kiss, time,fire,lover

The first time we kissed

there was fire just like the last

lover, let/s burn bright

sadly, I missed it

that time I should have stumbled

and fallen in love

I couldn't resist

making love to a time bomb

fire stumbles falling 

pater familias

let me be the one
 who kills the spiders
 who ambush you,
     screaming with a terror
both funny and alarming
   your hand over your
       mouth, finally,
knuckles like pink
   candies.

       I am the one who
checks the locks,
 lights the candles,
       whispers in the red glow
        of St. Michael the Archangel
   

       And other things besides,
           who dispatches lingering possums,
after the dog has lost interest,
   sending them to a perfect realm,
       a heaven really, with no inept
               coon hounds, or young boys, or BB guns.


Let me be he
   who kisses your cheek
        while you bathe in
 the blue light
        of your phone,
tapping to the corners of the world,
               my nose against
 your perfect seashell
        of an ear,
and pretending
     that i really am

Recipe

( wrote this on the overhead to teach the students about rhyming schemes and similes)


Stir  your heart gently, gliding with a silver spoon
 drape your worries  to dry in the sun  on a string
Throw your cares across the silver sleeping moon,
and warm them slowly, until winter turns to spring
   then make time stand still, like a bird on a wire
  and live your life for love like a house on fire.

Mission Statement

I don't need no AK47, don't need no 203
When it comes to wrecking evil
Godzilla ain't got nothing on me
  Nothing on me
we gonna carpet bomb the darkness with a burning light
and put all the rabid ignorant to a blinded, fearful flight
 Now, don't think about no shiny savior
who's going to take you to the promised land
 because that's all a bunch of bullshit
meant to keep you from making a stand
Right here on earth we stay connected
   fighting evil with the ordinaryordinance
    of feed the hungry
       protect the weak
          limit the strong
No give communion, give food
No give bible, give clean water instructions
    No give heaven, give revolution
                How you like me now, reverend?

Love poem for the runners-up

 Where are you going busy bee

  that you have no more time for me?

There are blossoms to explore, 

   pools to contemplate with heavy 

        leaves that meditate,

             like quiet verdant monks.

How you flit and fold your wings

  and give no thought to the barbed stings

that your hurried travels bring

  to the oafish stumbling fool

   who thought he could hold you in his hand.

   Well, there are the passing tides

         and time all greatness hides

beneath her heavy robes of grey,

but when the heart has lost  its' race

   the loser sees your lovely face, 

 and that  is prize enough

      when Summer turns to fall.

Penelope.

      We used to stand on the hot concrete
        at the city swimming pool
we did our conga, sloooow motion,
  First one foot, theeen the other,
            let one get hot,
then switch.
   Our backs and bellies bronze
         and red,
respectively.
     Standing in a line on the hot plate,
waiting to buy raspas and
      dried salted plums,
calling them Chinese candy.
   I remember the strong, grown up taste,
         was like a busted lip.

             Later, when we
found out you were leaving,
       we carried on as children
 will do, seeing weeks stretched out like years....
         That last day, we rode
              our bikes home,
     
          I kissed you my first kiss
                on your porch, through your
                            tears and mine,
                  that grown up taste
                            mixing with the roses
                                   of your freckles.
                     
    

Walking in Winter

        1.
black triangle
 heavy on a silver pond just
skimming the the top
 an inverted darkness
 ripples out
 to lap against the
blighted grass.
  On a hill,
             windows stare
  from a dirty
gray house
 the charred hands of winter
trees trying to pull shreds
of sky down to the
  hard,scratchy ground
              2.
 Blackbirds and shadows
  of other birds play with their
reflections on a shiny dish of
      water,
 little waves become smaller still
   dancing among the stilts that hold
             the chalky lace of
   webs up high.

              3.
Is it so strange, then, his dark hand
  against the lilly of her skin,
     drinking in the touch and taste
 of her? They might breathe together
          for a while,
   Leaping from his dream,
       a stone skips across this moment
          leaves him awake
               and lost.