Hour Twelve ( I am finished!)

We all have closets, deep within our souls,
places dark and scary and cluttered.
Our monsters are kept there,
our dreams sometimes, though I hope not.

My fears lurk there, hell, they breed there!
Clustering among the smelly sneakers and
old socks I left there as a kid,
they constantly remind me I have no value
I am not like others
I am odd

So I can see air, big deal
So everything inside my head is color coded,
who cares!
Words with “L’s and R’s are hard to pronounce
and every Fall I may stutter.

But I have found an antidote to those
evil shadows that try to twist my soul
I have found God, the creator of the universe!

I know not why He allows those demons
to hide within my self, planing diabolical curses.
But I do know He is love and power
and he decided to create me as I am,
just as I am.

That is enough for me



Hour Eleven

A single red flower held at arm’s length
against the cerulean sky
sings of my love for chocolate and music
and banjos. (Maybe not banjos)

Left on a gravestone it symbolizes lost
on the keyboard of your spouse
love and romance

On an empty front step a sense of longing
regret perhaps.

A single green stemmed red flower
on a soldier’s jacket courage,
in the barrel of a rifle peace.

Courage, romance, longing, peace.


Hour Ten

What is love my heart asks

and I have no reply.

Poets for centuries tried to define love

and a million explanations and definitions abound.

Yet one has to ask, if you can define love, is it really love?

Love is a feeling. A ghost of events, a tale

of multiple environments, a chemical reaction some say.

Scientists may call it just a longing to be accepted

while young men confuse it with lust.

Yet, as a man who has loved and lost many times,

tripped over love, stepped on love,

socked love in the chops and been decked repeatedly

by love,

I say love is …..love. It is not physical nor chemical

but a deeper quantum spiritual existence.

Love is love.



Hour Nine (Beet, jacket, tremor, bayou, elbow, light-bulb, cinnamon, bucket, elk, carport)

The bayou of my mind comes alive

as your elbow digs into my ribs.

What, now? I ask as you pull

my jacket off. Your lipstick

tastes like cinnamon, your face beet red

from the alcohol, the light-bulb is off

and we aren’t even out of the carport yet.

True love or true lust?

I’ll take either.

There is a tremor in your voice

as you call me your honey elk.

I just hope at my age this passion

doesn’t cause me to kick to bucket!

Hour Eight

Yikes! My soul is stretched among the stars

pulled tight to encase galaxies

dancing naked with cosmic juice.

Energy pulses through me

and inhabits me as tears

leap from my cheeks

flying off to become stars that soar

through the mystery darkness of existence.

My soul tightens as emotions unknown pull and strain

at the false reality of this primitive world

where hatred lives and fear soars,

seeking the unimaginable joy of the cosmic wind.



Hour Seven

Where your fragrance lingers
I hear your voice.
Your laughter
aches my soul.

My mind smiles
where your fragrance lingers,
tickling my thoughts
with your memory.

I don’t cry at all
when I sense your presence
where your fragrance lingers
feeling your tender touch.

I wish I could visit more
to see your lovely eyes
taste your tender lips
where your fragrance lingers



Hour Six

The edge of the earth lives in all of us.

As we age we dangle our feet into the universe

wiggling our toes into nothingness.

Curtains of darkness hold us

restrain us, teach us

to evolve deeper and deeper into the everything

that exists everywhere.

These animal bodies made of flesh and bone

can’t see beyond the edge of the earth

but in death we soar through the curtains

bursting into the reality that lies

just outside our reach in this world…

where death dies and life begins.

Hour Five

A gray morning tangled in an unfathomable mist

with a speculative breeze filled with

hummingbirds slicing the fog

leaving wild streaks of color.

An ever so faint hint of perfume,


My heart has been stolen

but never my soul.

Hints of perfume

a clue



Hour Four

Two became one

in theory

in pain

in happiness

chores divided

hobbies united

yelling from opposite sides of the house,


“I told you so!”


Two souls intertwined

I know yours

you know mine.

not love

but trust.


Hour Three

My mind has cranky wheels and bearings that squeak loudly

My eyes see the days ahead in colors and deep textures.

Do the wheels and gears generate my soul

or does my soul spin them instead?

Doubts dance like lilies on the water

with the wind stern and fresh

I reach my hand deep within, further and further

until my eyes twinkles then mist

the mist itself evaporating into my

yesterday thoughts.