AutumnWords

~She doesn't wear a Jacket~

Drugs lace their lingo.
Sex swims on their lips.
Smoke coats their convo;
She laughs at darted quips.

Crack bridges barriers
And booze opens doors.
Powder pushes pulses;
Inhibition hits the floor.

Inhibition is the jacket
That she rarely ever wears.
It doesn’t let her move enough.
Its color doesn’t dare.

And it’s autumn in the city,
Her steps are rushing-free.
She doesn’t don that jacket.
She’s asked: how can this be?

"My drug is in the sun’s shot.
My sex is in the grass.
That fog that coats my memory
Too shimmers on lake-glass."

You ask her if she’s crazy.
You query of her joy.
You seek to sweet-corrupt her.
You’re carved of natural boy.

She answers you with wind-words
Racing on the breeze...
She answers you with eyes-wide:
“I love life. This is me.”





~September 11th: Birthday~

September eleven years ago,
And I had just turned twelve.
September 11th: birthday morn.
Cake waiting on the shelf.

Friends & cards & bows abound;
Kodak moments many,
Laughter licks the candle wicks.
I live a day of plenty…

September 11th: wake me now.
Gifts hold less allure.
It takes the cake 2 not take
4 granted,
as be4.

2 remember and 2 relish
In knowing that I can
Stride free, work hard, laugh lovingly
& live my master plan.

2 remember we inhabit
Land unaccustomed 2
Terror tumbling towers.
It’s not something we knew…

We may not have nightly worried
If our fathers came home late…
I may not have been too grateful
For all richness, on my plate.

September 11th: birthday.
Celebratory. True.
September: sweet America.
I'm glad 2 salute you.





~Sapphire 30~

Hello, September,
And I remember-
Your natural highs, my butterflies,
Summer-end starts, two beautiful eyes…

Once more September!
2 our surprise.
How swiftly summer 4 autumn vies,
As wet-gold sun leaves leafs gold-dry.

& Some of the boldest gold still lies

in memory,
Within.

Embrace us, sapphire-thirty.





~A Poem, Sans Title~
2WK

Inject your dreams with energy
Clasp them in your mind;
Don’t let the daily ground state
Absorb them, in its grind.

Not everything can stand out.
In fact, much must stand in.
The moves that make us human
Are often dull and dim.

But fire fuels the interim;
It blazes under flesh…
Though some days it may smolder,
And these are days that mesh.

Yet meshing days march steadily
To meet the days that glow,
Yes, these -The days that burn us-
These are days we know.

We know them by the risk-rush
They scatter on our skin.
We feel them in the fame we claim,
When we craft, stand out, or win.

And b4 we’ve known them long enough
To pace their bold-fast race,
The highest times, they flee us,
Leaving slow ones, in their place.

Perhaps slow days are vital tho,
Like catching breath and air.
Maybe time’s a state of mind;
State excited’s always there.

Inject your dreams with energy;
And on the slow-burn days,
Process them incessantly.
Your interim will blaze.

Yes, set your “I will’s” higher still,
No matter interim’s base.
Intent arms your ability.
Just right flows your life’s pace.