Poems

Photo by John Nail from Pexels Truth is a friendYou can show a rock you found.Or a tooth.Or the meaning of life in the morning lightYou’re amazed by. People seek confirmation.Because truth is like a strange stoneFrom the groundThat tells a storyTo only strange stone readers. Your most valuable friend is not power. Or money.Or success and status.Or […]

Photo by Brett Sayles via Pexels I’m a metaphor, not a street person.Metaphors are best found, rather than written.Like me.When you’re a metaphorOr a street person, I suppose,You come and go when you feel like it.Like rain.Like the unchanneled tenderness of rain.Sometimes I go days not getting wet.Then, sometimes, three days in a row. Street

A few moments, first. Reverence for the masters – A sudden blow: the great wings beating stillAbove the staggering girl, her thighs caressedBy the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. How can those terrified vague fingers pushThe feathered glory from her loosening thighs?And how can body,

A woman’s beauty is like a brown, fragile butterfly Her eyes. The sky. The wind and the love in the clouds above. There is no beauty as beautiful as the lines behind the eyes. The thoughts. The soul’s imagination. Inspiration. The voice that gives the width and depth and meaning to the beauty of the

Good. Evil. The God. The Devil. And the power and passion Of life and love. Death is a snake that strikes and ebbs Leaving only a tale. Orpheus. We are meant to live for this life Though a next will certainly follow. When I return 2000 years or less The smoke won’t be the same.