Wednesday, April 13, 2011


I suppose that I could start
My day off at an earlier time
And thus accomplish more
If that were a desirable thing.

I do at times succumb to please
For my presence here or there
Especially after being promised
Bribes of French Toast and Eggs.

I don't understand though the
Thought of those who say that
It's a morally superior thing
To gain consciousness when the

Sky is still darkened with the
Tinctures of the night before.
Let it finish, let it be done,
Don't be impolite and rush it.


Such poetry, that such a gaze
Could say so much, that she would
Feel less, deprived, unworthy,
While her friend, in that same moment
In her gaze, said that only she was worthy
Of worship.

I don't think that I like a world
Where a judgement of worth is such
A shallow thing.  Only beauty, shallowly told
Is the thing which decides the worth
Of a soul when the soul truly worthy,
Thinks itself an object of shame.
To be hidden
To be less.
It's not the world in which I choose to live.

And think--the woman kept from life,
From growth,
From finding her worth,
Only because her features meet a
Shallow definition of what--
Shall we call it beauty
Is she just an object of desire?
Perhaps her payment is as much
As the other.
The pain is woman's pain
The penalty is for all.


Like exotic birds,
The artists parade
Through the coffee shop.

Strange to us, their
Plumage of boots and
Tights and ballet slippers.

We can see their sense
Of fashion is

And we envy them.

Not for them the relentless
Push for conformity.

They are each their own species.

The Chase

Desire for a woman pulls me hard
Away from my normal intellectual way
Of being.  I hunt, driving forward forward -
My only need to bring the prey to bay.
The swell of breast, the sensual curve of hip
The sparkling eyes, her lips, the need to kiss -
And from my pensive thoughts at once I slip
To thoughts of love and joy and perfect bliss.
We touch, a brush, a gaze, O God her eyes.
Our breath co-joins, my hand, her cheek, now one
With limbs entwined and then, at last my prize
A perfect bliss - We sprawl - are laid - undone.
And finally, at last, my prey is caught and then
My intellect asserts itself again.