I’ve fallen in love with the poet In all its dimensions rippling across the pool of time, incarnate in its everything the rosy cheeked and wet lipped girl rattling existential verse over the clamor of a twelve car train, barreling for downtown.
the pale bearded face cat whose hands twinkled jazz like stars in the Marin County night. Whose handwriting stood refined and sexy on the page like the Mona Lisa in the Louvre with foreplay on her lips.
the old man with balding head, and thick grey beard swaying like fog hanging over San Francisco as I rode the ferry in for the first time at age nine. Hiding a mouth full of existential love and suffering for his fellow man. Whose hands and mind wrung words from pain all night so I could lay here sleepless. words like birds given flight by Jarret.
I think of these poets and swell with passion, with longing to know all of your most secret places, to walk the landscapes of your heart in words. Wet lips whispering prose like dirty secrets over a coffee or a bottle of win at 2 AM on Main Street any town USA.
to feel your fingers outline my spine in the place of your words, each word a rib encasing m heart and holding it fast. You have captured me in Chile, New York, in the great Bop Frisco of the past. Leaving me breathless and yearning, sleepless and wide eyed without your words spoken on psychedelic tongue exploding like dreams to glue them shut.
Born in Topanga Canyon I found poetry first in the changing of the seasons, the sly movements of animals telling stories with their walks. But it wasn't until moving to Portland, Oregon that I discovered my expression, the welling of words in my self to express the beauty in mundane, the Holy Moments of every day life surrounded by concrete and towering metal buildings. A journey in finding the slyness in the human animals, and the shifting seasons on busses in a great city.
The melody of the poet for the soul to please, with its chords of truth in spoken breeze. There can be no freedom which is attached by the ego’s ear, no serenade’s art and temporary clear. One must smite the
I am an American Poet coming from a long line of creatively challenged penman and women A Poet Prince relinquishing the earthly flow of jobs and declarations while punishing establishments organizations that diminish the fabulous flow. A lifeline for civilizations
A poet Is someone who just paints A rainbow of Eros In the raining skies of the lovers Beyond their horizon of lust, Below their zenith of thirst. And Someone Who lets them imagine The preponing of all seasons of
Of splendid thrones of gold or treasures manifold Of jewelled caskets or lavish banquets Of Emirs and rajahs Of Sultan and Shahs Of kings and queens Of rulers and emperors Of sparkling crowns or flowing gowns Of their subservient stewards
To put words down on paper, That can give a memory life. To recreate a moment passed, Long buried deep inside. To compose a verse so eloquent, It can cause a heart to break. And lead the reader to feel