My books

The Aresan Clan
Vampire Wares
The History of a Secret
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
The Fatma Stories


A small selection of my poetry



  1. (Just Recently I:)
  2. No More Whiskey More for Me
  3. (I'll wrape me with her exotic thighs,)
  4. (Floating in the sea that flows through the sky)
  5. (The rain was secret falling down so small)
  6. (When your kisses drip onto my lips)
  7. (I adore the rain no more than when it floods)
  8. (Even my heart has its seasons)
  9. In the Season of White Light Falling through Night
  10. (Her tiny fingertips)
  11. (The streets are slippery)
  12. Synesthesia
  13. (The night is at its dawn)
  14. (The sky is just an illusion of the day,)
  15. (She thinks a muse should've hidden wings,)
  16. (I dream too much and sleep too late,)
  17. (My tiny room is filled with mazeways when I wake – )
  18. (It's shrill, it's shrill; becoming still.)
  19. (Little Spirals filled with dusk)
  20. (I watch the moon through silhouette bowers,)
  21. (The sun has still some drifting away,)
  22. (Just like nature I love to hide,)
  23. (I had a dream of swans with wings,)
  24. I climbed a mountain to see the sky,)
  25. Today Began my 96th Season
  26. (I have two eyes for eyes with wings,)
  27. (The night is just about to rise,)
  28. (A petal-palm with a dewdrop gift,)
  29. To His Tomb-Maker
  30. To His Tomb-Maker (2)
  31. (I've a scarf to hold back the winter,)
  32. (Oh where were you Eternity)
  33. (Careless sunrise is a foolish)
  34. (You say to me: it's silence makes you cringe,)
  35. Maybe Tomorrow
  36. (The sun is falling early and rising late.)
  37. (Her lips are heavy,)
  38. (Spray me with a sprit of sadness)
  39. Upon Julia's Unlacing Herself
  40. Upon a Virgin Kissing a Rose
  41. Another
  42. When He Would Have His Verses Read
  43. His Own Epitaph
  44. Study in oo




 Just recently I:
  Was stolen ‘way by godless gypsies
    who chained me in a roving prison;
  Was kidnapped by a goddess-pixy
    who buried me in sensualism;
  Enslaved by brutish ocean-pirates
    who starved me in a musty brig;
  Was lured in by three lusty sirens
    who forced upon me sensual worship.



No Whiskey More for Me
No whiskey more for me tonight.
Well, maybe one more shot; or two or three.
No! For my limit's when I cannot stand
And, though you think me not a man,
I ought to treat myself with care,
And, since I cannot reach that shot up there,
Then might you hand it down to me.
Stop! Do not heed my orders if you please,
For my inebriation's led my mind astray
And all my self-control has slipped away,
So that I lay here on the floor
Imploring you to give me more and more,
Though can't I stand or even sit up straight.
But I'll have strength soon, just you wait.
So, why not hand it to me now?
And if you don't, then I will vow
To give you something you'll regret.
I swear to you, this is no empty threat.
Please, brother, friend, compadre, please
Just one more shot is all I need.
I swear to you it'll be my last.
Just pour some whiskey in that glass
And stick a funnel in my mouth
I swear to you, it will stay down.



I'll wrap me with her exotic thighs,
I'll drink from a cup, I'll close my eyes
When morning comes after many dreams
She'll wake when prodded by morning beams.



 Floating in the sea that flows through the sky,
A feather short, I cannot fly;
While watching her quietly sleep,
I dream of looking into her eyes.



 The rain was secret falling down so small,
Only visible beneath the streetlamp's light—
The touch that touches me gentlest
Is the deepest touch of all.



   When your kisses drip onto my lips
  I'll drink of drips of my love's lips,
  In blissful sips of my love's kisses.
  The sun will slowly dip and quickly rise
  As my blinking eyes shrink and wish it'd sink,
  As your listless mouth will whisper lisps,
  I will drink of drips of my love's lips.
  When other mouths will wink and slink
  My mind will reminisce of my love's twists,
  Remiss of all that persists to be not my love's kiss.
  Even when youth's amiss and age insists
  And life is stripped as time, it slips,
  What won't desist, unblinkingly consists
  Of unshrinking worships of the dripping drips, the witless slips, the sauciest quips, the senseless bliss;
  And the foolish risk for my love's lips.



 I adore the rain no more than when it floods
(Sometimes grief's so deep it bleeds through my blood)
I lost my shoe in a mire of mud,
While wading through a street that was.



 Even my heart has its seasons:
Winter enters on the morning light and sets itself with the sun at night,
Summer is the season of my dreams
And spring the in between,
When I am charming other hearts with flatterings.



In the Season of White Light Falling through Night-Time
Snowfall is the only light in this season,
Where sleeping souls travel through the night
And brush against the snowflakes while they fall.
Dust upon the sidewalk's in wisps of white,
Where footprints traipse all paths at the same time,
And on the cloudless nights stars replace the snowfall-light.



 Her tiny fingertips
They are a piece of skin to kiss,
She often lays them against the wind, the rain, the mist.



 The streets are slippery
While I walk them, wandering as I'm apt to do;
I sometimes slip and sometimes fall,
I walked the soul-of-midnight's halls.



Magenta's for the rain that taps against a window,
Vermillion for the sound of kisses pulling 'part,
While crimson come when skin is dragged along a sheet.
And violet is for whisperings right through my ear,
  "You stay too short and leave too soon."



 The night is at its dawn
Pulled inward by the duskward wind.
Silence brings out the texture of the quiet pleasures,
Enraptured warmth and amorous leisure.



 The sky is just an illusion of the day,
I'm swimming in the waters of her look away.



 She thinks a muse should've hidden wings,
Filled with secret fascinations and resplendencies,
Her eyes aren't good enough she thinks.
She's turned away, an eyelash sinks.



 I dream too much and sleep too late,
Life fills me with yearnings that it cannot sate.



 My tiny room is filled with mazeways when I wake—
Loop round the little table and over the little couch,
Climb upwards through the closet, swim 'cross the bathroom sink.



 It's shrill, it's shrill; becoming still.
My heart's unfaithful to my will.
The sky is screaming, won't stop until
All its contents onto the earth are spilled.



 Little spirals filled with dusk
The clouds are filled with over-much,
The sun-swirling-down's my favorite musk.



 I watch the moon through silhouette bowers,
While it is pulled by strings of hours,
Even nighttime has its flowers.



 The sun has still some drifting away,
My heart has nothing, to me, left to say,
Winter's the season of emotions astray.



 Just like nature I too love to hide,
A restless soul a thousand miles wide,
There's plenty space in there, deep inside.



 I had a dream of swans with wings,
Skin that tickles and clouds that sing.
I had a dream that lips could kiss with soft that stings,
Where tears were tears and they were the saddest things.



 I climbed a mountain to see the sky,
A flock of clouds was swimming by.



 Today Began my 96th Season
Spring came in with cold-armed snow,
The flower still bloom, unbeknownst,
The winter that still comes as winter goes.



 I have two eyes for eyes with wings,
For lips that curl and hair that swings.
For hips that wobble, breasts that wink,
For legs that straddle and brows that cringe.



 The night is just about to rise,
I'll alienate my daylight eyes.



 A petal-palm with a dewdrop gift,
An eyelash tear and an eyelash lift.



 To His Tomb-Maker
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

 Tomb'll meet chisel at my parting
And when you are just at starting,
Let words slip from out your hands:
"Here lies one who once could stand."
Or: "You've come to greet the end;
Birth in delayed mail this sends."



 To his Tomb-Maker (2)
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

 I said less than I'd want'd said
So I'll say more now th't'I'm dead.
Put these words upon my tomb:
"Death comes sooner than assumed,
Words are richer when their brief,
I'm revered the least with grief."



 I've a scarf to hold back the winter;
I stuff it in my coat.
To the cold I'm still now a beginner,
But my heart already is winterness-soaked.



 Oh where were you Eternity
When death came for a hungry fix?—
A meager life to slay.



 Careless sunrise is a foolish
Thing for this rolling globe
When I've still more hours to sleep and dream.



 You say to me: it's silence makes you cringe,
Now is the empty moment,
Forever begins.



Maybe Tomorrow
Maybe tomorrow I'll rise to the sun
 And in the faint light stretch out my arms.
Maybe tomorrow I'll rub my eyes
 As memories of dreams quickly retire.
Maybe tomorrow I'll stand up straight-tall
 Forcefully stomping my feet, pounding the wall.
Maybe tomorrow I'll start that one thing
 Ever procrastinated again



 The sun is falling early and rising late.
The deepest longings are the hardest to sate.
I wake into the darkness
And look into the eye of fate.



 Her lips are heavy,
Her eyes are thick
I am the quiet, falling quick.

 In through the rain
All dripping sadness masked away
Her lissome eyes are all she says.

 Across the cold
By dreamy fells of midnight moans
She's been discarded to ‘alone'.



 Spray me with a sprit of sadness
  I've lived too good a life
Spray me with a breath of transience
  Or I will never die.



Upon Julia's Unlacing Herself
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

 She first lets slip a little from the top
And smells flow out as straps and neckline drop
That dress that clings against her chest and waist
Unveils that skin beneath and all its taste
As down below her navel's little dip,
Her underwear, her thighs, her knees it's slipped.
The air that's there is seasoned by her skin,
Of saffron, basil, anise and cumin.
The tastes that traipse and linger on my tongue.
I part her legs and tastes her tastes skin-clung.



Upon a Virgin Kissing a Rose
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

She kissed with lipsticked lips
    While breathing in its scent.
There left her red ellipse,
    Toward her it now bent.



[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

Confess you'll take this to your bed
And, after lustful hunger's fed,
While others doze, you'll read with me
And let me ‘neath your covers sneak.



 When He Would Have His Verses Read
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

 It may be signaled with a moving cloud
That first will hide the sun then let it out,
Or maybe, when the trees with flowers bloom
The wind picks up and softly blows right through,
That snow of petals is your sign its time.
Apt forces rise ‘gainst malapropos rimes,
Awaiting, restless, chance to discipline
Transgressors bringing forth poetic sin.
But careful students easily will see
The signs of when and follow their decree.



  His Own Epitaph
[variation on Poem by Robert Herrick]

The day has come, I've passed it by,
With lips life-soaked and lips chapped dry.
This deep sweet sleep, this deep sweet rest,
This endward pressing, endward pressed.
In passing by, life will go past,
In endless cold and endless fast.



 Study in oo
I am true to you know who,
In he flew and drew me through
A tiny flue, and upward to,
The stew of stars and planets too,
The now-black blue and the moon.
I turned myself to see the view,
The earthlights shrunk, the sky it grew.
He had a starship and a crew,
He threw me in and off we flew.



 What if today were my last to see.
 The trees and the rocks and the clouds and the street;
 Leaves chased on sidewalk by loud-walking wind;
 Sunsets that blush as if they had sinned;
 Thoughts moving stealthily through round ladies' eyes;
 These are the things I'll try to memorize.
 Raindrops 'neath streetlights, moons in the day,
 Firefly dusks and shadows that point the way;
 Snowdrifts wind-carved and stairs foot-worn,
 Roads car-traveled, papers hand-torn.
 The yellowing trees with anchors and wings;
 I'll have to be reminded of these things.