I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
......
Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man ! My man !
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan ! Io Pan .
Io Pan ! Io Pan ! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady !
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and styrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
......
A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.
When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
......
I am Marilyn Mei Ling Chin
Oh, how I love the resoluteness
of that first person singular
followed by that stalwart indicative
of "be," without the uncertain i-n-g
of "becoming."Of course,
the name had been changed
somewhere between Angel Island and the sea,
when my father the paperson
in the late 1950s
......
Can Earth be Earth when all its trees are gone,
And sudsy waters have become unfit,
And poisoned life no longer greets the dawn
With raucous sounds that death has caused to quit?
Will trees no longer wave, with limbs unfurled,
On hapless Earth, that e'er in orbit roams?
Will human ego sacrifice the world
To satiate its lust for pompous homes?
Will distant Space look down on orb that's bald
And ask, "Wise Poet, can you name that sphere?
......
It’s a warning.
If I perish, I perish
But I will not shut up.
Lust is not love.
Porn is not harmless.
Masturbation is not a phase.
I lived it
Not ‘cause I was raised wrong,
But because sin crept in through a simple ad at twelve.
......
Lust glows slyly in her eyes.
'Your eyes are your soul's mirrors', they say.
I cast a stare inside those clear blue lakes of hers.
What hidden desires sleep deep within you
My little-innocent one?
Inexplicably her flaming gaze pierces through my skin
Boils my blood, quivers my heart.
'I can't sleep anymore!
I think of you! '
......
This heat, confrontational;
chips carried on shoulder.
Never breathe, think,
speak, drink till closer
bringing itself in you.
Addictions begin to
blossom. Whore house
posse; optics lopping.
Spun room; coughing.
Hid moon. Tossing.
......
These are heretical poems about God, religion, the Bible and the Christian religion.
When I Was Small, I Grew
by Michael R. Burch
When I was small,
God held me in thrall:
Yes, He was my All
......
You've got the cans,
and I've got my hands on your face.
You brush past my breast,
can't wait for the rest.
Can finally feel this heart beating
Whisper in my ear about leaving
They all know what's happening.
Door buzzer. Butterflies flutter.
You shout Baby through the intercom
......