Poems you make up on the spot

You inspire me
with a subtlety of sound
resonating in my eardrums.

My body quivers
in the vibration
of harp strings.

Gently rising melody
which slowly fades
leaving a moment
of an echo in its wake.

Before dissipating
like the scent of perfume
and archaic cigar
smoke.

It seeps in through
the walls and bleeds
out through the floor.

A ghost fragment
that dwells
in the air which
hums with the last
impression you made.

Right before the sun
rose and caught you
in its light.

And in a smile
like a shadow
you began to
dissolve.

A thought of you
flares into my mind,
a sudden burst
which catches my
soul aflame
and leaves me wreathing,
begging a need
to be soothed by
a single touch
or a whispered word
with lips that hover
only inches from my skin
just as moth wings.

I am left
marooned
with the yearning
for you of whom I rely
upon for subsistence,
my salvations lives
within your eyes
and upon your fingertips
which know my body
as a blind man
having laid claim to every
inch of its territory.

And this revives me
for to you alone
I would surrender
myself to the completeness
of ecstasy which lives
and dies upon your
breath.

here is the heart
that hides a mountain
feels its ragged steps
and streams
that find no home
and snow-blind eyes
that never find their part

Tragedy Queen

I am lost without you
but it is not what you think
things become
tangled within my mind
among the webs
and webs of lies.

The lies of yours
and some of mine
but my deceptions
have always been
self-inflicted.

Even now I wonder
is there any truth to this
or is it all a bit pretentious,
vulnerability for me
is always more of a game,
like the tragedy queen
I sit upon my throne
and laugh.

The old jester kneeling
winks by my side
that old trickster
who never strays far
sharing a joke
that never meant
a thing.

I've been hanging and dangling like a rope without recoil,
and that is the speed of things, they hang,
they dangle,
without recoil.

Perhaps it is the knock on your door,
or perhaps it is you, wanting more.

Is it the knock on your door?
Or is it you, wanting more?

Fell the file folded under the pile
peeking out in shrieking violet hand
a birthday invitation you'll not go to,
and
the sweltering heat melting your wings.

Love came by and said hello and then he left before you could reply.
It's a sad day when that happens, but it's also a good day.
After all, love came by and said hello.

The Mind Without Agitation

No wind disturbs the leaves today.
There are no waves upon the bay.
A speedboat cuts the stillness, then
The shore absorbs. It's calm again.

can I express myself through poems
This imprisons me into nonsense
Life is not a poem
Neither dry prosaic stuff
We love mimicking
In a world of arrogance

If mimics defines my aptitude
I get crippled
Since I rise a little above
And beyond these cocoons
I neither write poetic stuff
Nor anything dulling like prosaic nonsense

I hail from a different territory
You can call it magical
I write to conjure up your mind
And fire your dull senses
You can call me poet
Not in the usual sense

Steady, earthly drilling and,
like a bandage,
the clouds cover
over the day
to prevent further blood loss

How long have I managed
without your living ghost,
believing that the last
remains of you had been
expelled?

When without permission
your apparition
suddenly appears
to take me back into
the requiem of the past.

Though I know you never
were really there as I
listened to him sing, all I
could see was a shade of you
materialized across his face.

And your voice traveled
through the radio waves
even if the words were not
your own, it was a vibration
of sound that only I could
hear.

He was worlds apart from
you and nothing bur a stranger
to me, yet there you were
living upon his lips.

Never can I forget your
charismatic sensuality
even if we always stood
somewhat apart and it never
was about romance.

You were always more
of a god, but you knew
I could see right through you
and the awe began to fade.

How much I wanted
what you couldn't give
and how much I gave
what you never wanted,
for you always misunderstood
because I could never explain.

Now all I have are memories
of cigarette smoke and
eternal eyes with the
residue of your soul
that will never complete
go away.

Gather your memories and all of your mistakes and come with me.
We'll take a ride where sorrow is unwelcome,
and you'll be free;
at least for a moment you'll be free.

Did you want to take your regrets too?
Sorry, we won't have room.
You can't bring your past with you.
It's too heavy and expensive, and we need to travel light.

Don't go back to your normal hard.
You need to leave it behind.
Take this trip to another place,
A world you need to see.

Good to read you, dude.







J

For cold earthen nights

wander the streets

or for keeping a girl

where your chest draws tight,

gaze, see;


a rose

grows

over its railing