My Poetry


Illuminate the night!  You can make it bright, right?  Like the way a Lite Bright enlightens a child’s contrite life.  Or how a white knight can save a damsels distressed life.  Dissolve the strife with your luminescent smile!  Do stay a while.  Will you?  Won’t you?  Why don’t you?  Play with me!  Make yourself free, for a brief moment, and I’ll torment with slow anointment.  No need for an appointment.  Pleasure and pain, fun and game, are all part of the ethereal zeal you’ll feel upon the sealing of this dealing.  A snack perhaps?  A meal?  You could steal a quick kiss if you wish.  You wouldn’t want to miss the potential bliss of this oceanic abyss.  We could reminisce like kings and queens.  Speak of nothings, or of silly things, like string beans and mundane routines.  We could imagine beautiful green scenes or lean, mean, fighting machines.  We could bring up things only we know about how they turned out.  I could unwind your mind. Or you could unwind mine.  Or both.  We could sit close if you so chose.  Don’t go so soon.  Then again, you do make me swoon at inopportune times, like a powerful potion, or a potent quotient of the moment.  A multiplicative minute; an instantaneous happenstance; a fast flash dance that puts me in a trance stance.  Maybe you should go?  No?  Before my knees become Jello?   But if you must go, home to your real wife life and furry little beast, at least, before you leave, kiss me and tell me you’ll miss me.  Ah, but that beguiling smile!  On second thought, stay a while.


War is brown

war is putrid,

smells like gunpowder,

tastes like sulfur,

sounds like thunder,

and feels like the verge of tears.


Art is yellow

art is bold,

smells like paint,

tastes like bubble gum,

sounds like a drum beat,

and feels like opening your eyes.


Hatred is black

hatred is cold,

smells like rotting potatoes,

tastes like cough syrup,

sounds like people bickering,

and feels like a lump in your throat.


Justices is blue

justice is brazen,

smells like cut grass,

tastes like lemonade,

sounds like applause,

and feels like a deep exhale.


Lust is silver

lust is slick,

smells like charcoal,

tastes like rum,

sounds like bodies slapping together,

and feels like an orgasm.


Love is pink

love is moist,

smells like peppermint,

tastes like chocolate,

sounds like a sirens song,

and feels like floating.


Anger is red

anger is passionate,

smells like sweaty armpits,

tastes like blood,

sounds like a chainsaw,

and feels like grinding your teeth.


Enlightenment is opal

enlightenment is peaceful,

smells like fresh air,

tastes like chicken soup,

sounds like the ocean,

and feels like an open mind.


Religion is orange

religion is meticulous,

smells like dusty books,

tastes like burnt toast,

sounds like chanting masses,

and feels like a sedative.


Science is indigo

science is mystifying,

smells like yeast,

tastes like whiskey,

sounds like a buzzing bee,

and feels like a slap in the face.


Betrayal is burgundy

betrayal is spicy,

smells like smoke,

tastes like cayenne,

sounds like a car alarm,

and it feels like a headache.


Hope is aquamarine

hope is desperate,

smells like fabric softener,

tastes like bacon,

sounds like paper ripping

and feels like a pounding heart.


Jealousy is green

jealousy is bitter,

smells like noxious perfume,

tastes like raw meat,

sounds like giggling schoolgirls,

and feels like biting your tongue.


Loneliness is gray

loneliness is desolate,

smells like rain,

tastes like cardboard,

sounds like an echo,

and feels like an empty room.


Greed is amber

greed is blind,

smells like shit,

tastes like corn syrup,

sounds like sobbing,

and feels like an empty stomach.


Tiredness is white

tiredness is light,

smells like lavender,

tastes like water,

sounds like lullabies,

and feels like heavy eyelids.


Death is colorless

death is empty,




and feels like the beginning.


Night Train

I stepped on to the late night train,

exhausted, utterly and entirely drained.

A smelly and filthy man came sauntering up,

approaching me with a smudgy and broken porcelain cup.

I scanned the train, hoping to be saved from annoying disgrace.

Alas, he settled next to me and sipped, with a stupid grin on his face.

From that empty cup, he puckered his lips and proceeded to chug.

But the man poured nothing but air into his mug covered with mud.

Unoccupied air poured from a bottle in an old worn out sack.

What on earth was it he nonsensically threw back?

The man blathered some baloney about lack of will.

I noted the train was completely vacant and still.

Suddenly the man began speaking in tongues.

Glistening in his eyes sat the song of the sun.

To my surprise I responded with a quick, short retort.

I had no idea I could speak language of such sort!

We spoke in tongues of truths and how we had each come to this place;

of how we are all doomed into this disconsolate estate;

how the top percentile maintains control over it all;

and how one day the world is destined to fall.

He offered a sip from his ineffectual cup filled from that illogical bottle.

Amused, I thought why not so grabbed it and took a huge swallow.

To my surprise it tasted bitterly sweet when I pursed my lips,

and a tickling tingle trickled from my brain to my fingertips.

The instant I looked at him I felt unhuman all of a sudden.

As my woozy mind continued to talk nineteen to the dozen.

The air from that magic bottle had somehow gotten me stoned.

I was grateful the train was unoccupied and that we were alone.

On and on we continued our chatter,

covering all topics that really did not matter.

We spoke of fish and bees and plastic bags;

about glass containers and reusable rags.

We imagined kings and queens;

the way things used to be;

how circumstances had shaped this fake democracy.

We regretted the sorrowful tragedy of the commons;

and how we came to be ruled by a nation of sovereigns.

As time passed by and more magic we drank,

I barely noticed his stink was filthy and wrank.

I no longer pitied this solemn homeless guy

whose light still shone bright in his twinkling eyes.

In fact, I admired his honesty and integrity

and ability to survive this grimy gritty city.

I was touched by his warmth and worldly insight

as I stared out the window in to the cold, bleak night.

All of a sudden we were at the end of the line.

But I couldn’t recall if this stop was mine.

Regardless, we stood and said our goodbyes.

With one last glance at his shimmering eyes

I gave him my name and stepped out and down.

When he told me his I immediately frowned.

He winked and said, “Beelzebub, author of sin.”

I stood alone on the platform and shivered within.

Dizzy drunk and completely confused.

I had just been given my final number.

I never again awoke from my slumber.


drawn to you

a moth to the moon

you make me swoon

but never too soon

fevered kiss

wet lips start to part

risk hell-lose heart

star charts fall apart

our parts fit

head on throbbing chest

lips rest on breast


wet hands grab

grip at hips-slide-slip

fingertips dip

tongue tweaks-nips-sips-licks

eyes reflect

drunken confusion



free will will

set you free just learn

trust lust and yearn

breath this life will burn


Arrival in Style

I was born on a frigid and frozen February day,

And entered the world in an unusual way.

Not dropped by a swaddling stork,

But born in a hospital in western New York.

Before my arrival there was the trip from the cabin,

Deep in the woods, with snow hard to traverse in.

The truck they trudged to would not turn its engine,

So dad trekked to the neighbors where they had phone reception.

He dialed and dialed his emergency pal,

But all dad’s dialing was to no avail.

Since each time he called he got a busy tone,

He assumed his friend was chatting to someone from home.

So he decisively called the operator to break into the line,

To which she replied: “Sir, you’ve been dialing your own number this entire time!”

With that small silly glitch finally worked out,

My parent’s friends and their car eventually came about.

The drive to the hospital was an extended 38 miles,

Surely a histrionic trip concealed with nervous smiles.

Then, the circumstances of my arrival got even more odd,

Since I was trying to push out with the tip of my snoz.

Before the doctors knew this was the case,

They asked mom to return to her home, all in good grace.

She wisely refused, since home had no electricity and no running water,

And, being the 20th century, there was no reason she oughtta.

When they finally realized I was approaching nose first,

The doctors proceeded to assist in my birth.

And after some time and some surgical wiles,

I came in to the world, arriving in style.


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