>burglars – a ballad

>tscha – boom – ba – beat the rhythm, drum
where do we go from here?
rough songs, wild winged winds set us free
and fade, raid, disappear

into the dark, the night, the slum
illusion crash, severe
and through the blurry fog i see
the burglars coming near

tscha – boom – ba – beat heat, off we run
and shout out brave and clear
this driving pace is you and me
and music’s all we hear

Today’s teaching at One Stop Poetry form is on ballads – jump over to read more or why not write a ballad and join us..?

a ballad’s structure is
8 – 6 – 8 – 6 syllables, written in iambic meter




standin’ in the kitchen,
coffee in hand and with the
dishwasher humming comes the sea,
a gentle breeze;
pizza rests, crumbling my view
and salt on my lips, i dive
the moment with
black coffee bitter on my tongue.

not that far from the ocean as
dreams of wet sand on my toes lull me
in and outside is winter waves,
dragging my footprints
to the deep, the base, the ground, the

well and the black where it all started;
your marks, etched on my skin like
sunburn. i finish coffee and smell
the salt, it tastes as –
i lick my lips and it’s 13:27, high time
– to leave

The following poem is offered in response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. This wonderful prompt was shot by photographer Iquanyin Moon, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday. Come check out some great shots & the interview by Chris Galford! 

>love force


                                                  red heat
                                                  in your voice
                                                  burns my lips,
                                                      makes magic spin
                                                      through my brain
                                                      when it stops
                                              dead and
                                              music falls
                                              silent like
                                                    we do when
                                                    you drink me
                                                    like wine
                                                    bent over
                                                    the well of
                                                   forever to be,
                                            soothe my flames
                                            with your tongue,
                                                   spread wings wide and
                                               from heaven we fall,

                                               cascading the night,
                                               the canvas we
                                               paint on with
                                                     bold strokes
                                                     soaking dry sheets
                                                     with slow dripping sweat
                                                     give up
                                                     fear and

photo credit for this amazing picture: Jonas Gerard
Jonas Gerard Fine Arts is a working studio/gallery located in the River Arts District of Asheville, North Carolina. If you would like to see more of Gerard’s artwork or read more of his story please visit their website. 

>black socks

of a working week,
piled on
the bedroom floor
like artwork,
a tower of sweat,

profit or loss
& raw mornings,
scratching dark sky
growing moonwards

& somedays i dream
i’d buy the world
black wool
off-thread &

i unbalance my soul

& walk barefoot
for the rest of my days

give it a try and say it in 55 words.. i’m linking up with galen for 
g-man’s friday flash 55

>the way you breathe

>i’m as night as one can be
staring stars out of the darkness
trying to cut my thoughts
with the scissors of sleep
but it won’t come.

my mind runs restless
like caged moths – fluttering
on and on. i want to stab it
and i hear you breathe, regular
binomial formula, deep
as a song, lullaby – yes and
i feel your presence, warm,

familiar and drinking the
magic, i want you to feel me,
wake you up in the middle
of my craziness, drag you
to the moon – a pale one
and feel your sleepy body close
to where my restlessness

meets home. i want you
to love me calm, rock me into
sleep, breathe me silent this
moment before our night turns
and the paleness of the moon
fades with the daylight coming

i’m linking up with One Stop Poetry – write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

A special request of all tweeting readers…we are in the running for a Shorty Award over at One Stop Poetry…currently in second place with one week to go. So if you tweet, please tweet a vote for us in the #art category…matter of fact, go HERE and vote for…

@OneStopPoetry in #art because…(you must give a reason) we create community in art, we promote youth poetry or whatever…

>become, become..

>a stream like colored drops of rain
springs from its well in tender heaps
become, become, not merely claim

a painter – and i paint in vain
my rainbow sparkles as it weeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

how can i stand this sizzling pain
no shapeless slow-go, jerky leaps
become, become, not merely claim

my dream is spilled out to maintain
the low, the flow – and on it creeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

life seemed so easy to regain 
live for the day and play for keeps
become, become, not merely claim

and in the end, what will remain
when drop by drop your pencil seeps?
a stream like colored drops of rain
become, become, not merely claim

We have a second Villanelle round running over at One Stop Poetry‘s new Poetry form class.
Join us for a closer look at this musical poetry form, evolving from italian country songs and with a structure, dating back to the 16th century.

>bob mintzer live last saturday


(John Riley – Drums; Bob Mintzer – Sax; 
Ingmar Heller – Bass; Olaf Polziehn – Piano)

not more than a drum beat away
they live and breathe
                jazz, dripping,
splashing across the room,
froth against closed eyes

lost in their play like children before
growing up-beat – off-beat
down – my spine – heat

yesterday’s gone and tomorrow’s
just an empty date, they count –
strokes – a world in a wave
when we find wings again,
making love, fully clothed,
kissing steel strings in tender
moves, bent towards
ebony keys, caressing,
glissando – staccato – pearls and
strings of beads enticed out of
a black giant’s mouth

naked souls press hard against
shining brass and drumheads,
dragging us further – along
until we stop to breathe and
bleed, bleed rhythm and

music spills across
the room, soaking our souls
and every far-out corner and
we covet, we crave and beg

it to fuck us – hard and
tender and full, licked by a
groove-oozing madness
jammed against the wall – flying, flying
– until we’re empty.

this was my saturday evening – listening to those top notch musicians which were playing just next town to where i live…
and i link up with – woo-hoo – One Stop Poetry – write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

Due to some travelling I may be a bit delayed with commenting back…just to let you know..