Rancid Astrophil 12

And yet they never seem to hit home quite
These relics of a foregone conclusion
The sonneteer's last mindless diffusion
Do carry not respot's only first respite

Love poetry's only words dance on paint
When there is no page but foul odours pounce
On blogspot we write but shoot for an ounce
Of Celtic spirit ouisce beatha saint

To look upon that fair rancid Stella
Feeling noxious in sight of fair bella
Let go the dogs of war and loose your heart
Dream not young faggot of lovers' failed start 

Broken crown not the knot of destiny
My 苏州 sweetheart responded to me....

Pitch

Birch bark sheets bloom as

Coriander lemon peels

Last ditched dried up pitch

Wakes

Wave wakes dew drop foam

Crescendo peninsula

Curtain drawn shoreline

The April 9th Sequence

The Morning of the 9th

Icicle winds' dull chill
Dusk free smoke skies part ways
Lone rays' soft simmer

The Afternoon of the 9th

Deep cove rolling blue

Matchlock powder clouds dream

Stones flutter under toe

Mixed love like mortar

Fish painting rough current

Wood walkways breathe life

Yesterday

Pinecones shed brown scales

Blossom petals descend

Green needles prick soil

Bright in His Wonders

Lights rake city streets
Cool wind moons beam down rays
Brightly he wonders

What never was

December 2nd

December darkly Memoirs of early autumn air Motors hum distant .

The 9th of November

Windswept static brown 
Brush over rugged Earth 
Electric autumn