
Many a type of people both
Secretly and plainly—equal


Some Things Just Are

Today has no sorrows for yesterday’s regret
Only for what may be next
Grasp the knob and enter the door
One day, one step, one blink, one breath



Turn it down, the music has ended
The song is over—all played out
Missing the sweet keys
Carried off, drifting—into sour notes
Melting into stones
Whose timber echoes back in silence
Blowing out the candle’s flame



Without you I am…
Upside down in an upright space
A fish swimming in the mountains
Broken wheels on a rollercoaster
A helium balloon stuck under ground
Those three words trapped in a box



Illusions of reality appear before me
Money for gas
Fighting arguing kids
Empty faces in the crowds
Certainties of reality are before me
Take me back
Back to the fantasy
Dreams and wonders
Where my heart is free to dance and fly



Humans hastily pace in a
basin of oppression
scratching up life
Rummaging through
yearbooks of time
Measuring against each other
in a circus of disorder
Grace quietly unfolds
welcoming kindness in a
wasteland of perfection


The Getaway

Caught in a nightmare of tenderness
Roaming the devotion streets
Laying in the comfort of restlessness
A bandaged window of brokenness
Looms in the blue-grey vastness
Of the rolling treasure hills

Too close—obvious—oblivious


A Storm

Thunder ripples across the heavens
splitting open and showing the
island of the moon
Skipping stars on a dark liquid sky
splashing into brilliant explosions
raining moon blush
Gusting wind pairing clouds of storms
softening into beating hearts
thundering of love



The shadow of death is with us always.
The light of life is with us constantly.

One fears the other; the other seeks the one.

The soul shall have both and rejoice.
The life is lived and death will bring it anew.



One upon a time there was childhood
laid aside
The old giant mantle growing
Lone silver plated photograph
The gathering cobwebs of a
spider’s garden
Catching gentle sunbeams that spill
The imaginations of golden aged
Memories softly floating into a new



Understanding of friendship always
* * be on your mind
Comfort of being one always
** hold you together
Gleaming light of joy always
* *shine upon your hearts
Peace of the other always
* *warm your soul
Happiness of marriage always
* *embrace your bodies
Adventure of love always
* *be with you on this journey



I knew in an instance you were the one for me
Bright sunlight glistening on your every curve
The way you move with such grace and ease
Your heat and readiness thunders to be set free
I want more and you give it at the slightest touch
The breeze so naturally glides across your body
I am slave to your power and quick response
I knew in an instance you were the one for me


Summer Haiku

Hot times drift on by
Leafing vivid colors brown
Summer is for prose



His face melted with the news
solar system frozen in orbit
no sunrises, no sunsets

His earth shuddered to a stop
solitary rain crashing down
needle waves of thunder.

His heart felt silent
sorrow was a close friend
nourishment but a plague.


Life Happens



Black Flames

Black fire whips, flames jump and lash out,
while gray smoke calls out to the sky.
Get up-the weary voices unfold to be heard
from the broken cradle of mischief.
Haphazard water castles grow and bellow
towards the dim wasteland of destiny.
The far away crescent moon whisper screams,
of the nightmare visions that await.
Again the coward lied to lost tarnished souls.



It shows as a
secret known to the world
our eyes give it away

Brought forth from us
like stars that scatter across
the dark night’s sky of silk

It radiates from us
in aroma, touch and vibration
our essence gives it away

It is what we can not bind
nor can timeless death’s
lonely darkness hold it

It shines as
free as the brilliant sun
the moon is a testimony

Brought forth from us
like the soft gentle rain
from a cloudless sky

It rises from us
as the mist from the warm
waters on a cool morn.

It is what we share
what we will always have
It is forever what we are



Sand Storms and Rainbows

You are my beloved on an island
You are missing from time to time

Do you think I do not know where you go
Do you think I will not tag along

You are there in the abandoned desert
You are surrounded by giant dunes

I will be there for the worst of the sand storms
I will be there for greatest of the sunrises

We will stand in the high noon heat
We will stand in the quenching rain

You and I are one at the end of the rainbow


Outside the Box

Straight lines that angle into points
Lack of doors, windows and openings of all kinds

No in, No out
If you are not able to reach or touch any others

Why be there—on the outside?



The lowly termite
lives in the dark
seeks to exist in time
It eats
for the sake of

It destroys in time
things we strive
to have in
It returns all
to dust


With You

I am in the glistening splash of a waterfall
the sizzling sound of the setting sun as it
dips into the pacific for its nightly swim.

My song is that of the crickets and frogs;
as you are lulled to peaceful sleep by the
intoxicating luscious blue moon lily.

I am in the breath that whispers across your
smooth yielding skin to awaken you when
dawn breaks free of the quiet deep night.

My song is the rhythmic morning beat of
a hushed easy rainfall traveling down lazily
to the blossoming canopy of the forest.

I am in the reflection that is cast
downward on the silent waters of the lake
I am here with you, in all things that are.


Better things to do

Put off the daily scrubbing and
Roll over for more sleep.
Occupy the mind in day dreams to
Catch the worm on the morrow.
Rest is well deserved as there is
Always plenty more to do.
Speculate for other options because
Time wasted is time wanted.
Instead find food for thought.
Negligence does it matter?
Any how tomorrow is another day and
Time is always available to
Enjoy a well earned reprieve.
Right, yes absolutely!