Monthly Archives: December 2014

Out With A Bang!

Did you think me mild and meek,
that I would not say a word
’bout the things I overheard
and just turn the other cheek?

Do you find me frail and weak,
to accept the pain incurred
from emotions that you stirred
and not let my heart bespeak?

This love affair is over,
I will spare you a harangue.
Need I state that moreover
my poor heart it’s last song sang.
This gun has Dover’s powder,
so you’ll go out with a bang!


Hurricane

Come and taste the bitter-sweetness in the
small of my back, and  trace  your  tongue
’round to my quivering navel.  Never
have I been so free, as free as now,
somehow with you I’m willing and
able.  I raise you up to meet  my
gaze and place my greedy hand
upon your glass.  Intoxicated
by your cloying scent, I fall to
my knees as if in mass. You taste
as sweet as a  Hurricane raging out
at sea;  now raging wildly within me.
I can feel your potency  at the verge of
extremes;  a rough hand upon my nape
taking hold of my hair. You are tugging
on my fears and breaking my stare,
you’re  breaking  all  of  my cares.
Your very essence is perplex.
This  can not  be last-call,
I exhale  in  pleasure
as you hex my
conscience
to
the
w a l l !
Until
we
meet again
my fancy, fruity, fluid friend.


Dirty Martini

Let me feel the silk caress of your lips upon my chest.
Grant me once the chance or humor me at best.
Pin me with your weight and hold me in
you eyes. Take me now, I’m yours!
Fill my head with lies. Tell me
myths I’ve heard before.
Prove them Truths,
not Chance.
Brining
under-
neath
you.
Take
me,
hold
me,
shake
me,
taste
me.
Help me
break this longing trance.


Frolicsome Fate

Oh, the day that we met
I will never forget
But how your eyes undressed me

You chanced a gentle touch
Well, really nothing much
But it meant the world to me

A room full of strangers
And blind to the dangers
But my heart was flying free

With a drink in my hand
I tried to understand
But I saw no trickery

So outside in the shed
All the others had fled
But we kissed in secrecy

And at the party’s end
You said I was a friend
But that was a fallacy

With her arm ’round your back
She reined in all the slack
But I could not keep stilly

Then I brave to inquire
To which you transpire
But this here is my wifey


Blooms of Love

Nature or nurture?

This branch bares no fruit with seeds

Only blooms of Love.


Spoiled Once Spoken

Your boat is sinking.
Do you not see the water rising?
Your home is burning.
Do you not see the fire blazing?

Dive off, jump off and I will save you
from the hands of Monsieur Death.
I do love you.
You’ve always known that I do.

Please don’t make me enounce it.
I fear saying it will break
the incantation;
weigh on a false conviction.

Don’t torture me,
you know how words can fail me lexically.
These words no longer possess
the power that they once did.

Your boat is sinking.
Your home is burning.
And I stand here waiting.
You know that I’m awaiting.

I’ll pen it a dozen different ways,
but I dare not pronounce the words
for they are nonsensical.
Truly, they have lost their meaning.

Like “fuck,” a simple word,
but so jaded that it sounds disputed.
Everybody speaks it, or once in their life has heard it,
making it pointless to bother voicing it.

So maybe you’re standing there too.
And maybe you’re feeling this too.
Well maybe we’re fooling each other.
After all, it’s only Love…

J’ai perdu mon chemin.
Ou voulez-vous aller?
Je suis noyade.
Me comprenez-vous?


My Heart Has Been

Caused by joy to swoon
My heart has been short sighted
Of oncoming trains

Cratered like the moon
My heart has been assaulted
Time and time again

Giving up too soon
My heart has been deserted
Like land without rain

Left alone to croon
My heart has been anointed
The descant of pain

Taken for a loon
My heart has been committed
By this author’s brain

In hopes that real soon
It can be reinstated
Into Love’s domain


I’m Moving On

I wanted love so bad
that I made you believe
that what I wanted was
us together,
us forever…
and now I want to leave!

Forget all of my words
for they now mean nothing
to this galoot before you
who was a boy,
who was too coy…
and always too cunning!

I’m starting the search now
for the man inside me
that got lost inside you
without a map
with my own trap…
and now I set me free!

I’ll cherish the lessons:
you taught me how to cry,
I taught you to hate me
in my moments
without comments…
and now this is goodbye!

I wanted love so bad…
I’m moving on…
Forget all of my words…
I’m moving on…
I’m starting the search now…
I’m moving on…
I’ll cherish the lessons…
this is goodbye…


Love Beyond Love

You have shaken
and awakened
within me,
released a power beyond grasp…
though not beyond reason.

You have stirred
from slumber
inside me,
a dormant emotion thought frigid…
now blazing wild for you.

I go willingly,
blindly
wherever you might lead me,
hand in hand I follow you…
my lord and master.

I go without resistance
for trust equals,
but never surpasses
the immeasurable
degree of my loyalty.

Together we will conquer;
nothing nor no one
can stand in our way…
we bask in the surging power
betwixt us.

Together,
victorious we shall be,
inundated in this blazing emotion;
the merging of our souls…
love beyond love.


My Earliest Memory

Waste is a terrible thing to mind and the mind a terrible thing to waste. But the mind tends to store things at random even when we find them to be waste. We can set things to memory by simply repeating it so often that inevitably it is saved within our minds and easily recalled at will. But other things, ideas, and events in our lives are automatically saved, unconsciously, and recalled when prompted or even on a whim. Some memories are best forgotten. Most are essential in our day to day living, without them we would wake up every morning failing to remember who we were. I don’t have to ask myself everyday before the mirror, “Who are you?” I just know, thanks to memory.

I consider myself an openly gay man. I do not care who knows it, it is not a secret, but all together the same it is no one’s business. It is not something I broadcast; I do not flaunt it, but I do not hide it either. If asked point blank, I will answer in the affirmative. How long have I known about my homosexuality? Forever! How long ago did I learn of my attraction for the same gender? Well, for as far back as I can remember. As far back as my mind can search through the memories it chose to keep accessible, for I fear there are many more kept dormant, kept covert. Memories scattered within my mind like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be placed together for the big picture to be revealed.

My mind reels far back to my toddler years. A small collection of snapshots of a day in my life, as if I were a bystander watching the past unfold. Back to the genesis of my self-identity. Back to my earliest memory….

A pair of lime green steel doors on a small adobe house come to focus. I am standing on the narrow cobblestone sidewalk abutting the building. This is my house, my home. I know that beyond those doors there is love and safety. This is the place where I am sheltered from the elements, sheltered from harm.

I am facing another child approximately my age though a bit taller and thinner. For all my wisdom -or lack there of- at age two, I can only discern that he is not a stranger. He stands on the threshold, a single step up from the sidewalk looking down on me with a devilish grin on his face. The doors are wide open now and a long dark corridor extends behind him into the house. He insists that I drop to my knees. I fail to question his motive. An inexplicable attraction keeps me from walking away. I want him to like me as much as I like him.

I am shy by nature and obedient by nurture. I quickly apprehend that meekness is my weakness. Whatever his arguing points might have been, it wasn’t long before I was down on my knees awaiting. In anticipation of exactly what? Only he knew, for I fail to recall anything that he said. The possibility exists that perchance he intimidated me, as I have been told many did, I can’t really say. The audio memory is irretrievable. Or perchance the fact is that at two years old my mind failed to imprint the audio, due to my limited vocabulary, along with the traumatizing visual. Another mystery of the mind and how it stores selectively.

He made no efforts to mask his intentions, at least I do not remember feeling lied to, coerced or tricked in any way. He didn’t ruse me into expecting anything different from that which was about to transpire. Still, in my young heart I longed for acceptance and would do all it took to gain that acceptance. I can still see him, in my mind’s eye, as obscurely as I did that afternoon….

I am transfixed by the sight of him fumbling his penis over the waist band of his shorts and aiming an arch of urine in my direction. Before I could rationalize exactly what I had gotten myself into, a warm stream of urine was splashing on my cheeks, and tightly pressed lips. With my eyes now scrunched shut I saw the town square fountain in my young mind; an angelic statue of a nude nymph urinating into the basin of a fountain. Except the only things naked here were my humiliation and fear that I would be punished for allowing this to happen. Laughter, a sinister, mechanical laughter resounds in my head as the memory fades.

For all I try…nothing comes to focus. Search as I may, every corner of my mind, but not one clue will surface in the files of my toddler memories. I imagine myself compliantly on my knees wiping my face dry, fighting back the tears. I cry: injustice! foul play! Why am I still on my knees? Where did he go? But this is now a product of my imagination and not a memory at all. This is me forging sepia-tone snapshots of my own with faded and worn edges. This is me trying to reason with the incomplete memory.

So many questions boiling in the cauldron of my mind only to resurface unanswered. At two years aged, I loathed being a child! I despised the vulnerability, the helplessness and inability to communicate my wishes and desires, let alone my basic needs. I abhorred it all! I knew that I was different, unlike other boys, still I felt a keen attraction to them. The young mind is a sponge, but where does all that input go at such a tender age? Perhaps it’s all for the better, or we would all end up with straight jackets; a lifetime of memories overwhelming us into insanity. Maybe the mind does know what it’s doing after all in it’s selective release of memories, as well as it’s erasure or choice to vault up memories long forgotten. Waste is a terrible thing to mind and the mind a terrible thing to waste.