Objects of Desire

Always out of our reach

My reach

In sight my eyes will delight

Your beauty

A quick smile

Perhaps a frown

And the moment is gone

But fantasy

Remains a telling mystery

New worlds can be created

That one moment that was wanted

Suddenly becomes attainable


The skin so alive

Desire of wanton release

I’ve always felt only you know how to touch

The moment that exhilarates your skin

Your fingertips

Your curves

Slow and teasing, your gasps

As that moment becomes near

Holding back yet driving towards

A beautiful and writhing release

Some may bring you there

Yet, when ready you’re a goddess

A master, filled with mystique


For we all know a manner of passion

I might imagine how to make love to you

And you might desire the touch of fantasy

When will our ideas return to one another

Rather than remaining in wonder

Silly fears

Drawn upon each other

Always a stepping stone

Of indecision

That when the risk is alive

Become scintillating , sensual, unbridled passion



I began to cry and I don’t really know why

I do know the soul responds to memory

I was listening to Time again

Alan Parsons Project took me on a walk

And told me about you

I realized then you can only be a memory

Drifting through my mind

‘Gone forever’

As it should be you know


When we change our reality

To force an encounter

When our hearts are driven by desire


That walk of spontaneity that drives the human soul

Becomes yet another circumstance of lost control

Music Drives the Soul

Take me on a journey

Let me see the fields,  golden

On a summer’s day

While I remain alone

In a chair

Unable to move beyond sipping a wine

While the sun begins to set

Just outside my west window


That’s what I imagine

When I get old


And while my eyes still observe

The world around me

The peace

Will be, knowing you are by my side


A cup of chicken soup

A spoonful at a a time

I can feel your smile

Strained and hopeful

Having carried the burden of faith

For all these many years


When I listened to music

Driving in my Chevy Bel-Aire

Just shy of 20 years

I might never imagine


The woman of my dreams

Who could withstand all of my ego-driven



And decide to remain

Nearby to lift a ladle to my lips

While in the background

The Moody Blues

Might help settle the sunlight

Sitting on Ice

You know the feeling

Too cold to relax

Too easy to react

A sort of waiting for the moment

In hopes that no one can lament

Upon the urgency of leaving


The ice

Frozen in time

Sculptures of a paradigm

Simple words that when conveyed

May suddenly be easily splayed

Like dice


Hitting the wall

Every toss is a gamble

And we want to ramble

On down the line of life

Without any more strife

Throw me the ball


Still I remain

Wondering about the next hour

How far might I this time flounder

Trying desperately to only enjoy

A quiet reality of blessed joy

Yet I maintain


We are a common lot of human being

Gathered en masse awaiting our King

Just Getting Started

Remember when I used to ask you to lay still

While my lips and a hint of breathing

Would explore your nakedness

My senses lost in the travel

Only guided by your soft response

Along the way

I might discover a change in your breathing

Stay there awhile

Watching as your skin tightened and seeing

Your hands grip the blankets

Just holding on

My grasp to feel your back arching while that delicious desire

Became a passing of time

Driven by gasps and moans and clenched fists

Reaching a crescendo, a climax, a cathartic

Reality of lovemaking

Remember when then we were just getting started.

Tomorrow is Another Day

They say that policy is made that way

A person wonders what may make them stay

Inside a lost confusion of decision

Making outlooks that create derision


Somehow seem satisfying for moment

When we all alone decide to then lament

Upon the fear and trepidation felt

Beside the notion that the cards we’re dealt


Will decidedly determine dire straits

To avoid or simply substantiate

For whatever reason today’s fail stirs

The mind to ration all our surreal fears


With God’s Grace may we live another day

Recognize the beauty in lives held at bay

Times when the Minutes Matter Little

Once a character mentioned a state of mind

Described the moment in a manner that everyone

Knows quite a lot about

Yet her response

That rather busy morning when everything routine

Would occur in a matter of minutes

Left him realizing he would spend time alone today

Not a bad thing

When humility takes over our vulnerable mind




Symptoms of reckoned perhaps surreal living

That rather busy moment when comparison fails

And we may realize our lives hang in the balance

The clock has a sound familiar

When seconds become our tally

Suddenly the morning sunrise

Settles into the western sky

And hours remain that will gradually amount

To another wasted evening of worry and concern

Still, when our body holds out for that last minute

Life’s confusion becomes far less fantasy driven