Natural disasters in my heart




They bare you

peeling off the stains of your life

as if from a banister


You soft wood at your center

from years of self pity


you seduce me with your pain

touching me with the tip of a nail

and I tumble as if

struck by an ax


even all these years later

I still lust for you

remembering the pin scene

of your seduction

feeling as green now

as I was then


My warped youth

unable to coral you

my work-roughened hands

unable to touch you

without leaving splinters


I have no soft core

then or now

still aching to press

each inch of me

into your life

word by precious word

as if we were

still young wood.





The gulls with gripping beaks

sweep down out of gray skies

breaking off pieces of my day


Summer fades into early autumn,

October skies drip with rain

each waves stealing away

inches of beach before my

unhurried step.


Cars pepper the tourists lots

like dots of moisture on a windshield

Most sweep away by the sweep of time

and threat of cold


we do not chase each other off cliffs

the way the lemmings to

but into traffic jams and shopping malls

as greedy as gulls for things

we do not need

grabbling with crumbs that drops

through the cracks of the boardwalks of our lives


I step around these birds

stirring up panicked sand pipers

and the protests of gulls

alone on this beach this morning

as if I was the last of my species

clutching my soggy paper bag

and the breakfast it contains

as if it was my last meal




Clear light

cannot pass through

stained glass

and still be clear,

or untarnished,

pressed as it might be

by bread and wine

You tell me

you will save my soul

tinting my life

with your distorted vision

I say

while your colored windows

may be pretty,

I canít see out of them.




You wear childhood like a mask

eyes sparkling with visions of youth

no one but you takes too seriously.

even when you plunge your knife

into their chests.


A master of first impressions

you fool your victims

by leading them to believe

they hurt you

the perfect decoy.


You are a witch with ancient elixirs

against which mere hormones

cannot compete

We hate your ability to bleed

month after month

and later give birth

society grafting claws of guile

on your finger tips

to make up for your physical frailty


But now in modern times

when we are all supposedly equal

you continue to cut and slash

leaving bleeding people like me

with every touch

my heart merely the last

in a long line of scarred





Leaves linger here

splotched yellow rippling over

a bared birdís nest,

The edges of each leaf

stained red as if from blood

the roots of spring time robins left

to the rattle of decay in river breeze

the dregs of autumn foreshadowing

the deep chill winter brings

white not black the symbol of death here

when all color expires gray leaves not brown

buried deep under ice and snow,

a shivering cat claws at the roots of a tree

a sluggish tumble eased onto a log

for one last bask in slanted sunlight

A duck mutters like a stalling boat engine

and I sit here at the river side

an artist without brush or canvas,

seeking somehow to preserve

what is left?




Woke up to snow again,

Global warming teasing us

With hints of real winter,

I keep expecting the sky

To fall and the thick crusts

Of my childhood to fill

My gaze, half if it is

The illusion of time, tick of

Change which has over

Time become that of a

Bomb, waiting with its

Own patience

To explode on us




It is a losing proposition

Waking morning to the call

Of death, tasting it in

My coffee, smelling it

In the air, the long

Wait from birth

Only the initial part

Of its torture,

It is the linger

Which is the worse part

Tell one day you beg for it

The way you once begged

For one more day



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