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Land of Uncertainty:

Poetry and Prose

2013 – 2018

By Rori O'Keeffe

Copyright © 2018 by Rori O'Keeffe

Published at Smashwords by Rori O'Keeffe

All poems previously published by Rori O'Keeffe 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018.

All rights reserved by the author.

The image on the cover is courtesy of Pixabay.

To see more by Rori O'Keeffe, go to or use this link to

her profile page: Rori O'Keeffe's Profile, Interview, and Books

Table of Contents

First Poem

¼-way point

½-way point

¾-way point

The Persistence Of Tunnel Vision

When they saw slaves twisted in bloody heaps

Under the fallen rocks by the pyramid's side,

They turned and said,

It is not that I don't care, but I am busy with my tasks.

I suppose, long ago, flames licked their tongues at the agony

Of my ancestor's dying flesh;

It was good, said some, to burn a witch;

Others, less imbued with divine authority,

Could but watch, and return to their tasks -

Their world narrowing with

Each harrowing desecration

Of humanity around them.

Peace at last, they found in the grave.

When many among us

Make good for themselves

By the desecration of human beings far away,

It is as though they are of no concern;

They are not known to me,

So their suffering is but illusion to me.

Besides, I am busy with my tasks.

We ever fail to hear the screams,

Until it is Mother, or Brother

Screaming out to us.

As the screams of the world rise,

Threatening to call us out of our personal worlds,

Our tunnel vision protects from conscience,

Or action,

Until, as the story goes,

They at last come for each of us -

And then the screams are felt

Not just heard.

Destiny is what may be achieved

With will and love and unity.

Fate is what befalls those who have come to believe

In their own immunity

From the scourge of the ages

That have plagued each life

Since we left paradise

Long, long ago.

Emerging Love

Over the years of my life,

I have watched that scotch pine

In its ascent through the air,

From sapling I plunged into the soil,

To the green spire

That now crests

The old home's chimney top.

How many gales has it withstood?

What of it's calm presence in winter?

Though it's beauty enraptures my heart,

I yearn for a pyre

To consume it with flame.

I roll and loll about in my bed at night

Wishing in dreams and under baleful moonlight

That you would return

And carry my heart away;

After all, it is your rightful trophy -

Or, perhaps, a notch on your little black book.

I succumb to a vision,

Or a fond hope, perhaps

Of you lying dead, a knife in your chest,

Finished off by a virago that found you at last.

I believe it is likely, however,

That you are off on a cruise ship

In the Sargasso Sea

Where we met so long ago

In those still waters.

None have compared to you

And your turquoise eyes;

Nor your lilting trills

As you carried your prize;

Why must I recall you in each

New man's face?

Why do I teach them -

Beseech them -

To learn your embrace?

After all is said and done,

You cut the bloom off my flower

And replaced it with a brooch

Meant for weddings

Though without an engraving.

How the years have passed cruelly

Since you abandoned me at sea,

To find a firmer ass

In some other woman's cabin.

Does it matter to you

That I have drifted off course

And find myself alone on the

Isle of Old Maids?

I counsel myself to yearn for

The flesh of a woman -

In the hope that love would become

New again in a kinder bed mate.

I caution myself against desperate


On the wheel of fate

That is the dating service.

I tell myself that, in time,

I will no longer want a love

To place by my side,

For does not desire flow,

Then ebb as the tide?

I have been placed in the tomb,

A premature burial,

While a raven calls out


I still see myself in the moon's orb,

A dead ancient world

Scarred by age and melted rock,

Until it now has a companion in me.

My life was changed forever

By you

Under that tropical moon,

And though your kiss infected

My still growing spirit

With your blight,

The sea turned vicious on me -

The price I've paid

For having you

One night.

A storm raged around my home

All hours of the night;

The hail bullied the roof into submission

And bolts' light captured the sight

Of a sinuous wind cloud

Snapping the trunk of that old scotch pine.

Nothing will ever be the same

In my old neighbourhood -

All has been moved,

Turned about as omens

Are ironic, yet not perverse.

That fine old tree is now dead,

And I can never now summon the will

To plant a new sapling -

And so my heart will ever be still.

Peace at last

Can now fill my being,

As I walk in my garden

No longer in the shadow

Of that old scotch pine.


They hack and hew and hex

The lands they visit.

They leave what hearts are left

Cold and shrivelled.

And, they are coming to your town next.

Blood and gore they will spill on

Free people's monuments;

Eyes they will pluck from the

Harried masses who defy them;

They will gorge on Civilization

And the future: They will condemn.

They can be stopped from entering

This land, your land,

Though they dangle gold

As bait for the hungry

The greedy

And the desperate.

And all they want is Liberty

For themselves


Bare Naked Babes

I'm something of a telepath, you see;

I can read your mind while you

Sleep beside me

In the night that was meant to ours.

I see you in your depraved fantasies

Straining, urging, ogling, and humping

All those bare naked babes

You have known throughout

The endless years of your adolescence.

Your most repetitive

{And boring, I must add}

Perversions concern

The girls on the track team at high school,

And the soccer babes with their

Inviting thighs,

Not to mention

The unmentionable things you do

With the cheer leading squad.

Your typing teacher makes a little more sense.

At the end of these dreams you have,

You return to me, and I dance {!}

To finish you off,

So you can rest until the next REM cycle,

And then it begins again

With college girls,

Your first lady boss,

And that really cute effeminate guy

You once rode on a train with.

I must admit

That your dream lovers are all quite sexy.

I don't blame you for remembering them all;

But the imprint on your sizes-too-small heart

Enshrouds our marriage bed in a demonic pall.

Why our new neighbour with the gym sculpted body,

When she as well is betrothed

To the guy you invited to poker nights?

Why that young thing down the street

That wouldn't know a leer

If you spied on her from a bush.

And, once again, dear,

Why am I summoned to your oak bar

To writhe and strip when

You have gotten your jollies

Into your pyjamas

After following these neighbours about?

I once scanned your mind after

Thanksgiving dinner,

Fully expecting to see my sister

In her plunging V neck

Chatting you up for some

Brief encounter in my parent's basement

In the cold storage

With all the preserves;

I drew back when instead I saw in your mind

My mother bending at the oven,

Basting the turkey with unbridled passion.

Why do you not disgust yourself?

I'll now beam a moon dream

Into your next bout of frustrated hopes;

You will see that I also have an eye

For flesh that is supple, toned and radiant.

You will see my own dream

As I have known it of late:

A knight in shining armour

Stripping the way a man really should -

Without shyness of his nudity

Or my eye as he dances.

As you tremble in this nightmare,

At the thought of tables turned on you,

I want you look closely at this man

And the way he arouses me

And finishes me off so sumptuously.

He makes love like a man really should,

And he is my own bare naked babe;

The only one I dream of.

He will be the first to carve his initials

On my heart,

And he will shower me with gifts

That I'll keep in my Memory Trunk.

He is a tad younger than I,

But wiser than Solomon -

And never a wandering eye

And has dreams at night that I can share


You, my first sweetheart,

Will be trounced by this mature man,

And will be free to ogle

And play with yourself

In the privacy of your bachelor apartment.

And no, you are not getting a cent

Out of me in the settlement.

The Choice

So it was written,

As though into my heart,

That all are born free,

And it is noblest, best,

To always be so.

I staved off the ruins

Of another age,

That lay claim upon each soul,

And declared that the lot

Of the peasant

Is duty.

Truly, I set off to the stage of the world

With banners unfurled,

Just a little girl,

And made myself free.

Free for the taking;

Free for lovemaking;

Free, above all,

To do as I pleased.

Fires fell about me,

{From heaven, I wonder?}

And great floods swept my dwelling

Off its rickety stilts.

I was beautiful as Narcissus,

Gazing into the bowl

Of my misgivings about

What I had become.

I was free of it all,

And all of them -

Children were but a ghostly

Alternate reality -

Science fantasy to one such as me;

I had no faith in myself,

Yet, somehow,

I would be free of them all.

Children, parents, and in the end,

My notably wicked friends,

Who made no friends of their own.

Some envied me,

Others pointed to the precipice,

Which at last I have come to,

And so, without hesitation,

I am now jumping to my death,

Where, I have little doubt,

I will at last be

Absolutely free.

This I have chosen to become,

For the life of duty

Is undignified;

Though, I now perceive,

With salt's bitter taste on my lips,

A life with duty in it

Has the charm of being

Relatively happy

Compared to what

Mine has become.

Absolute freedom awaits me

At the bottom of this precipice.



He knew the vicious minute's hour,

And it was a sour motion in his blood.

He left this world a wider place,

With bottle in hand -

A bitter taste

When news of his death

Spread swiftly across the land.

{So they say, in his biography.}

Nine Lives Lost

The crazy old bastard never

Got the cat fixed.

Took the kittens down to the river

In a pillow case,

To send them to a better place

He said.

I, for one, am glad

The crazy old bastard's

Now dead.

Wicked Runs My Smile

Perhaps the finest thing about

Rainbows could be,

That the storm is then passed

Onto an others fine day.

If I win the lotto,

Though I rarely take the chance,

Has a morbid curse

Passed onto another poor lass?

When I hear that crazy

Mockingbird before the sunrise,

And send my cats out to get it,

I give birds a word to the wise.

When I left my last beau

For a woman, did he know,

That she once met his mother,

Who complained of me so?

When old friends of mine

Say that I'm everywhere wanted,

Dead or alive, I take great pride

That my wicked smile runs -

So very wide.

I am alive.

Long Ago

If Pagans could have won

In Europe of old,

Witches would be Christians,

Burned for being so bold

As to worship a God

That hated the Pagan,

And the world, on the whole,

In all matters of substance,

Would be none the better,

Nor none the worse.

Adam and Eve, if the serpent's

Account can be told,

Were banished from Eden for seeing

Their God planning

To tempt with evil

Any who came into His paradise,

So that he would have sinners to smite.

The Big Bang, it turns out,

Was the angriest event

Of all time -

Next to the coming

Death of the Universe.

What could be worse

Than living in the past -

When after all,

It is only the present

That can outlast the past.

The Man Who Could Not Be Moved

That island in the South -

Pacific or Atlantic -

I'm not really sure;

Or somewhere in the cold Antarctic seas -

It was there that a melting berg,

The size of a high rise,

Came to buffet that island,

In the cold seas,

Under ironic sun,

And it came to be seen,

Nothing could move the Island Of Man.

Change the Empire,

Or cast into Dark Age,

Invent new Religion,

Discover Cures for the ill,

Hold Death at bay

A little longer still,

Make Moonshots and Mars bugs

Sing All You Need Is Love,

And the Island Of Man,

In cold unforgiving seas,

Is always unmoved,

By the screams of the Trees,

The screams of the Poor,

And the next-to-be-Poor,

And the Human Spirit

Is quelled time and again,

By the Island Of Man,

That can never be moved.

There is a Spirit born into us,


Yet of our substance,

And like a flame it licks

The immovable object,

Which defeats the Spirit,

In each that is born,

And we resign ourselves

To life in the cold, cold

Antarctic seas,

Having become as dead within

As that man who cannot be moved.

Things Worth Living For


Its taste is sweet,

And all is bitter without it.


For surely our enemies

Will see our eyes sparkle

In their moment of calamity.


As it is a respite

From the endless warring

That neighbours make on each other -

Knocking down fences,

Throwing rubbish in each others yards -

Yes, Peace is the tonic of Hope.


Without which disputes could not

Otherwise be settled{!!!}

Sexy mannequins,

Which train the eye

To the potentials of lovers' bodies

And the likelihood that our lovers will

Grow stiff and cold.

Ugly people,

Who remind me

That we are all beautiful.

The past,

For in Time we are

Embedded, rooted -

And illusory or not,

That which is past

Is safely forgotten

When it bring troubles.

The present,

Because there's no time like it.

The future,

For it is where we place


The best thing of all that we save -

And we may find peace

Before our turns

At the grave.

We Are The Beginning

No one has watched that tree grow,

As moss was strewn about its lower branches;

No one was there to water its roots

Or prune its dead shoots;

No one but I, who have within me,

The memory of what I have been -

That tree will fall, and no one will hear the sound

Of a spirit taking flight

Back to its beginning,

With the hope of standing in the soil of the earth

Once again.

Not Worth It

Why have I taken flight

Time and again,

From the arms of men,

To the bosoms of friends?

When I was a little girl,

I asked of my mother

What love would be -

And she said "don't ask me."

I turned to my father whose face was now red,

If he knew what it would be for me,

And here's what he said:

"Love is invisible, save to the one who feels it."

My mother, now blue, turned an eye

To the sky,

"Sort of like God,"

She quipped to my heart,

And off I ran

Into the arms of a man,

Who I thought was a god,

For his love was invisible.

Atheism is the only doctrine that holds hope

For the brokenhearted,

So I have left the company of men

For now,

To take up with a friend,

Whose love's in no doubt.

Like a priest who tells all in the pews,

I have for you all some enlightening news -

Take your prayers to the gods and leave them in here,

For it's not worth it,

When the one you love

Just doesn't hear.

And so,

Dear man in my future,

I know you won't listen

To my prayers that you love me in return,

But that doesn't mean that for a time,

I won't be charmed by a god,

Even though

You're just not worth it.

Why Not?

I am a mystery to myself,

Though I know others in good health,

Who claim to see right through me

And my wicked, worldly ways,

And within me,

Through layers of haze,

They can see a frightened child,

Who does not want to grow up,

For I haven't the knack

Of being insincere

With a knife in my back,

Or when my mirror's cracked.

I know of some, at arms length

I deign to keep 'em,

Who are so insane, they claim to know

Themselves in all their perfection,

And these are the ones who are

Declared the sane.

I tear up Valentine's cards

In my lovers' faces

Every year.

I don't know why,

But I have a great fear,

Of growing up and becoming ever so wise,

Like the fist in the face of someone

You despise.

Respect is respect,

And fear is fear.

Don't ever mix them -

One is a color you rightfully earn,

The other is a color in those you spurn.

And don't be boastful

In the company of fools,

Who bring out the fist,

And make frightening rules.

Don't forget to live,

For the fist will make you die

Inside -

Learn to say why not?

And let the rule makers rot.

Thanks for all the lesbians -

They are the spring of Hope

In a world

That never stops being mad.

Four Poster With Optional Canopy

When the men have all gone home,

And it's just my sweet galfriends and I,

My eyes and mind will start to roam,

And I might consider, for the right lass,

Putting the canopy up over my bed,

And if she takes the hint of my ass,

I'll go to the cupboard for my favorite red.

Men who make love with sincerity,

Are rare as true love is, in verity.

A woman can caress me with the hem of her dress,

And if she's a good friend, I'll always say yes.

When I meet a man that I might want for a while,

Whether it's his muscles, mind or his style,

My galfriends wink when we get up to leave,

"It's a four poster with optional canopy, Steve."

On the way home, we talk about things,

And when we come to my bedroom, I sing,

Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah,

My secret joke that I like both ways to swing.

I wouldn't trade one of my gals

For all the Don Juan's {such as they are,}

'Cause a girlfriend always loves me,

Where the man has to be the big star,

So someday - maybe Jade, or Melodie -

Will be on my arm, after she weds me.

Probable Cause Of Extinction

All the women tried it

With another woman,

And lo and behold,

They all became bold,

And said Why not -

Men are so cold.

Whispers Remain

Down by the brook,

Cardinal chirps plainly,

Sun smiles down,

Whispers remain.

Down where the kids

Like to party and huddle,

Graves stand as testament

To the reality

That ghosts walk about:

All that is left of us

When you're gone.

I Find You Here

A star leaves an impression,

When considered up close.

A galaxy is an Island Universe,

Where anything is possible.

Neptune, I see, has the most impossible hue,

And the ancient moon seems to have a hold on me.

Diamonds are made around red stars,

Red Queens are nothing without hearts and diamonds.

Within I ache for what's out there,

For it is the same stubborn mystery

I find within you

When we gaze together

Up at the stars.

You Are My Favorite Tea Leaf Reader

When you said we could have

A future together,

A spider spun its nest

Over my porch,

The moon was full,

The dew was falling,

Drops of your love

Were everywhere around,


I did not believe.

When you said there is

A rocking chair

I'll sit in

At the end of my days,

And that if I am with you,

I'll know my life was

Well spent

And hard-earned,

You said what I have

Always yearned

To hear from a lover.

And so, my friend,

You are in my locket,

And I'll always recall

With fondness

How happy you would have

Made me

In your visceral dreams,

In the tea leaves you read,

In the moon that you said was mine,

And in the way you looked at me

Like I was really, truly,

The woman of your wishes

That left you,Long ago.

Love Poem 1

She was held to be the most,

In all ways of beauty,

In her village, built on the ashes

Of the Celts' old town.

She was Saxon, and as of olde,

Trailed fine golden ringlets of hair

Across the chests and faces

Of her lovers.

It was in a field of barley,

Under the silvering moon,

Still worshipped by many,

That she showed a suitor her flower,

Nestled in gold between her thighs;

He came to her and went in

On his own.

He fled the village two moons later,

When she began to show

The gift that she thought she had

Been given by he.

"What of it?" said an old gentleman,

Widowed for years with children all grown;

She jumped at the chance to marry into cropland;

With a good stepson's support,

She might again have the chance,

Under a silvering moon,

To coddle a man between her thighs,

And find what love there was

To be had,

In this world.

Love Poem 2

She claimed it was rape,

Then changed her mind.

She claimed it was false love,

Then changed her mind.

She claimed it was desperation

To marry such a man,

Then changed her mind.

She claimed, and maintained,

All the years of his life,

That he was the Devil himself,

But changed her mind, after

He had passed on.

He had been a kept man,

And she drove other women

Away from him,

So that her greedy heart

Could revel in a man's true,

Strong love,

And not have to share this

Rarity with others

Who were more kind.

Death Poem 1

Sundry oaths fly about

In parlours and homes

Across the globe;

Insipid lies are often told,

Then not retracted

By some so bold;

The best of mates,

The best of friends,

Are not told of the passing;

How is it that at the end,

So many make a Hellish mocking

Of a heavenly one's joy of life?

Bitterness makes the

Talking dead

Rage with envy

At the death, and the life,

Of ones who truly lived.

Be wary at the wilting of ones you love;

It is when villains take their vicious revenge

On those they found to be fine, and worthy.

Chaos Poem 1

Whatever moon they choose to come by,

They can be heard in fields and yards,

Near and far, and those in between;

Some are speckled black on orange,

Some are a lyrical iridescent green;

Still others are black, and some brown.

They rise, it seems, in unison

For the sky - then in a trice,

Some plunge while some hold high.

On it goes through their lives,

At times soaring, sometimes falling;

They were put on earth for a simple reason -

That they might live,

Live badly and learn;

That they might live,

Live well and have a turn

At glory;

And on they go,

Age after age of the earth,

Some rising,

Some falling,

All for a while,

Until they die,

And we are sated by

The spectacle of life.

Chaos Poem 2

Rim that ram, trim that hem, make good use of this spam.

Can't a girl, get on top, without being told to stop?

Can't a boy, try to care, and not be called a fairy - fair?

Bully's strong, cold's not wrong, don't you touch my underwear.

World in peril, invest in beryl, sing a shoddy Christmas carol.

Send an email, to the heavens, enter here - at your peril.

Hit on the head, till you're dead, someone else will get you good.

Need a girl, to shake this world, guess we'll call her Robin Hood.

Star Poem 1

They came from Heaven

To this crowded earth;

They were stars, and ranked,

According to net worth.

Death Poem 2

Waves of life rolled here once,

Inspired to the ramble,

For they had always

Gone on, through the ages.

It has grown timid,

Frightened, like a child lost;

It looks above the waves,

And sees a man looking in,

Casting out nets,

Bringing an end to what

Had always been.

Death Poem 3

I am trapped in this coffin,

Put here by them;

My only escape,

I'm scared to hear,

Is to succumb to my fear,

And leave silver behind.

Star Poem 2

Strange stirring felt, yet seen as well,

Beneath the starry firmament;

In places likened to Boreas,

Some look up to see the sky

Is alive.

Lost in places like the Sargasso,

Persons unknown

Commit the gravest of sins -

They do not do well

To deny that our star is alive,

And so might they be,

Were they under its spell.

Chaos Poem 3

Moths dance about a flame,

And singed wings' smoke

Rises to the sky;

Later, a raindrop is felt in your eye,

And now you know that

Even the smallest do cry

Out in pain, when

Life has been entrusted

To them, in vain.

Love Poem 3

Desperation and distress

Dinged the bells at his being;

Having found gold glamorous,

Yet wanting,

He found that his purchase

Had been himself sold.

When you buy, buy, buy

At this world,

You are sold, sold, sold,

Into a vassal's hold.

When you love, love, love,

At this world,

The bells ring out for your being -

You are then rolled out

On crushed velvet carpets -

Blue that's a sign of your power,

To free the slave,

Of his lust for things

That have no power

Over this earth.

Star Poem 3

At first, a light flickered,

Then grew strong,

And others in multitudes

Grew bright as well.

In pan islands of the Cosmos

They spun about,

And all the while,

They were waiting sentinels,

To remind you that we

Might live as they.

Love Poem 4

She saw that his flesh was good,

And so she tasted;

Then she saw that his eyes were knowing,

And so she then wed him.

He saw that her gaze was dull,

Like a spirit waiting to live;

He took her flesh,

In its delicate pain

And made it his duty

To bring her to life -

He bowed low so that she might see

His happy brow,

As he spoke the words

She yearned to hear:

Will thee me wed?

Deep in a tomb,

Hidden from us others,

Their delicate hands,

No longer encumbered

By the pains of flesh,

Are entwined, and so,

They have remained wed

To this, our day,

And beyond the prying eyes

Of a world mad for love

Such as theirs.

Death Poem 4

An angel came down

And blessed the little fellow;

For he had taken root

Within a tree's hollow.

Impatient, he was,

To replace his parent,

And to make certain

That death would be defeated

Yet again.

I crossed into a glen

When I saw

What seemed a miracle in my eye:

A freshly fallen oak lay

More still than ever;

And from it's green wood

Sprouted yet another,

Reaching for the sky.

Chaos Poem 4

Expressions of clarity,

Refuting the ways of old,

Filled the sky above the glass.

Peering in, macabre

Faces tormented

The still life within;

Cobalt wings that once flew,

And lit the hurricanes of this world;

Precious life that dazzles even

The minds of gods,

Is so entombed by morbid men

And women

In glass screens everywhere;

And so life's many dreams

Become reality for macabre minds -

Who will not go out

To see true cobalt blue.

Star Poem 4

Stars have rage,

And howling winds;

They can bump each other,

And merge;

Stars are seen in many colors,

And some have long since died.

Stars can be black,

Or white as alabaster;

They can be vapid,

Or dense;

They can nurture life,

Or capriciously extinguish it.

Though the longest lives

Of the stars are in the

Trillions of years -

A star's power over time, space,

And the stations of life,

Is but as a flea on Creation.

Even a star has limits,

After all.

Star Poem 5

A star is eternal,

Yet gone in a wink.

An atom is here,

And over there.

Nothing is only what it seems to be:

Gold is without glitter,

When I gaze at the stars -

Or they, at you and me.

Chaos Poem 5

Ling-aling, ling-aling,

The cod's by the bay,

Fresh caught today,

The boats are full

Of spices from faraway lands,

The gulls are pointing, to where

The fishers cast nets,

And all about is the scurry of man.

She sells the beer hops,

Puts the coins in her top,

Brown cloth is her love note;

She is a merchant by the bay,

Long before the pious would say,

That a home would be a good

Place for her to stay.

She'll be drinking with her folk

All night long;

She'll be giving out her hoses

To the throng;

Long, long ago,

She was free as free can be -

No one said then that she acted

Like a man.

Dum-ditty-dum, dum-ditty-dum;

She wasn't denied the right to come

Where the men all played,

In the forest where they laid,

The finest women ever known.

Come get the sage! Come get the sage!

The bins are full of sweet sage,

From the farmsteads of Italy!

They say we're upon a new age,

When man and woman

Will return to the ways,

The ways of paradise -

Though we've yet to see it come.

Lute, flute, play by my fruit,

We need your pluck

If we're to have our luck;

Sons and daughters

Raised upright,

Ring the bells that nothing's wrong

With a good man,

Or a woman who's strong.

Death Poem 5

Here lies a woman,

From the worldwide slum,

Known to be a slut,

A seller of smut,

The sort the haughty

Denounce as scum.

Much loved she was,

For she was kinder than

Sleep at the end of a day -

She was wiser than those

Who are paid to say,

That all is well under the sun -

Except for those people

Who come out from the slum.

She had no need of death

To put her heart at rest;

Peace, she knew, and gave it

From her breast.;

Leave her alone now,

Keep your petty oaths

In your mouths.

Her final wish,

Was for you to find out,

That death is not what

You think it is,

And life is about things

Not dreamt of in

Your worlds of power.

Love Poem 5

I know the time has come,

When I must leave this place,

For a graceful lover,

Who lives in the ways of wisdom.

There comes a time, it seems to me,

When every girl must lay down

Childish boys, and their toys,

And become a woman.

Thank you for the ride,

Erstwhile love -

It was fine and fun

Till I found these scars

And began to question, and grow;

And don't think I rue my time with you -

It was all well spent,

A dream I've kept

In my memory trunk.

You adorned my life like

A Christmas tree,

But now it's a New Year,

And so, out you are thrown.

My next lover will be winsome in spirit

And handsome in character;

Someone who's laid down

The toys from under the Yuletide tree.

My days are getting longer,

And new life is on the horizon;

I yearn to set down roots,

As a seed under the melt waters.

Don't despair, my good old friend -

The time will come soon,

When your heart will begin to mend;

Find me in your memory,

And know I've crawled away from you -

It was hard to grow up,

And leave a playful mate,

Such as you.

Bitter are my tears,

Sweet is my new love -

I'd shelter you under my branches,

But you would never see above.

Fare thee well, my friend,

Please keep this note;

You'll not see me again,

As I am now free -

Free of childish things,

Free of clinging ways;

I'll remember you as

One who inspired me

To grow, through all my days.

Chaos Poem 6

Balls kicked about like meandering rivers

Guided by foot and knee;

Little capricious girls selling stories

That just might not be;

Games not played by the rules,

Though none are cheating;

Whispered swear words,

Spoken like secret adult codes;

Vivid colors, sounds,

And the aromas of life;

Each touch felt, and

Committed to memory.

The textures of life

Still anticipated;

The fabric not yet stretched and torn.

A fight breaks out,

Though no one is hurt -

Soon it's forgotten,

Like a penny in the dirt.

Ants are fed, without cruel intent,

To waiting spiders -

Premonitions unknown

To them yet;

Dancing, swinging from bars,

Singing off key,

Though in harmony.

What care should they have,

Apart from growing?

Then the bell rings,

The children go in -

And chaos begins.

Death Poem 6

If it is said, that he is no good,

Will it not follow

That upon his grave,

It will be said,

He was no good?

Before it was said,

He is no good,

People decided,

He will be no good,

And so he performed as expected -

If you believe

That he will die,

Not having escaped from those

Who curse the good.

Love Poem 6

Rosetta turned red,

Violet turned blue.

What these girls saw,

Was that love can be true.

Passionate entwining of every limb,

Eager climbing into the nests,

Gifts from lovers who buy the best,

Destroy the mystery in those so inflamed

By the surfaces of

What is love - can it really be named?

The reviews were bad

On what had been created:

It needs to be tamed,

Before its hungers are sated.

Frustrated Cosmos

Collapses back,

Unable to become

It's glorious, glittering

Dynamic self.

If gods don't give up,

Then why do we?

The Universe, as they say,

Just is,

Never asking of itself,

"To be or not to be?"

A woman, or a man -

not even, but especially, a child -

That just is,

Is as a star.

We are all born

To be stars.

We are all a cosmos;

If we are turned back,

We cease to be.

A majestic pinwheel

Would take the age of the Universe

To know very well;

And so we are each

Knowable only to ourselves.

Judge another, at peril

Of bringing that life to its end.

Love another, as the gods

Loved what had been created;

Let it be.

You've Had Me So Cheap

Scraping at the ruins of my life thus far,

I see where your foot has sunk its weight;

I saw the dollar signs in your eyes,

And I erred in perceiving a golden child.

How may I put this, unwise man?

Can I settle you down by a bird,

And bring to you the flight you seek?

Or, is towering over me your height of being?

You'll be brought down, like a Marquis de Sade

Knocked from the top

Of the Empire State Building;

Oh, and the Eiffel Tower that illuminates me

Will rise again when at last I am free.

Admittedly, A Nerdy Love Of Mine

There is no other I would put before you,

When the night has wrapped me in a desirous warmth;

Marriage, it seems, hastens ahead of me -

I cannot catch what I cannot see.

So, my lover unparalleled,

I will find myself slipping beneath you

Again, and again.

What world could be crueler than the one

We are held in,

That gives to us a spire of joy,

Yet without true love dangled from its height?

I have a dream of being stranded somewhere,

Perhaps a frozen tundra with beasts about,

And only you there to guard me and feed me,

Within a cave where I tend the fire.

One day soon,

I may yet sink to one knee,

And beg of thee, beg of thee,

To enter wedlock with me!

If I do, silly child I can be -

Send me away, for you only offer

Strength and stamina,

Curves and breasts -

Enough to please me night after night,

But what empty days would follow,

Knowing that one such as you,

Could never more than care

For one such as me.

Love, as I want it, would not fill your heart,

And spill its dewy sweat upon me.

You have overpowered my being,

And so, please do not make me a bauble

Of a wife -

Leave me, sated, but forced to carry on

With my life,

Without you.

Altered Design

What if I came to know,

That some sort of pixie or elf

Planted seeds in my mind -

Changing how I might see myself?

Could it be that my sleep is troubled,

As night brings danger in the wild,

Because I have been split and doubled,

Since first I was told I am a bad child?

What Choice But Fate?

In the midst of a dale,

Not far from a person's home,

Sat a spring robin,

Resting and telling the world

To cheer-up, cheer-up.

Sadly, a house cat,

Little less than plump,

Seized that cheery bird,

Did what it need not have done,

And left feathers where a life had been.

The clock in my kitchen

Waits for the appointed hour,

When my realms of choice,

Meet their inevitable fate.

Do not abide by the advice of the cruel;

Live well, live joyously,

Cheer up, cheer up,

And leave satiny, colorful

Feathers to mark where your life has been.

Why There Must Be A Creator

I was hungry once,

And found a twenty in a bush.

Lonely, I looked inside,

And found good company there.

Appalled, I looked upward,

And saw the sky.

I entered a church one day,

And felt a presence.

I had a thought,

And realized that I truly am;

For this to be,

It had to be meant.

There is no doubt,

That life is about

The search for why,

Or what good it might be;

There is a Creator,

Because I have willed it;

Or, there is a Creator,

Because I have been willed.

Forgive me, rational ones -

I must go away and pray.

It is as clear to me,

As the night and the day.

A Bell Calls On Me

As all is in flux,

And all is dynamic,

A Universe with no God

Would be in error -

It would be static.

I have a God,

But no church;


And no bibles.

I reach, reach,

For substantial belief,

And find my hand empty,

And so,

Throw my lot in with humanity.


Rising in unison with the road,

I find myself at the crest of my life;

Before me lies certainty and doubt;

I have been here before,

Though in a stilted dream.

Time beats an inordinate pace -

It rushes by while I pluck at my hem.

Before it is gone from my sight,

I will leave this crest,

To make a few paltry signs

That I have been this way.

Humble, humble,

For I will stumble,

And make a laugh

Come from the mockingbird's mouth;

With anger that becomes my hunger,

I'll do what I can

While I still can hear

Time's rushing by.

A Poem For Mother
You held me so tenderly,

Always giving of yourself,

From the very beginning,

Despite your poor health.

It humbles me now - older,

Wiser, saner and kinder,

How much you endured in those years:

Aching joints are now my reminder.

There was a time of bitterness,

When I broke tempestuously with you;

Little did that wayward child know

That nothing she said of you was true.

If I could see you now, just once more,

I have no doubt that I would tremble,

And fall wordlessly and full of awe to the floor,

For it is Those we worship, that you most resemble.

I would say to you, in sincerity,

That you pointed to the ways of right;

And now that I can see who raised me,

Late in my life, I have seen the Light.

A Poem For Father
You showed your love in so many ways,

You left me giggling and in a daze;

You weren't the type for hugs and kisses,

Your wonderful ways were a delightful maze.

How often I heard a joke when I was down;

I got an allowance - when times were tough!

And when I was tormented and called bad names,

You showed me how to play just as rough.

I remember you taking me to the country,

Showing me marshes and cattails and frogs;

You'd take me fishing on your worst days,

And at night we'd sing by the burning logs.

You knew the ways of love, like an old soul,

You knew that lives grow like the trees;

And Dad, you knew the best things of all:

You gave me a life of happy memories.

I know now that your heart beat only for us,

Though in your presence you always seemed far;

When I look at your pictures, as each year I must,

I go outdoors, and make a wish upon our favorite star.


A respite from clarity, despite

Its fond insisting, rings

Round the gourd as a harbinger

Of certain things in store for me.

Cannot the day always yield, fruit in arms,

To my own wicked charms on the world?

I have but the hesitancy of the knowing,

And knowing, it is said, is the bane of living well.

Under my spell, the world is rent apart, into

The fragments of rock that I build my fantasies upon.

Morning leaves, and I must begin to float in murky

Jade waters with the antelope, while

The lion sits by and scowls.

Upon leaving, I must beseech the knowing not to see me,

For it is the art of those who live well

To spurn one who has come to know,

And in so doing, has become free.

The Sky, With Birds

Trembling moon, come down and sit,

For what is the company of all the earth,

Were it not for birds, and insects,

And all that has worth?

Nothing jars the cow bells like

The sky full of starlings, on their way

To loft in the old sire's barn,

Assembling in the same manner as the constellations.

Apple, chokecherry, thistle and wicker,

Ensconce me in a tomb of sensation,

Where I may rise in spirit, kindred with you,

My moon,

A light in the sky,

Made from rock,


And without sorrow.

Atom Smashers

Quayle, do you intend to pound your cobbled feet

Upon my veranda top while I try to sleep?

And sun, do you not suppose, your fires

Might best be left off, while I repose?

I was sleeping the long rest of the earth,

Billions of years if it must be measured,

When a spark touched my retina,

And I came awake - not to the sounds of

All as it had ever been,

But to a thunder and a rolling cloud, not welcome

In my skies.

I am just a cooling ember, let me be,

So that I may go back and slumber

My remaining days.

The Masochists

They return in migrations to the forests

They came form, with appeals to the woodland

Spirits to make them healed, and new again;

But the trees and mushrooms forgot them

Long ago,

When they first left

To experience the pains

That are felt by those seeking shelter

From others.

They are the masochists who ache in lineups,

Fend off the stranger lest she be strange,

Hear mockingbirds chirp car alarm sounds,

And believe that their agony is but the price

Of vanquishing

Their woodland spirits.

In Distress

Eridanus, you are a river in the sky -

Send boats now, for ours is asunder

On the rocks,

And an indigo grave awaits us below.

Trills Of Music

I start my day by the trills of music:

Songs that enter my heart in the night.

I hold you then in my arms,

Your grey hoody letting out a ringlet

Of your long, brown hair.

You are the man who told me of all the revolutions

Fought in vane, and,

Of the even more harried fates of those who wait;

Your kiss brought me down from my loft in the clouds,

And placed me on the brink of despair.

I spy a limb at night in my dreams,

Grizzled and sinewy from a life of labors;

Shoulders that shrugged off an invented world,

And a head that reclined on slats,

While the boxcar swindled its way out west.

I am nothing, yet you cling to me -

Perhaps a frail dove,

Prized for what it means to you;

I swing around back at you,

Happy to take my fantasy man

In his measured ways

To a new place

In the clouds.

The Never Ending Reign Of Superstition

Red carpets for them - though red is a color

That is apt enough.

Stars are born, and made, and placed

In the skies,

Where mortally sinful creatures

Admire the beauty of how they wear black.

My sack of cloth, such as it is,

Is ample only to conceal my beating heart;

And yet it is to them I must pay

Tribute, for they make me rich.

Can my eye look up and not hear a voice

That says, "Behold"?

Those who are known to have magic,

Are those who control.


Buttercup, buttercup,

Why do you look up?

Feet move about,

Ready to trammel you,

Rains may not come,

And see you wither,

In the sun,

You are a mirror,

For a world,

That ever looks up.

Death's dark end,

Does not defeat,

A life so hard,

The heart can but beat,

Yet succumb it must,

For Nature's law,

Is that all,

Of its things,

Come to an end,

And so, my friend,


We shall return,

To the dust.

Love Me With Your Flesh
Chill it and check it out,

I'm no chick you chuck the chocolate to;

Try sliding your palm down the cleft in my chest -

And see where your hand comes to its rest.

Deep in the sea, where explorers gambol about

In yellow submarines with strobes and cameras

And the silence of the abyss, beyond their reach

Lie two fish in the ancient embrace, pressing flesh

Together in the ecstasy of the moment that passes;

The craft idles by where love was just pulsing -

Little do seafarers know of the mermaid's lust,

Until they have met a woman such as me.

Shy man, does it irk you when I thrust myself -

Like this!

Does it scare the little boy within when I go down

And kiss your nascent manhood?

I knew who -what you really are, in the bar,

Where I doled out my praise for your timid approach;

I brought you home to my couch, you see, to show

You a favor one did for me long ago,

When my womanhood was just a bud

On a still lifeless tree.

There - your belt's undone - come now,

Little engine that could -

Show me what a man does to a rocketing

Woman's person-hood -

Turn me this night into a scowling vamp -

Let me breathe into your body the airs of the tramp -

Do you not like the woman who becomes a slut

When she takes in the sight of your flesh,

And whispers sweet, scandalous smut

About how she is going to devour you under her canopy?

Dear boy, you must press back with force,

If I am to achieve what I greedily want from this

Embrace under the stars, under my roof, under my groin;

Can you not feel me pulsing inside, waiting to emote

Of passion's blood-boiling parade?

Let me, for a moment, spill my love onto you,

And feel your love surge back into me,

Dear man, no longer a mere boy,

Hold me in your heart all your awakened days

As I have held you down between my thighs

And forced through the wall that contained

Your body's struggling genius.

The Fogs Of Dawn

Drenched in night's bitter remnant,

I am closed by the endless quarrel;

Nothing ensues from hasty victories

Over enemies appointed from above.

Battles lost in dreams' bloody lusts;

Wars everlasting until grave's mark is felt;

Nothing may wake me from this diversion,

Save for a dawn that I did not bring about.

Pursued By Cheetah

Towering over me, in battlements

Of my own hands' making,

Stand men who haunt my day,

And bloody my night.

Would that I could just entwine

With my lover in a field somewhere,

Without panting cheetah claiming

Me for his savannah slave.

In A Stream

Lucidity crushed by the weight of its diodes,

A menacing dream-monster comes from it at night;

There is no turning away from its greedy passions -

Nothingness meandering through the beds of my stream.

Delicate truth, under layers of life's rubble:

Do not cry out so loud in this place - we'll have to await

A fairer time, when you and I might come out to play.


I know not who I am, or what has become of me -

But because I live in this time and place,

I know what must be known,

And see what must be seen.

It is my way or the highway,

I spout from my little teacup -

The law of my nature is to know,

So that I might not be known to another,

Or to my imperious, arrogant self.


Though I might have beached anywhere

On this river's course, fickle sprites

Have delivered me to this pebbled cove;

No trove of treasure for the common journeyman,

Yet the wealth of the land is sung of by all.

The rich make us rich,

But the poor in their swarms

Do not make us poor;

Look up and see who we all are -

Glance downward in peril of going to Hell.

Do not speak of what is seen all about;

For this land is enshrouded in a pall -

Held under a spell -

That it was founded for all.

I might have landed ashore in another place,

Yet the journeyman and I set down here

With purpose.

The Charisma Of The Host

Jars laden with the fruit of the land

Await us at the table of the reaper,

If we but relent for the evening

From our storytelling, and our lovemaking,

Our playing with children and our loading the fireplace -

If we only give in to the command to look up,

We will see that the reaper is also an inventor,

Who now puts our nightly entertainment

Into the sky.

Coolness invades our evenings now,

And a melancholy wind waits to issue its howl;

Brought under one banner, for the sake of

The banner alone in its infinite might;

We might turn from the table and

Reclaim the privacy of the night.

What's Do-Able Is Done,

If It Is Tempting To Do

No law of the land intercedes on the tempter;

No mere brick and mortar keeps him at bay;

If he can but creep under a window at night,

And hear all the peasants' mournful oaths,

He will do so, law of the land or not,

For to tower over others is the tempter's goal.

For The Steely Dime I Go

Bones muttering and moaning of fractures yet felt;

Muscles plying the bones' reluctant tissue;

Nothing of what this body does is as it seems,

For it only does what it must to hold onto its dime.

For that, it must hew the bright forest,

And slay the breathing sea;

It must buy its way with blood

As it burns a hole in the very sky

Where the sun and the moon

Once held sway over feral grasses.

My Child Is An Orphan

Bright cheery checks mark her progress,

If the school klaxon draws her to class -

Draws out of her vim to please her masters,

If their praise is effusive, and their

Honor upheld

By the torture of bristling chides

Laid on the child.

It Is A Second Coming

My tiny dagger, a mere snickersnee,

Is no match for the barons' swords,

So I will hale to thee

These kindly words,

plucked from the tree of knowledge,

When the gods were not about

To save you and me:

It is always a second coming,

As the world turns on us viciously -

Memory knows no other terrain,

And so recalls through the fogs of paradise,

The madness of the old King.

That we have no manners upon which

To make our case that we are the ones

Who built these lands;

That we have no friends in the places

Of milk and honey and tempting grape;

That, in the end, the gods stand and watch

To see if we are worthy of continuance;

We must find revolting the disposition

Of our new masters,

As they find churlish

Our rebellious ways -

Seeking but secrets of our own,

And ways of loving that embellish the spirit,

Free of false gods

Who would reign from above.

The Panicky One

Maybe new master is my friend,

As he says -

Others clamber for no good the hills;

Ah master, you may hold onto me -

I will be yours,

Since you have put your sword

Into its sheath,

And made good on your oath

To keep killers at bay.

My duty to you, in return

For your protection,

Is to wail only into my pillow,

And remember not to

Think too much

In my very dreams

Of the night.

Worn Down, In Time

This world has seen mountains grow and crumble,

Under Nature's reign which cannot be diverted;

Sparrows know not of the mountain's decay,

Though in their breasts beat a drum that will stop.

A tree on the mount has a keen view of its world,

Though its sapling will fall into the valley;

Thrushes and quail will lurk in dark corridors

Of the silent, forgetful wood -

Not hearing that mountain gods here once ruled,

And a sky rose above to the sphere of the stars.

On The Way To Paradise

Having drawn from the well

These so many years,

I fall under the spell

Of fickle memory.

It was a time of caresses,

Tender under the breast

Of sweet loving moonlight;

It was a place where we had our peeves,

Though today, I see, we are lost.

Paradise, I have learned,

Is the best we can do -

Steel etched by bitter sweat:

Testimony to the home built by hand.

Intruding on paradise

Is the white man of old,

Resentful that many spurn

His claim to be ruler.

Vengeance is the way of

The arrogant,

And paradise will be discovered

To have lain in our past

If ever the stone fist

Beats down the dwellers

Of this place -

That in memory, would seem

To be a paradise lost.

The Clock Winds Down

Cluttered against a wall of our making,

Chimes sound out a bellows' need, hastening

The end of the clock's ancient greed, chancing

Upon simultaneity, in our lovers' grasps.

The hour does not call us its own, nor even

Can it pull us to the door of rapture;

Instead, time has spared us the agony

Of waiting for it to summon lovers

Once again.

Silken Wings Brush The Walls Of My Heart

It flits about my garden, pure white,

Brazen in a maddened sun;

Nothing does it light upon

That will not shine, as the oak

Once did in its corner.

Built on gossamer threads that break

With my entrance, my garden

Holds captive such soured memories

That cannot let go, for it is in

My garden that once again

The silken touch of pure white's wings

Arouse my heart to a new beginning.


There was a lamp by this window sash last evening -

Must you have doused it before you left unbidden,

Bitter love?

Complement Me

As I slide my hand into the cleft

Made by yours,

Remember me as one

Who touched your once

Unattainable flesh;

And if it should happen

That time tells another of our

Mere tryst, then say it

As I would, earnestly,

And with Memory's eager waging:

We loved as two ought to,

Given a night of ample wooing

In the moonlight,

While others left to tend

To their own affairs.


Your father crushed velvet,

To make it into a fine felt,

I am told;

Have you also the strength

To sell fine feelings,

To give love that pulsation

Of crushed velvet, underfoot?

Sheer Insolence

Why should I care to be carried about,

When half the world is hungry?

Dessert, my love, will embed us

In a place that holds worlds aloft,

For us to inspect,

And love, in turn,

Saving precious drops of passion

For those who have not the time

To be carried about,

Without care,

While a world aloft

Wilts without love.

Insolence, it would be,

To hold the apple,

Still on its bough,

And admire what paradise we may make,


In a land detached

From a world that withers

For a lack of such love.

Stained Pink Satin

Also, I would like it known,

Before I close down the shutters

For winter's airy blasts,

That you have not been shown

My fine pink satin

With a stain upon it;

I took you in vain these

Warm verdant months,

As a toy, or perhaps,

A souvenir

Of one particular year.

Sad fellow, look up,

For the sun returns,

And you may again

Find yourself taken in vain,

By a woman who knows how

To toy

With a willing boy;

Or perhaps, new growth

In the spring will herald

New life within you -

A man ready to make seeds -

In that case I'll save

The pink satin

With its stain,

And hold it close

To dab away the tears

Of my remorse

For having let you go.

The Screen In My Window

It holds out all but night's breath,

In its silvery drops that splash my skin,

As I lie upon my bed, uncertain

Of the scratching of one

Who wants to come in.

My heart may be torn, and held

By another, consumed for it is

A healthy heart;

Or it may be fed love's flushed fluid,

And grow still until it pumps only passion.

What awaits in the dark,

Beyond the screen on my window?

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