Poetry
This last year I almost died three times
Due to no fault of my own
To this southern bred
The morning cold now is welcome
There is song in my children’s smiles
And music in every breath
Some chaps
Boom the truth
As their eyes feel
About women
How they are afraid to look into their own flesh alone
And feel the softness
That is only female
To touch the gooey tisshe
That brings warriors to their knees
Paranoia without emotion
These men
love baseball more
And sell coldness
As manliness
A bit hesitantly
We observe what winter has done to delicate daisies
As the priests of darkness grow louder
In the advancing cold
Bad times inevitably come
As a flower’s breath disappears into the wind
The warrior's lance defenseless
Perhaps if she were womin
She could survive alone
Real male pros avoid fairy tales
And use their manlessness to touch souls
The Cheshire-cat muscles
Chasing demons away
In partnered battle
With the emerging womin
Moonlight cuts the darkness
Shining in her smile
As their holographic images
Climb from the marsh together
Standing taller
Than apart
Both should not fear
The sloppy side of love
It’s brief wars and scratches between them
Worth the battle
She has the right to be womin
And spit into the wind
I do not know what to say
To say to whom
What
I can feel why
But not know how to share the feeling
Warm, rich, tasty eyes
Turn and twist
Like retracted headlights
Flying from the compartment
To protectively scan the horizon
There is safety in your sight
I wear your presence like armor
To slay dragons
That now seem harmless
Even pain is fun with you
I do not know what to say
To say to you
What
I cannot understand
When we are not one
When shadows
Dance
And the night blinds
Dragons always win
When we are not one.
Small, gentle breaths
Gentle eyes
Embraced by years
And shadows of undone deeds
Feeling much pain
And even more joy.
Small, gentle gestures
Only that blood can share
With restrained excitement
Under the rough and torn
Caring.
Small, gentle eyes
Gentle breaths
Gone
Moments past
Now comfort enough.