To Kiss

To Kiss and Tell
rolls real well
along the seam
that seals my mind.
But instant thoughts
like kisses soft
and lips that loft
rush fools into kisses that tell
far too well,
that instant thoughts can have lasting
effect
on those who’s minds let kisses dwell . . .

Like Cats

Like cats intertwined
Or puppy dogs tumbled alltogether,

You and I
share cares (bare) on this bed.
In and Out
Your breath and mine,
Like thoughts laced with wine or
Sunlight through vines.

Just then, when I stood next to you,
It took all my pacifism
To not reach out and touch you.
Now I sit here on the edge
Of war wondering why I didn’t.

Wait.
I did.
I reached out and stroked your face.
Just my body
Stayed in place. Now, . . .

Night and I are dark inside.
The moon and you
A rising tide.
This life (and the rest) too light.
Night and I,
We must hold tight.

Death and

 TAXES . . .
 
They say death and taxes are the only two things you can’t avoid.
 
There’s a finality there that is hard to ignore.
 
A sense of dying already let in the door.
 
But what if you want to deny this truth?
 
What if you wanted nothing, and needed less?  Would governments be
 
Satisfied without redress?
 
Somewhere out there on the edge, where the sky meets the earth, where
 
Birds fly and the unknown still lies like a sea serpent looking for dinner,
 
We look to find our salvation.
 
An eternal spring, a new life form that when wedded with ours will create an
 
Everlasting, always young, new humankind.
 
And I wonder, could we do that without changing, rearranging our current
 
Universe. Or would this change like some domino exhibit collapse us all 

Into

Some black hole that is worse than death and . . . taxes.

A poem for today

MAY SWENSON

The Universe

What
is it about,
the universe
the universe about us stretching out?
We within our brains
within it,
think
we must unspin the laws that spin it.
We think why
because we think
because.
Because we think
we think
the universe about us.
But does it think,
the universe?
Then what about … about us?
If not,
must there be cause in the universe?
Must it have laws?
And what if the universe is not about us?
Then what?
What is it about?
and what about us?

posted by rhbee

In Life

Sometimes
things move so slowly, so surely towards the same destination.
They move slowly (seem fast at the time) towards ratiocination.
Sure as sunshine under a blanket of clouds ends a rain,
as ocean waves beat the shore and wind blows spray, as        inevitable as night following (oh hell, you know the cliche´).

I observe this as my path
meanders in front of me, the optional exits and cloverleaf off ramps
glittering, calling, leading astray . . .
 

New poems . . .

Mars and the stars . . .

Men, like atoms,
              spurt and spume
                         themselves into the vast
                              vagina of the universe
                                    which waits, hot upon entry,
Until relativity cools them down.

Thought

Is constant,
Is clear like glass yet
Chiaroscuro in effect,
Is swift and yet
Turbulent as air in flight,
Is rough like a bare
                      backed, bucking bronc’s haunch,
Is wasted more often than
Not,
Is quick and dead
Before there’s time to think,
Is here and now and then gone
In a

Blink.

Knuckle headed

Noises jammed my scan
Static lightning mistakes
Messed my plan
Pit stopped, I smelled
This as another “I can” attempt at self reconciliation
Amidst the
Thought traffic jam
“Ear-ran.”
I ran,
Feet heart beat fast
I reached at last
A place where thoughts
                     and acts
Cannot crash
Un back lash ash to ash.
Smash.

Making love to Watergate

Nixon and I and you
Sweating at a rapid rate.
Reprehensible
Utterly sensible
Lacking declensionable
Nouns
To possibly clarify the
Inter – relationships
Of we three making hate to Whitewatergate.
Clinton and you and I that is . . .
 

Superman

The lesson is lost somewhere in a sliver of smile,
a winking laugh beckoning towards
more than a cliff
less than a while.
I’m left here in a telephone booth
with one leg stuck in Superman’s blue coverall.
When Lois Lane and you reach me in time to ask eternally, “Can he help?”
I shout “Yes!” (more or less)
“If someone will get me out of this damn phone stall.”

And that’s when the fun starts. Lois fogs my glasses with quick kisses
and your … hand … on my thigh is beyond relief.
“Wait!” I cry, and then it’s too late. I burst into the air and you and
Lois operate the gate.

“It’s Christ in suspenders with nails in his knees.”
a chorus reveals.
My laughter just peals and peels.

The Same

Every girl I ever knew
                       reminds
                       of every girl I ever knew.
Same soft
Same light
Same waiting every night
Same body
                     soul
Same end
hole
and

Every man
dancing eyes
little boy sighs
just one of the guys
stroking the same
totem’s pole.

THE SUNSHINES BLUE . . .

On the day outside my mind,
           rides like wind flies and trains of inconsequence trade themselves for
                        thoughts as I wish for more than I can have or hold or even use in this
                world gone mad as a hatter,

In a world where anything can un happen, can re happen, can happen more or
              less with consequences and all the trimmings,
While we (you and I) still stay in a quandary, at a loss,
Up in the air like a coin star-crossed, our minds flipping, tripping

                        at all the evil dripping from the last bomb tossed.

Time and applied ethics
measure out the daze
while I have amplified
both inner and outer gaze.

A Wish

There is nothing scary about a wish, except that sometimes
it comes true. It’s as though, by sheer will power, we’ve changed
the rules
the future fraught with what we thought.
Getting our wish, we may have made someone else sad or angry or
count for naught.Wishes are selfish and dangerous and unfortunately a lot like hopes.
Hopes are what make us keep going. Hopes are dreams brought into the
Light of day. Hopes are games we need to play. Hopes are humankind’s
Real way to pray.
I wish . . . ?

 Inside this self on a wooden shelf,
lit darkly
and oh so dusty,
lies the truthful me,
the really me,`
the one that I could really be.

Have you 

ever thought
“A slice of you could
Grow a clone”
“Maybe two, . . .
Each with lives
They could grow
Alone?
you could sin
They atone.”
Have you ever thought . . . Ah well, from here on in you’re on your own