Up I Conjure Learning Inner Whole

Up I conjure gift rapt down
Full of sour sweetened void.
In not lying you walk out
On me, giving getting off.
Now sew future summer past,
Here a humble stumble gone:
Live-in maid made furnace die
Black the grey, doom-bloom, bleached white.
Hush the instant droning sound!
Start to measure leisure's end.
Back when battles had no front
Sky cried coddled, cobbled ground.

Learning inner whole,
Creating game's transitional
Room doorway, talking.
Riding French questions,
Twilight columned writing
(Cross-nailed language):
Endless experience vehicle.

Atoms Moving in the Carpet

Alcoholic sink table vision
of teeth in Popeye's mouth
toweled bookshelf isolation
while watching atoms
moving in the carpet
and daddy's angry fists
on mommy and my
disillusioned tears
childhood hula hoop invaded
toothbrush drop drills
coerced sirens'
rabbit eared chair pillow
molestation promising death
after life in Davy Jones' Locker
while freedom found hope in ideas.

The Hill of Desire

I knew a man
who liked to say
"He's so full of shit
his eyes are brown"
I think it's the opposite
when you're full of shit
all the melanin
is sucked out
of your skin
and your hair
it drains into your feces

I used to masquerade
as white
but the pay wasn't good enough

now I'm not for sale

I'm not a high
dollar hooker you know
I give my poems away
to everyone who wants one
freely baby
for free
guess that makes me
a common street whore

Parents teach their kids lies
about the birds and the bees

Flowers never say no
they don't share
their sex directly
flowers make love
in a ménage à troi
they need a third
to inseminate for them

See the roamin' Roman kat
combin' his cat
in the catacombs

I'll let Will
take me until
I surmount the hill
of desire

Always, Never Again

Goodbye
but not for good
only never
again always
always
never again

Hello
amid blue skies
and warm winds
you returned
and my smile
came with you

Goodbye
this time for good
I know never
again always
always
never again

Without a Lighthouse

Grinning innocence
broadly disarms
the recalcitrant; while distant,

bright, wide eyes
capture the periphery
nakedly unaware.

Pastorally pristine
property pockets
pantomime, partially
premiering play's
partitioned preference.

Unrewarded redemption's
fog bank snares
without a lighthouse.

Among Faceless Immortals

Your soul runs, aimless
and frantic,
a yet nomadic melody,
incognito
through starless nights
among faceless immortals.

You are the daughter
of a fathomless pool:
eternity's treasure.

What key fits your lock?

Whisper to me,
kiss the breath of life
into me, shadow
me with your embrace.

Aspen leaves quake in your
wake, like sound fragments
drifting on a high tide
without a current.

Impress upon me a knowledge
of every curved indentation
in your fingerprints.

Let me count your freckles!

A rocky cave cliff-dwelling
stands sentry over eons,
even as thunderous waves
splash their salty, foamy
essence into a luminescent
halo, a planetary tribute
celebrating tomorrow's birth
simply because you sparkle
among faceless immortals.

Chocolate

Overwhelmed by the scent
Strawberries named Paula
The salty Venice Beach
Taffy air wizzed by
An August sunset
That 1971
Blurred lights led
Up the walkway
To my hippie beach pad

In the later moonless depths
We all shed our clothing
And ran to the dark
Red tide phosphorescence
Stars glittered
The night reflected on the sea
As she hummed
In candlelight shadows
We swam naked and alive
Together with Hershey kisses
Stolen from masculine jaws
By delicately feminine tongues

A Poetry Exercise and Prompt: From "Meeting the Mountain" to "Amniotic Steps"

This prompt was offered to me today by my poetry professor, Steven Salmoni. Select a poem written by someone else. Write it on a page, but leave an empty line between each line of the poem. In the spaces, write lines between the lines. Now, write only your originally created lines. Polish and edit as necessary. Dr. Salmoni also suggested I try the exercise by using the poem "Meeting the Mountains" by Gary Snyder. Below, the exercise.

First, Gary Snyder (with spaces)

Meeting the Mountains

He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek

He backs up the slab ledge

He puts a finger in the water

He turns to a trapped pool

Puts both hands in the water

Puts one foot in the pool

Drops pebbles in the pool

He slaps the water surface with both hands

He cries out, rises up and stands

Facing toward the torrent and the mountain

Raises up both hands and shouts three times!

Now, the mix: me in the spaces.

He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek

The mouth of the river open

He backs up the slab ledge

Only in distant rills do brooks dare to babble

He puts a finger in the water

He assays the value of the sashaying current

He turns to a trapped pool

Lapping interest at penniless banks

Puts both hands in the water

Reaching for midnight

Puts one foot in the pool

Takes an amniotic step

Drops pebbles in the pool

Rippling the moment

He slaps the water surface with both hands

Before folding in despair

He cries out, rises up and stands

In the black-beamed spotlight of an empty moon

Facing toward the torrent and the mountain

Daring a clock-faced wrist watch to tick off a second

Raises up both hands and shouts three times!

Ollie, Ollie, oxen free

Now, just my poem, with a little polishing, but not too much. I want it to retain its spontaneous feel.

Amniotic Steps

The mouth of the river

Open

Mute

Straining distant fingers

Dare to brook babble

Assay current's sashay

Lapping lacking interest

On penniless banks

Reaching for midnight

On amniotic steps

Rippling rings

Cross the glassy night

Before folding in despair

The black-beamed spotlight

Of an ancient, empty moon

Dares his clock-faced

Wrist watch to

Tick off

Even one more

Second

All-in

All-in

Walk-in
Free

Sangria

A blood-red, viscous sangria

paints a background wash, scattering

its thoughtless, liquid sedation.

Calloused durability wades through shallows,

curing freshly poured cement sidewalks

which exhibit no pathology: a hollow skull.

Hand holding reassurance slithers

beyond the edge of the world, smearing

sangria droplets across the cords of a snare.

Lines in the linoleum soundlessly

impersonated grout-filled spaces

between ceramic tile squares.

Convenience trips on any light beam, stuttering

incoherent aphorisms' dominating supplication,

driven along a straight-lined highway, swerving.

The blood-red, viscous sangria

impersonated grout-filled spaces

between the pithy beats of jazzed-up syncopation.