The Alabaster Queen|
Blue veined lattices trace roads
On marble smooth white skin.
Blue bright eyes laugh with sprightly life
Beneath black hair blown wild.
And how many know who she is?
And how many know where she lives?
And how many know The Alabaster Queen?
Come laugh with her
touch a golden stone
in a smoke filled room
as her blood red nails rip your back
as her howls caress the night
and her thighs slap with a steady beat
till reason leaves and the velvet feel
transcends all thought
and you nestle into the soft-warm core
and lap the love
and thank the God
Who bound your soul to flesh.
Love Poem II
Silence squatted down between us,
Until breathless conversation
Turned and stole behind the stillness,
And, gaily laughing, careened madly
Down the hall, bouncing off furniture and walls,
Until the quietness caught it and
Squatted down between us,
Brightly alert for breathless conversation.
Love Poem III
You, with your
And Climactic looks,
Who sweetly blows reason
Till he erupts,
And grandly smiling,
Sees your point of view.
Love Poem IV
For her mates
She sits and waits
Midst her lovely silken strands.
Plump and brown
He glides around
Testing gossamer spun bands.
He comes to her,
Marking time with careful beats,
Cross the net
Where he will get
Lagniappe with what he seeks.
It's time to run,
Slashing wildly, futile race.
He will have found
Time to ponder and to trace,
How like we
Those spiders be
When they find eternal love.
The planes dropped from the sky by ones,
Jacks from a small child's palm.
They fell beneath the sky
Where a miracle lifted them up
Screaming faster than they fell.
Houses shattered like lincoln logs
Flattened by a small child's fist.
Ah, the delight as tracers flew,
Fireflies flitting across our porch.
We laughed as children laugh,
Playing with matches, while fields burned.
Then we pouted when the parades didn't come,
With brassy bands and flags unfurled.
So we viewed it all with a jaundiced eye
And sat in our holes getting stoned.
The Semantic Blues
See old folks sit exchanging stares,
Weaving yarns in rocking chairs.
Colors mixed but never matched,
Wishes always twined with facts.
See old folks sit and sing the blues,
With sweet and sad and subtle hues,
Like memories are, like old folks do,
Sit and sing and always wonder,
What they missed, what they meant.
What word-wraiths passed unsaid,
Telling melancholy lies,
Once a lonely time ago?
We Listened There to Soft Melodies
A minstrel sang your name last night,
And I followed it's sound into fading light.
Past the stars and into heaven's vale,
We alone, your name and I, did sail.
Through a dim, love-lighted passageway
We decended, far below the vulgar day,
To the room, both bright and warm,
Where colors play and sounds are born.
We listened there to soft melodies,
And watched the colors, love's delight,
Change the breezes into veils of light.
And there my heart caressed your name,
Until I left that room, when morning came.
Dreams are ended in Sun's first glare,
But still my heart and your name are there,
In that room, both bright and warm,
Where colors play and sounds are born.
The Giant stood astride the world,
The lights in His eyes laughing,
For He was God,
And man tried to please Him.
But He was not to be pleased,
He took their sacrifices and
Threw them into His gaping maw.
His spittle fell to Earth,
Manna from Heaven.
And every wanderer believed.
Shades of Blue
He knew a woman, soft and fair,
With eyes of blue and golden hair,
His heart was hers to keep, she knew,
But love is ever shades of blue!
Turning him down with shining smiles,
So deft, so kind, what artful guiles
She knows at such an early age,
To gently parry jealous rage!
How silly to her this all must seem,
An old man, addled by moonbeam,
Dares dream that she, so young and sweet,
Would think his heart a thing to keep!
But middle-aged foolishness builds from air,
Enough hopes, at least, to send this fare,
To soften her heart with childish verse,
To dream it matters is old age's curse!
What contempt for him she must bear
To read the doggerel written here,
What pity for the lonely soul,
Without a chance to reach his goal!
He dreams that wit could change her heart,
Or poems could ever make her part
With what she tightly holds so dear,
Old fools will never get so near!
But oh, how her grace mesmerized,
How the lights burned in her eyes,
How close to her fair Venus keeps,
How near to him old Winter creeps!
What he would do to win her heart,
What works and sighs and careful art,
To never have to face what's true,
That love is ever shades of blue!