THE RACE:

Grey clouds above, wildly rolling & scudding,

Bets placed, nervous beasts gnashing & cudding,

Pumping hearts, beating, agitating & blooding,

Hooves worrying, pounding & sorely thudding,

Turf, turned & churned in springtime mudding,

End of day, hopefully, all wallets fatly budding.

LATE NIGHTS AND LANDMINES:

Within the dark of night, that black hole lies awake & gaping,

In that place, where once inside, there´s absolutely no escaping,

That sorry place of brooding eyes, across the sleazy mating bar,

Where felined females await, hope & aim for errant falling stars.

A place where ebon clad guitarist sits waiting & broodingly bodes,

Where smoky tango swirls off walls & sensuality in heat explodes,

And upon the dark cornered stools where the slatternly putas sit,

Selling for coins, their sad flesh, to cruel hands & life´s seedy misfits.

That den of iniquity, of cheap suits & of even cheaper rank perfume,

A place in the dark, where shadows dance with sad unforgettable tune,

Where sweat flows along the furrows, together with bloody red wine,

And where bodily fluids hold hands with fluids & they all end up supine.

A flint of cheroot, a glint of stiletto, all sharp, all shiny & all ever ready,

Opium smoke curling, kissing the blade, slow motioned, heavy & heady,

Plastered red lips & red plastic stilettos, clicking, cliented out of the door,

It´s just another night of explosion, in the night of the land of the poor.

THE WHISPERER:

The whisperer envelops all, from hot & sighing birth,

Sashaying all in her wake, from the sky & back to earth,

Whispering scents & perfumes of jasmine, sea & rose,

Tiptoeing over those in tombs who lie in sweet repose.

The whisperer is heard in the nuanced suspicion of love,

In angels voices from all around, on high & from above,

Echoing in the sad heat of passion´s last & farewell kiss,

Touching cheek of Aurora in dawn´s soft & weeping mist.

The whisperer is gently felt in the cool & velvety breeze,

Caressing with love, the fingertips of new & eager trees,

Her voice is heard in the wailing of the lost & sorry whales,

She’s what´s felt in the massaging of mountain, tor & dales.

The whisperer´s the Almighty, you feel when close to death,

She´s near when you suspire that final tired & weary breath,

She´s the scatterer of ashes, blowing away from your tomb,

She’s the one who lifts & carries you, back to eternal womb.

HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS:

Do I take the car along tarred winding road?

Or plane flying high to carry my heavy load?

Do I take a ship to cross ocean´s blue pool?

Maybe a cart pulled by long suffering mule?

I stand at crossroads, no knowing which way,

Do I turn left, right, do I go round, or just stay?

Heart tells me straight & head just stays dumb,

My vision sees it all, yet my soul feels so numb.

At the crossroads I crumble, I fall, kneel & pray,

Asking Lord´s angels to please show me the way,

Highway & byway, paths & the long lonely road,

Please, which do I take Lord, to my final abode?

On the horizon of my soul, there appeared a light,

Now the cobwebs lifted & removed, gifting me sight,

And it shone, suddenly becoming so apparently clear,

That the road I should take was so very, very near.

Go to the East & you´ll be met by day´s rosy dawn,

Turn right to the South & sun will give you fair morn,

West where sun beds the earth & kisses the moon,

Leads North to earth, where you´ll be born again soon.

TUMBLEWEED:

I was given roots, sap, a stem & birthed from the seed,

I grew, I flourished, I flowered & then I just simply died,

Now, I´m just a small simple shriveled up tumbleweed,

A meshed tangle, bleached, sapped & so agedly dried.

I rumble, roll & tumble over hill, dune & solitary plain,

Running through deserts where white, picked bones lay,

Under searing sun, where hungry old beasts cry in pain,

Through places where only Satan & his serpents go to play.

Through the long, sandy halls of cruel winds, I tumble & roll,

Over the lost African lands, Toledo & through old Delaware,

Burning silently over snakes unaware, rat, cat & lowly mole,

Through dusty streets where only the dead men stop & stare.

I rumble & tumble, I seek, plead & search, I wail & silently call,

To the rain & God, to please turn me back into a new little seed,

But all I hear is their laughter, echoing as I rumble, tumble & fall,

“You´ll forever now be, only a simple, dry & rolling tumbleweed.