Diplomacy of War

If war is diplomacy by other means,
gods bless those means.
In the silence of Death
amenity's armor is forgotten.
The cold bite of wind
finds ecstasy in both
flesh and soul: a union in
the teeth of wolves.

                 published in For the Love of Death, the early years, S.I.N, 1993

Embryo

There are other words for it:
succubus or incubus.  Take your choice,
as if you had any.
A vampire by any other name . . .
At night the winged fiend
settled its loving embrace.
With its fangs it dipped
into the blood to suck away a life
for its own ends.  Innocent?
Innocent as all things are which
preserve their own lives.
If a State can name it
a State can take its life.
That might be a rule.
Secular authority makes a State,
so watch out for that Church on the right.
It might reach out and grab you,
maybe not with the Laws of Life.
If you're going to  believe, don't
forget about the original sin.
Was it Dante who put the babies
crawling around in hell?
Or was it someone older?
Chance, you say, give them a chance.
The same chance they give me.
Their soul against mine, and
they've already got that so
they're fair game if I am.
Give up a piece of your soul;
a pound of flesh doesn't buy much.
It only takes, and takes, and takes.
Somewhere in the law there is
something about self-defense.
Nobody ever uses the right word.
As the nausea ends and the beast
is gone, then you can make peace
with yourself and anybody else you
choose.  No one is forcing you anymore.
No one is feeding off of you anymore.
Don't worry, the law will protect you.
After all, it puts women in prison
for killing the men that rape them.
Mary was about that lucky.



                  published in For the Love of Death, the early years, S.I.N., 1993.

An Old Legend

They crossed legends and time
to fill a long coming plan.
They followed, and they lead
into the land of light
through the grey mists.

           
                   published in For the Love of Death, the early years, S.I.N., 1993.

About Luck

Let's talk about luck
for a second;
if you and me
were to cut a deck,
high card wins,
I'd get a ten:
the highest of all the numbers.
That would leave me with nothing
to worry about but royalty . . .
oh yea, and the ace of spades.

       published in For the Love of Death: the early years, 2nd, ed., S.I.N., 1993.

An Old Story

They saw the darkness.
They saw the light,
gave them names of black and white.
They built the cities, geniuses all,
calling them grey because of the fall.
The sea surrounded, shifted in space.2n
It baffled, mingled with each new race.
It changed its color it seemed.
Colors muted, changed in depth.
It lined up the corpses taken by Death.

               published  in For the Love of Death: the early years, 2nd ed., S.I.N., 1993.

Introductory quote to "Love of Death"

The keys are like a grinning skull,
  and they clatter from the chill:
     stripped to the bone.

This is probably the only thing saved from the 1st edition of this book.  The rest of it was terrible!

Books of Poetry

     There seems to be a tradition among poets, or maybe it just some kind of literary conceit, that once you have a body of published work, you put together a book of poetry.  Since no publisher offered even the slightest encouragement along those lines, and I do not blame them, there is no money to be made in books of poetry; I published three myself.
     Between nineteen ninety-three and nineteen ninety four, I pulled together all my published work and all the poetry that had never been accepted for placement, and self published books called For the Love of Death: the Early Years, Living with a Stranger: Self-portrait, and Love is Just Lust Misspelled.  There are very few copies of these books out there, and they were published under my own name.  I believe they can be found in some libraries.  I guess if you can find them, you can find out who I am.
     I will be adding posts over the next month or so from these three books.  They will be the poems which never came to be in print before.

Imprinting

One day, I was changing my daughter's diaper
when a dog began to howl.  Just the mad howl
of a pent-up dog, but we both stopped breathing.
When I looked down at her again
I could see the wonder in her slack jaw,
the fear in her alexandrite eyes.
The shivering in my spine had just
subsided when I told her "dau"
which is her word for dog.   She took
this idea quickly and the fear was gone
leaving only the wonder in her mouth.
It was then that I told her "werewolf".
Someday, she will shiver in the daylight.

                published in Wind Row, vol. 2, no. 1, Fall, 1983
                this poem shared the Jerard Merit Award for Poetry, 1983.

May 8, 1991

The grass is wet
like may dreams of you:
a carpet of jade tongues
moist as yours.
There is a steam rising
from the ground.  The sun is hot
between rain storms.
Rising signs, rising signs.
You have taken me
out of winter binding.
Our skin is blinding pale
in the sunlight; it is
hungry like your mouth.
Moist as grass,
your hair on my thighs,
lust in your eyes,
you drink bitter milk
of spring time.

          published in Impish Impetus, no. 3, 1994.

Hunting Season

In town,
dry fall leaves
red and yellow last
before rain speeds decay.
Parking lot row
new metallic blue Toyota pickup truck:
stabled, four by four,
gun rack with Winchester pump
twelve gauge cleaned and ready.
Windshield reflects sky,
reflects scream of hawk,
squeak of sparrow
taken off hood.
Rusty breast and tail feathers of grey
shimmer in glass,
dark talons weighted,
dart between naked poplars,
over roofs
back to sky.

            published in Prominent Voices in American Poetry, JMW Publishing Co., 1999.

Wedding Reception

Lovers at receptions are drunk.
Sacrifice has been made,
orgy commenced.
When I see the magician raise his hand
in benediction, fear begins.
Tables with white cloths,
brides waiting for the slop of wine.
Illusions grow in drinking.
The couple is drunker than most.
They have the most pain to kill.
Old eyes are pleased;
what they did is condoned.
Crazy young eyes can't see
through the spell of the priest.
The room is hot.
Everybody can be a fool
once in their life; it's not irrevocable.
But, something feeds off those tables.

           published in Wind Row II, winter, 1993.

Lull

Engine sound faded
palpable sound
country road was still
dust settled
a moment in summer
no motion
ripe wheat, zero breeze
clear sun sky
heated yellow
dusty golden crystal
dust-devil swirled
wind picked up
wheat rustled
gone

             published in Wind Row II, winter 1993.

Religion

The bastard breeds as well as the Son;
remember the Father never married.
Not two wrongs but a trillion . . .
Against the will of woman, we have
been raped and the children suffer.
So breed the blasphemies.

         published in Wind Row, vol. 1, spring 1983.

Love is Just Lust Misspelled

How much do I want you?
I can only think of how you taste:
the small beads of sweat glistening
on your belly.  Afternoon sun makes
glitters of moisture,
magnify each hair around your navel
as they pass into the deep.
I want to see passion
rise up into a hooded cobra
ready to strike, hissing
with desire.  I want to feel
your lust, two fanged as it bites
into my body, venomous with
the smell of your damp skin.
I want your tongue to taste,
to know my flavor as I
savor yours.  As beast
in my jaws you perish;
in your teeth I live.
My body is what
I can sacrifice to your desire.
These sheets are alter;
cut out my flesh and hold it steaming
to the sky.  Devour me
with the hunger of a jaguar
in your eyes.  I will know then
love?

          published in Pagan Palaver, 1993?

Farm House

There is an old house on a corner in town,
shake walls, deep porch,
dead blue pick-up
slowly oxidizing in the yard.
Spruce have all gone dark,
like the house.
Lentil plant across
the street has galvanized steel
walls of silos.
Little metal shack
on top has windows for eyes.
Duct tentacles spread out
to the elevators.  Mushroom vents
are sundials; the sun moves
No sound from the house;
a red warning sign is nailed to the door.
The plant grumbles.
It is hungry.

             published in Trestle Creek Review, no. 17, 2000.