Eternity's youthful awakening

To question and understand time,

is to boldly grasp the relentless tasks,

of minutes, seconds, and hours.

I have lived Four hundred and fifty five thousand,

and twenty hours upon this earth. 

Inspired by YOUR strength of soul,

I, ears2hearyou, feast the banquet

of all genre's releasing my innervoice in

the poetic form of freewrite beauty.

Rich is the imagery and vivid potency

I hear in each soul's poem.

Written as soft whispers,

to waken, pierce, and unfold,

wise lessons to be learned.

Each poem I write is a ghostly co-lab ,

echoes and metaphors portrayed in

life lived and witnessed imageries. 

The fearless courage of the mighty many.

I come to this silent dark auditioning stage,

to test my resilience and humble courage.

A feminine resolve of fragile determination

heard in the ancient tears of the willow tree,

and blessed thorns of bravery's striking rose.

I am born unto the sign of bullish stubborness,

I consider this attribute merely  "focus." 

My moonlight is that of the twins,

which enables me to visualize and internalize.

I find power in nature's rivers and streams.

Earth worms speak powerfully of mystery's found in life's raked gardens.

Their presence of sour drought or emanate health.

May you have many to keep you properly fertilized.

My fluffy blonde appearance,

leaves some to under-estimate me.

I have a wicked amusement in this feat,

for that's when I can cleverly shine my energies bright.

I am a young soul in eternity,

listening wisely to the old souls of poetry.

I pay no mind to age, gender or creed,

I only hear what you portray unto me.

Eager to advance my soul to the next eternal level.

I am leary of poetic rounds, for I too,

have seen the disappearance of so many,

taking with them the honor and valor,

of poetic challenges.

This will be third attempt to survive the shearing device.

I wrote a poem,

that is my heart speak.

Upon each line and verse,

my daughter's escape from heroin's claws

and the bold courage of her recovery.

A dance upon the moon 

Quietly she slips from grace to dance upon the moon.

Where air is light not fragranced with the heaviness of life.

A feather's fate she casts her weight in consequences unknown.

A universe of fragrant breath fills her hungered lungs.

Bold and tender choices a fragile balance of life.

Reality will rise too quickly with the dawn's new light.

May she dance boldly new courage to be found.

Upon the breaking of her mourning bathed in sunshine's healing smile.

An inspiring soul renewed beauty to behold.

Rewarding us with the presence of reborn hope. 

A slip from grace and shadows moonlit trace.

She dances boldly with feather's fate,

for her soulful life.

You ask of me to submit a current

write, that I myself enjoy.

I will not deny I was seduced by

this jazz filled poem,

frustrated by the imageries of the tv news.

House of the Pork Belly Blues 

 Darkly lit,
wisps of sheer and smooth tobacco,
drift through the lining of your heart;

slowly easing you,
awakening your essence,
clenching the throat;

leaking smoky flavors,
piercing your weeping soul.

For this night my sweet-est candies,

you have found yourself,
in the House of the Pork Belly Blues.
Candles feast the inner rooms,
Willing to shelter you,
A melt into the atmosphere,
Allowing your soul to flow.

B.B. King,
and midnight’s ghosts,
brothers three, Lynard Skinner's boys;

lost so long ago,
join us to hear you speak,

the silent sources of our seepage.

For you my lovely,
Have found yourself this night,
In the House of the Pork Belly Blues.
The electric guitar string,
sings to unravel your lust.
Deepest beats of bass,
lightly touch,

tap the soles of your aching feet.

The microphone comes to you,
my thirsting honey,
sing to me your perils
loose the mourning light,
share your dark voice of frustration
and plight.

A gasp of whisper releases out.....

“I can’t get to sleep,"
Electric guitar softly weeps,
"I can’t get no rest,

nightmares on the news,

has me dreaming crimson leakage,

I  don’t  know what to do,"
Bass beats pulsate
"My tears go to waste, refuge

for the salvage man to take,

placed on his cold curb,

homeless, tossed out, and thrown away. 

Electrical guitars screams out
"Labor’s pain returns to me empty wombs of silence,"
Bass guitar vibrates the room,
"I can’t shake off the shadows brood,"
Electric guitar moans and peels,
"My country is looting us straight into
The welcome arms of debtors hell."
Bass and guitar fill the air in a howl.
"I am here to confess,
I have the scorching breath
of the Billion dollar blues,
lost tax bucks to George W. and a war
that shutters from my bulging breasts.

The silhouette's of vio-lence,

leadered faces, lips moving, making no sense,

my brother I must confess,

I have the billion dollar blues"

The wire brush upon the drum cymbals
Hush....hush....hush..... the room,
Electric guitar softly weeps,
turns to face you,

reaching out,
sheltered in the darkness,
the candelights softly glow,
awaiting your

soul to speak.


For tonight,
my shadow's light,

you have found yourself, 

exposed, 

in the House of the Pork Belly Blues.