Achilles

Achilles

His mother didn't dip him in the River

two fingers on his left ankle

but it made a good story.

He wasn't gay, but he loved his men.

Patroclus was best friend

Guilt drove him crazy, but it wasn't his end

He lived to fight in a war that was not his own

he went for renown, wisdom in combat overthrown

He didn't die there, ended by an arrow shot by

a former shepherd out of misplaced revenge.

It's all just myths anyway, she said giving me 

a look.

Little does she know that she's speaking about

my father. Little does she realize that the truth

is often found hidden in these lies

that for my father, finding more than glory

would lead him to my mother's arms

out of the Illiad and into another man's story.

Portrait of a Woman

She holds the book to her breast
the pages bent, well read showing
the marks of time spent in communion
with the words within.
She looks out of her world
pensive with the doubts that plague
her, the fears that await her comings
and goings, the need for love,
the desire for self, for worth,
for touch.
Her fingers, on the crease of leather
the binding pressed, her thumb poised
her voice silenced in the thoughts
of love and life and the desire for
hot coffee, silken cream on scones
the moments alone when the mists
play against her window to the
morning lulled by the violins
and cello, the bassoon wails
into the space that fits all these things
that are now and will always be her

place.

Mischievous Chagrin

She caresses the pages as she reads

my words I have written, her breaths short and quick

she is already smitten,

her eyes dilate, it must be fate as she looks from

the paper to me, checkmate.

Fingers plunge inside the pages, soft surfaces crease

passion rages,

I will come to the climax in a matter of stages

A chapter here, an introduction there, 

her plot heaves, as her heart thunders to share

our fiction is interwoven into our diction

dialoguing as we embrace

each connotation trace

we kiss each book we touch

blood race, this means so much

my pen on her skin, 

these moments that our eyes lock

mischievousness chagrin.

photo was taken from Twitter. 

Morning Routine

Cool sheets, skin meets, soft treats
morning snore, lace more, silken core
precious things, the sun light brings
my fingers trace, my heart sings
dreams dance, serene romance, 
serendipitous chance..
her murmurs, legs stir, fan whirs,
the dice roll, my lips stroll, naked goal
breasts heave, morals leave, I believe
Mischief in bed, erotica in my head,
passionate love instead.

Rain Song

Men thunderous, storm rolls across the pensive skies

Dark luminescence sparking with lightning

like neon wires ripping through the fabric of clouds

all the furious rage of unknown crimes committed 

against the mother of earth.

Women rain, tears from the heavens unleashed

torrents wept then wiped dry only to be wept again

as the children below forget all the rainbows

promising that life and love will be held

more dearly than greed or selfish

cruelty.

The winds come and go, the world turns slow

the grains grow, the birds fly low

the desperate days pass, the memories of those

gone from memory, the rains came but 

only the earth remains.