These Flames I Live
turn back the tear drop pillow
I'm sick to my stomach
suffering alone and hard
piercing cavity of viscious fangs that bite
illusive
impulsive
the rant
These flames I live
my right to forgive
undercover
beyond the means
living in a land of mean
barren sea
a shot in the dark
to light the spark
many are left in rebellion
what an incredible talent Vitale is
he is the poet of all poets
the moment you met him perfect ten
a chick lying with her hens
a quest...
flaws and failures
yes he wears Depends
a trip to the zoo nothing new
Laughter
Laughter fills the scented air
through days exposed
the timeless hour of a loathsome mast
expounded upon the cavity of debris
develop a grateful heart
that one may impart
look close through a pillar of glass
a vergence sea out beyond the interpass
a halo with a song
to help you get along
the sight of a fawn on the lawn
greed and materialism will crush out the light in your life
penetration by the holy spirit
a heart change has to happen
one must be open to the message
care for your brother help for your pale sister
one ear on the floor
a cause for more
through fetters got it made to even out the score
Unending Brigade
I ask myself politely
what resistance flowers here
against love treaded lightly
or losing lovingness dear?
give cadence to the simple,
for I gave ammunition to the laughter
we should we ever falter
the timeless whisper of happening
golden nuggets of thought & inspiration
braids my hair with a great deal of wear
through the conclaves of love's fastened grip
shadows block the vortex to aid its message
The Dream Police
they come to my head
at the side of my bed
they are enforcing my sleep
give cadence to a treat
a far from ports unknown
like a dog without a bone
giving tickets to be enforced
every time I have a dream
forces scream
Of Time & Dreams
Father's gold pocket watch measured heartbeats,
times for surgery and the slow drip of an IV
all else in his life was overture
to main events, like birth and death
of those the family never knew
Steps from my childhood dreams to his were counted
in places where treasure were wet pebbles
and the pulse of life was seen in raindrops on the lake
now the watch is mine, and i yearn to throw it
like a pebble into the past,
to see it skip and yield to places we never shared,
like blue-green eddies near the shore
and grasses curled by the win
Yet, warming in my palm, the measurer of his days
seems to sing the music of turning points
where drying dreams meet others born anew,
emerging through images of caring
to rhythms more than metrical
that i've yet to understand
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