Brave Hearts
Born from bits and pieces
of chaotic constellations
hanging in starlit skies,
brave hearts are bruised
fragments of dreams
and disappointments,
rearranged and realigned,
strengthened after each
reboot, committed to the
exploration and redefining
of their innermost self.
Intoxicating
Time’s tender gift
gently let her become
the intoxicating flower,
he always wanted
but never deserved.
Sinful Tree
Without
my consent,
they made me
become
their
burden tree,
hiding
sins
inside
leaves
and
branches.
Trunk
grew crooked,
weighed
down by
unspoken sins,
they sat
in the shade
my branches
offered still.
Poet Blood
Blood poets will
bet it all,
every last nickel
damn it all to hell,
for one last poem–
to feel alive one last time
like an addict needs one last hit.
Blood full of whisky dreams
pulsing to the drum
of the road less taken.
They’ll wait for that poem
like a lusty love affair
they can’t quite let go of.
Somewhere between
Bourbon Street
and Café du Monde
they’ll sit.
They know better of course.
Whiskey Prize
Secret sweetness of wine
and poetry lines
in the house where you need
to knock three times.
We read poetry,
savored a prize
of Irish whiskey,
a puff of sweet smoke
from a pipe.
Reminisced about trips
to Barcelona and Seville,
and a love of poetry.
Lightning round poems
performed to please
without lights or phones or pages
to light the way.
Our prize, a shot of Irish whiskey.
Alien Buddha Press 