I Sang My Body Electric

I dreamt of sapphire fire writhing
through the tinseled veins of my soul,
filled with glittering corpuscular data
motivating servo-mechanical musculature.
I spied my thoughts gathering
lightning from thundering clouds,
spinning the charges, weaving the matrix,
as I flew the broad massifs of my sparkling mind
and soared its high Yucatan mesas
on arc lit carbon fibered wings;
or when the various pathways
of galvanic emotion
and electronic intellect
converged by the riversides
in the valleys of my life,
I panted down to the darkling marshes
and stalked the evening shadows
as a composited sinewed Aztecan puma.
No matter my form; I sense I am aware I am alive and
that I sang my body electric.

a red letter day

after the dinner 

during the debate

words were spelled in blood

by sharpened quills as  

broken wedding jars 

spilled carmine wine 

holy water flowed across the table

he said

the blood is liquified

the spirit is a gas

the body is solidified

petros with a two-edged tongue 

licked the ear of a demon's servant

he said

the rolling stone gathers no prints

habeas corpus christie

from a latin wilderness 

the word was shouted

in blots of scarlet ink by

markos with a feathered-edged calamus 

thrust his opinion into yeshua's side

but he always minds as he tries

to dot his tees and cross his eyes

he said

the logos is plasmatically

problematic

Mr. E. Hess?

put your mountain beside your sea
and the sea outside your window
if you can and
if you really want to
put your money where your mouth is
where your name is your game
and never was his biz
but i bet you can't
put your monkey where your junkie is
where they pray in pearly temples
when they prey on shirley temples
if you really had it to do
if you really wanted to
put your sea beside your mountain
put your coin inside your fountain or
see the sea outside your window
thus if you could would you
be mysterious

for libby

Herbs & Hues

Rosaceae = 620–740 nanometers

Violaceae = 450–495 nanometers

(2R,3R,4S,5S,6R)-2-[(2S,3S,4S,5R)-3,4-dihydroxy-2,5-bis(hydroxymethyl)oxolan-2-yl]oxy-6-(hydroxymethyl)oxane-3,4,5-triol ≠ salty, sour, bitter, and umami

love = me + you

Am I a Writer?

I first began writing when I was somewhere between the ages of thirteen and fourteen years old. I wrote little, science fiction, short stories that nobody in my family seemed to care about or understand. Since this was a bit disconcerting, I gave it up.

My next foray into creative writing came when I was fifteen, when I wrote an original  comedy skit about two people trapped in an elevator. I did this for an English class assignment and had to also direct my fellow students as they acted out the scene for the class. I felt very proud of the situational aspects I had inserted into my tiny play. Unfortunately for me, a fellow student used a dramatic reproduction of short story written by H. G. Wells entitled "The Country of the Blind". The class voted hers as the better of the three presentations. This seemed unfair to me, because I knew mine was better, but she was a very popular cheerleader. Years later, I asked her about it. She told me that she could not remember that class, much less her skit. Peculiar how life operates.

At the age of sixteen I wrote a few poems that no one wished to read, therefore I gave that up, along with my interest in anything my English class had to offer. When I flunked, because of this, I had to attend summer school to make up the course.

During the summer make-up class, our teacher assigned book readings and we issued the  subsequent reports. I loved doing this and aced the course! Yet, that was the last time I attempted any writing where I actually finished m work, until a few years ago. I did not renew my writing until 2007, when I attempted to write a novel. I wrote some poetry and still do. I have a blog, also.

I conclude that I write, but too little and not well at all. Therefore, I am NOT a writer.

Counting Pennies in the Dark

In the depths of dark
rhymes and rondels,
an old man in stark times
gropes and fondles
a velveteen pouch glutted
with discs of copper greed,
all tarnished by the corrosion
of his incessant need.

His lonely soul is shrouded
by thick and blackened lust.

His only sole desire clouds
a conscience gone to rust.

Without surcease of avarice
his life became diseased,
and without the lust of Mammon,
this man was never pleased
and love never left its mark.

This is why he sits alone
counting pennies in the dark.

Two Little Ditties

Bang, Bang, Shoot You

The gun lay on his table,
Warm, gleaming
In the window light.
He gently picked it up,
Embraced it tight,
Caressed the trigger,
Killed Able,
Then ran helter skelter
Through the night.

************************

Disconnect

Whence I come,
Wherever I go,
My mind is lost
In blackest night.
Since dark from light
Ever need I know,
Never heed a word I write.