Gustav Klimt, The Kiss,




Like doves that fly by in pairs,
Let those that see us praise.
Lovers that brag of knowing love hush now, silence.
Not does the baker parade with bread,
Nor the tinker with his pots.
Love is best enjoyed in silence,
When wolves howl not,
Witches and wizards when they slumber.
Like imaginary dreams of riding wild stallions.
Love is like Gustav’s the kiss
Let it walk your imagination
Step by step,
And savor its scent in grave quietness.
Like a kiss love is enjoyed with one’s eyes closed,
Loosely shut like a maiden smelling a daffodil.
Slow, slower like an oiled flowing stream of Arabia.
Dance not in our praise,
Nor carnival like in Rio.
Let’s like a candle in pitch darkness burn in silence,
Care not of the wind,
Eyes far in darkness will sing
And their shades around us dance.

And for us praises they will scream.

The Births



From when the sun sets,
Twilight in her golden dress departs.
Birds set for nests
Waving farewells to a day that melts
Into a time of slumber,
Pillow talks marshmallow soft
Salted laughs shared in exchange.
Touches and caresses as tender as a serpent’s deceit,
Bodies be one,
That time when clouds in darkness hide,
Camouflaged by night’s tuxedo.
Thoughts separate like fingers,
Fingers that explore under nylon sheets,
Tickling nipples like blind hatchlings
Till in months after,
Babies rain.

When am i going to see you again


We were strangers,
Whose sights seemed related.
That day by the mill
I remembered your scars,
Like I pictured my birth
Yet with inaccurate thought.
I heard my mind race,
As your breath’s warmth
Reached for my eye as you blew.
It touched my adrenaline’s youth,
I stood glued to imaginary sanity,
So why do horses run in my thoughts,
And why now does looking back become a nightmare.
Was i lost or was I in a dream,
In dreams people fly,
Like paper kites only to fall in a storm.
In dreams people are rich,
Only to rise to a stink of the old screaming bed.
But I saw you,
I felt your lips,
And your tongue’s tip
As they sealed like a concrete.
And sight of you became a harmonica,
That once blasted in prison,
That month I there grazed
I see you as much as I hear it.
Measure for pleasure and toil,
All is and always will be at par.
When am I going to see you again?

The End

May the end of time find me righteous,
The bug that feeds on the flesh of time.
May I be as clean as day
And as candid as a liar’s truth.
Wheels of sin can they roll on by
With the vile kisses of guesthouse harlots
The screams of country couples
The bark of devilish mongrels,
The songs of cathedral services
The howls of African beasts
The conflict, the drama
Can they please pass.

Come with me


Ask not where we go,
Just come with me.
There we might meet dancing gypsies
And we shall with them dance under Rio’s carnival lights.
We might walk the gardens of Persia,
And I will pick flowers and weave a wreath
That in beauty on your head sits.

Ask not where we go,
Just come with me.
We might run on the cold deserted streets of Mongolia,
Or slide on the dunes of Arabic sands.
We might kiss to the warm Caribbean sunset drinking island rum,
Or cuddle to Alaska’s morning breeze making love
Harvesting each other’s heat.

Ask me not
Just come with me.
For it might be by the Pacific’s shores
That I plan to kneel down along with the sunset
And say marry me.

Stories of Madeline



Have i ever told you about Madeline?


Her beauty dressed in rareness

Her body a work of fine Godly art.

She walked like she treads not the ground

Floating and wisping  by like she dies not.

She wore Arabic balm and Ethiopian perfumes,

Her hair to her breasts flowing like the Nile,

Golden beards around her waist shone like the milky way

Her back in Indian mehndi plastered.

That i remember true,

May her beauty be blessed.


Madeline  a maiden of rarity,

She in swift lines spoke,

Like an Orator she lacked  lingual fault.

Would you please picture her smile,

That shone  like it mocked conflict

Caressing men’s reasoning and mine

Bright, molded with expert care like a Grecian urn.


Did i ever tell you of how Madeline died?

Prayer for the Romans


Sins of their forefathers,

Painted and carved in ancient stone.

Rome long fell with its mighty

A people’s dream buried along with Caesar’s.

‘Why does here guilty hide wielding a gory dagger’

Alas Greece’s bells heard no more,

No more songs of praise to the eagle

Holy flapping white doves and pigeons now a dream.

Lethe and Acheron silted by sands of mythology,

Rome’s Gladiators in the same silt chasing ancient valour.

Lads and Maidens roam not palaces like omens

Dressed in veils of vile debauchery

Smelling of unending orgies.

Sin, sinners

May peace find them,

Or they peace find

i pray

For the Romans.



Dreamers my people

Welcome maiden

That with new love by comes.

My long prayers the heavens heard i see

Need i pray more? nor in this moment’s warmth busk.

Your arrival thus setting asunder loneliness and me

Now worlds apart we stand like yin and yang.

The freshness of your breasts,

Ripe like cottage apples of Venice.

Welcome maiden,

Whose smile that to a firefly does ascribe

A wintry moonlight that pierces night’s ghostly darkness.

Once i met a lover like you,

Her smile as bright as a tropical day her body amazon firm.

Yet it is her that i from now depart,

For in being loved she her love lost.

With the windmill of fantasy my worthy to her with spun,

Dear maiden that now here arrives,

Be not like her………






dear lover, now let i pray……..

Our promises of love, in love

Flowing as if from the same womb born,

Yet from minds apart they emanate.

Your words softly true, candid

Piercing through my tender passion as if for my soul born.

Calm whispers.

Most lovers do promise promises true,

Some through the blood of vines and ale speak, leading hearts astray

Far to places where imagination has meaning.

So let me like most lovers be true

so i lose reasoning to your fineness.

Like a lover true, let i stray in your Persian balm

Harvesting the fruits of your orchard’s green.

The erosion of time passing by caressing us unnoticed

Age too, and yet still we promise and love.

I as a lover odes composing like Keats

Strength to our love our words its sustenance.

Still now i promise to love,



The Poet’s lines

I read sweet words in a poet’s lines

A maiden in a vineyard finely praised.

Her hair ran with the wind he said

Like the wild horses of Mongolia.

Her lips ,twins as perfect as the vines color

He breasts stood untouched

Like a newborn’s breath.

She lacked imperfection like the sky

So right so pure he said.

She said her smile shone bright

Her posture too.

It is in this poet’s words dear beloved.

That I saw you.

Composed upon arrival


Dust me off this soot of old town roads,

The weeds of the dark country woods.

Bath off from my skin the sweat of years,

Toiling in wonder trying to find reason.

Wake me from this reverie of decades

So i for once see with you the sunshine and hear the birds that for this day sing.

Has it been clarity that for all these years i lacked,

Or in love’s craddle i long slumbered and lost reasoning.

Teach me how to love us again,

For when i leave and come back

I will know how to love us….




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