Ode to Zin

Cardinal Zin
Dirty Ol'Zin

Oh my Zin you dark and potent brew,
You coat my pallet with warmth and reddish hue.

My lips do purse to catch the rim,
While your potent payload hides within.

Red and black the colors of your fill,
Aromas of cherry and smoke tugging at my will.

Another sip, another taste your strength becomes my night,
Liquid courage subtle, then strong and delayed in might.

My senses dull and my mind does race,
My sexual desires turn rosy upon my face.

From gnarly old vines a beautiful tale your body does tell,
Sinful old Zin I will adore you forever and even in Hell.

Blighted Morning

Blighted morning your tepid rain restores no balance

The ping and slap of fallen water pushing the filth in circles upon my window sill

Peering through the gauze of window sheers your streaks and runs distort to no avail

The light of your day gray upon white

Furious whispers are all you can muster

Clattering of pooled children gathered and release over dampened eves

Their hollow thuds celebrated upon cold concrete graves

Chasing and stalled streams of your ancestors litter the stoop

All flowing unsure to a common destination on lower ground

Streets half-heatedly glisten with your inadequate glaze

The crags and crevices of the city swallow and consume your every drop

Futile mists and scattered pellets gather your whits and regroup for the next assault

Dormant Spring

dormant bud

Time better spent.
Someone to share it with.

Dormant spring waits for rains of shared experience.

Looking in shallow gazes.
Meeting of eyes averted.

Waiting blossoms fragrant for no one.

Wishful thoughts drowned.
Unanswered dreams heavy burden.

Cultivating tireless hope in fields of imagined fruit.

Hand in hand embrace.
Securely remembered.

Seasons on hold in the absents of light.

Fragile Hold

Looking back into my mind I see the reflections of who I used to be.
The painted rooms filled with all I have seen and done.
The childhood room with faded, peeling walls still filled with innocent thoughts.
Looking in is like looking through frosted glass in the clouds.
Occasions of clarity break the visual muffled silence.
Images and pieces of memories still rest neatly on the shelves of my years.
The alley behind our home in Baltimore.
The garden at my grandfather’s home.
The taste of the wooden crib on my newly emerging teeth.
The used and worn but loving gift from a babysitter.
Youth in the next room throwing tantrums and fits, growing.
The room unsettled and littered with deeper closets to explore.
Stains of blood soaked experience and cloudless skies.
First crush, first kiss, first dreams.
Confused sheets half covering long unused thoughts.
Freedom and independence etched on the doorways of each new year.
Mature and jaded rooms added hastily to each passing year.
Dark creaky stairwells to places better off forgotten.
The places one never wishes to visit alone.
Love covers the walls yet fades and crumbles to the floor.
The halls of memories are endless and unsorted.
Pieces of past and present mingle in the air of fading memories.
A room fit for an adult sits incomplete.
The smell of newness confuse the sight of painted over past.
The corners of each turn stained with the finger prints of all my years.

This fragile hold a keep of flesh and bone is my life.

A Mother’s Love

New skin slowly grows over aged memories.
Thin veils of translucent comfort.
A puny defense holding the moments in their place.
Cutting blows of emotion.
Tearing, cutting and pulling at the infant layers.
The fragile roots of calm slowly give.
Stresses become fissures.
The painful memories flow freely.

Cry more tears to sooth the open wounds.
Like glue they pull and fill the voids.
Arms reach out.
Gentle touches catch the falling pieces.
Love binds the broken moments.
And healing begins again.

Painted Whisper

Glowing candles flicker.
Anonymous shadows dancing with darkness.
Scented hopes dash in and out of awareness.

A touch.

Shivers run through the warmth of a caress.
Hearts quicken to words unspoken.
Faint warming breath awakens the silence.

The painted whisper adorns the canvas of her neck.

I love you.

Stolen Heart

Clutching fists fill the void in my chest.
There was love there.
There was happiness and memories of beauty.
The knife has long since removed my heart.

Burning tears, trails of red mark my tormented cheeks.
There was warmth there.
There was a sense of purpose and belonging.
The bloodied hands no longer pull at my flesh.

Broken dreams, voided history suffocates my soul.
There was a bond once.
There were two shared lives living as one.
The memories of your last words pry continuous at this open wound.

Death of my stolen heart lives forever in memory.