Poem 8

"Memory's Dare"

A rose resides
Flat on parched page,
Withered brown
By tears and age.

And the girl who gently
Pressed it there -
Resides far from the rose,
From it's luring dare.

Poem 6

"Wanton Ways"

Blue black malaise
When love rolls in
At end of days-
Wanton ways may win
The race lovers run
Scorched in white-hot sun.

So hold me tight as we trip
Beyond fantastic light's glare
As we stumble and slip
Through mid air
That knows no ledge
For us to share
Like a sharp, sharp edge.

Pleading, you beckoned me
Follow your lead to wanton ways
To the blue black sea
Of our destiny
Through end of days.

Poem 3

"Striking Distance"

Part 1
With a lover's kiss
Sealed inside her thigh
Comes his haunting kiss,
Awaits her aching cry.

Heed their story's moral-
So entwined they are,
He a swirl of coral,
She a winsome star.

Through night hills they creep,
Clawing toward black skies-
In vain, she pleads for sleep,
He confirms his lies.

Comes dawn with mystic dews
Steeped in lurid scent-
Glowing headlines? Wild reviews?
Not a mention; not a hint.

Part 2
White sun dries pain
Leaving red-raw space.
Gentle rustling rain
Erasing each trace.

On streets below
From a dark dank corner,
Hear again - faint hiss,
Smart rejoinder.

Crushed midst no moral,
Lost, they are.
He, a hissing swirl of coral,
She, a winsome star.

Poem 2

"Tragedy for Sale"

puzzle of lanes
littered by sound
city of cruelty -
tinseltown.

blur of color
asiafrolatina chatter
scatters streets
boys! haveatter!

asphalt curves
sidewalks vibrate
hit high verve
with white hot hate

Poem 9

“Uncle Love” - A Eulogy

Memories of Uncle Bob run far and deep - and he is forever laughing. He wears a short-sleeved shirt that hangs loose around his tanned arms. He clamps between his teeth, a thin cigar that he taps, to free an ash or to punctuate a Kentucky tale. Sleek hair peaks from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

One summer day, he stands on his father’s lawn laughing with us children and watching his Elizabeth Ann. God, how he loves his “Lizbethann.” And his great love spills out so that all we children scoop handfuls and toss it to one another. This “Uncle Love” - this dream dust - touches us all and we laugh with our uncle - the Puck of our childhood.

If we catch this dream dust again and toss it back to him, surely he will laugh again for us when day grows dark. Oh, his laughter and his blessed “Uncle Love” will reach out to carry us back across summer lawns, all the way home.