look up at the sky.

the stars are out.

do you count them?

is there an image?

it’s the same with life.

sometimes it’s so far away

it’s hard to get a hold of.

sometimes it starts with little dots

and the connecting process begins.

each time you do it,

they get a little brighter.

eventually it will lead you

to something that becomes magnificent –

like an ursa major constellation.

there he stood

with the medicine wheel

on a mountain overlooking

two intersecting rivers

of which he gathered

the stones with utmost labor.

it was like making of a pyramid.

it represented his space

for change and healing.

it was here that the spirit

of harmony and love

dispersed its energy

in the form of passion

as a lion stood to the south.

that power – that feel.

he felt rejuvenated

and looked out over the distant landscape.

there he saw a vision

that left him transformed

when he saw the writing

glisten in the sky.

there he stood on mainstreet

with a broom in his hand

over-looking the scenery.

he was the only one there that day.

in the courtyard, a sun-dial existed

with inscriptions of existential rays.

that particular day he took a step back

and reminisced about life.

it was like two glasses of wine

held in the air,

like a couple at dinner

to symbolized their love,

like philosophy is the rose

and individuality its petal,

its jetstreams expressed in biorhythmic fashion.

fingertips like tuners

begin to bring together

those rings of interconnectedness

for the feel of the right pitch

in the enlightenment of ecstasy.

on that night,

her and i

already intoxicated

in the moment.

that moon, no sliver of recall,

but this binge induced,

possessed our breaths

in the chevy –

so intense – that the telephone pole,

absorbed in great effect,

the french kiss behind the wheel.

symbolized as it should –

a thirst uncontrolled.

that nymph’s stilleto tongue,

ever-present and so clear,

yet lingers – destined under influence,

subtly every morning after

i’d like to think

if i were to write a poem,

i’d hope it would carry along

something of significance.

i mean really fuckin significant!

so, if I took a small fishing boat

out on lake erie

and threw over my heart,

it would just disappear

and be in another body.

since that is the case,

what effect can it have?

in one aspect,

it’s in the cradle of nature’s element,

and when it’s floating in the waves

there are ups and downs.

and if i were to do that

with this language as i know it

would it not still have peaks and valleys

floating in the water  like that of a life preserver?

words can be funny, though,

so, if i were to write all this

while sitting in the boat

and start replacing my heart

with lines of poetics

instead of dramatized reality,

don’t you think it might matter?

but there is my heart

still floating …

if a line were attached to it

would it be worth reeling in?

verbalizations happen for a reason.

it takes a lot of extracting to reach a defining point.

if i have gone overboard,

will my soul for a change become fuckin significant?

like a wand used by a wizard

in a chant with charms,

trampled pathways of influential mindsets

are treasure chests,

like a conductor with a baton

leading the orchestra

to keep the beat

of all the musical charms.

bring it out –

let it shine –

find something significant –

make it an equalizing factor.

an early morning

with coffee

is like

an afternoon spring rain

that cools off

a hot summer road,

leaving it

with a little steam rising.

this natural expresso

with a little

vanilla, hazel nut and irish creme

creates an all around romantic.

that connection

is all about the stir

in its awakened personality.

this successful man

likes a die-hard lover,.

that successful woman

likes a steady lover.

today i walk

into the institute –

a place of building metaphors.

all the rooms

with windows of stained glass.

each room different shades.

it was that of a spectrum.

the energy everything –

the color wheel of all the moods.

this day the blues

were not overpowering –

but it used to.

all those colors of substance

in all thats analytical

are connecting points

in all the regions.

i sit at the desk

as a learning architect,

where this idea

is all about the shades of shape

in that of my head

in all of its poetry.

the only thing is –

life doesn’t give you

a crystal clear view.

life’s circumstances

of ups and downs –

kinda like stock market fluctuations,

could affect the moods without notice.

that’s an inside view!!

at birth – this insight

upon the pillow

is tucked in for the night.

rest is so important

for an inkling

under a blanket of stars.

they can just wait

for a little poetry!

i’ve got this red-hot iron

and i’m steaming the lines,

and if i get lucky,

i’ll get a little attention.

after all, editors are so hard to please,

no matter how long

one has been in the game.

i’ll move this iron

back and forth over the word sex.

don’t be surprised

if something catches on fire. . . .