Saturday, March 29, 2014

Pleasure Islands

The glance caught him unawares;
froze him in his tracks
like a deer in headlights.
Sideways, it sliced through his heart
like a knife,
ending his old life
and replacing it with a new wife.

The lips like a pomgranate,
puckered and pursed
they beckoned to him
like the sirens of old.
Ringing out the past
and bringing in at last
hardness like a mast.

Entering her was easy,
leaving was not.
So, he stayed in,
their mutual friend happy
to oblige, in love
as he was, fitted in a glove
his heart soared like doves above.

Afterwards they talked and talked,
then they walked and walked.
No cigarettes lit they
here beside the golden-sanded bay.
Their hands locked and entwined
as they sun-shine lazily reclined
on the beach before they dined.

Inside their resort they later went
his shorts looking like a tent.
Her sly smile a testament
of being glued together like cement.
They would now unwind
while they danced and wined
the night away in kind.

Yes, love is bold
and not just when old!
But when new and bright,
precious in their sight,
it is nothing but pleasure,
everything like treasure,
love beyond measure.

mindbringer, 29 March 2014


Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Between The Crashes Of Storm-Wrought Waves

Between the crashes of storm-wrought waves,
one can hear, if carefully attentive,
the lovely sirens calling from hidden caves.

My love is like those irresistable sirens,
calling my soul out from within my breast
off into the local sea-blasted environs.

To float in ecstasy above her glorious shape,
her deep, luxurious eyes locked onto mine
enticing me to light upon some nearby cape.

There she came to me, surrounded me, enveloped me.
We made love like wildlings there upon the warming sands,
holding hands afterwards, close beside the wine-dark sea.

Like a mermaid, she wished us to never part, to stay as one
in her fantastic, mystical world inside the ocean caves.
And this day I finally said yes, I would remain, she'd won.

So now when grizzled seamen steer their ships near those famous shoals,
they swear they hear a male voice added to the maddening chorus.
And they take their tales home to their wives who have their own goals.

Now men and women 'round the world seem closer at night than 'ere before
and make love like wildlings on their beds or even on the floor,
there where through open door they can gaze upon the distant shore.

mindbringer, 11 March 2014

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Abiding Love

If you see my love go riding by,
check if her hair still tumbles down
all across her back and over her thigh.
falling towards the ground, roun' and roun'.

Check to see if her lips so full and plumped,
are still red like the juice of pomegranates,
Warning! They will floor you; you will be stumped -
unable to comprehend such beauty amongst the planets.

Look for her eyes, but do not look in them.
For if you do so you will be lost forever.
Deep large bright pools like some endless gem
will suck you in despite your strongest endeavour.

Her delicate ears, so small but replete
with God's perfect and loving design
give her precious, pretty face the complete
gift of beauty; like the Valley of the Rhine.

If you can absorb the brightness of her smile,
look at it if you dare, if you will,
but do so only for the shortest while.
To do so longer would cause you blindness still.

Follow the lines of her arching neck
down to the wondrous curves of her collar bone.
The swelling of her breast can be seen to break
away from her other features, your eyes it will own.

Her breasts now will cause you to avert your gaze
as it would seem impossible for such perfection to exist
and your eyes will fill up with tears, seeing through the haze
of her glory, the protrusion of her nipples in their midst.

Averting your gaze your sight lands on her hips and on her thighs.
Here, the cradle of life itself is presented boldly, brilliantly.
You are mystified by all the ins and outs, the hows and whys.
You can only imagine and surmise what lies beneath so resiliently.

Her long legs leading to small decorated feet
cause anyone with any life in them
to lose a night tossing and turning, so neat
are they, such a wonderful end on a whim.

So, if you see my lady go riding nigh,
she that is described so poorly above,
know you that she is my life, my wife by
God's law and in his sight we are in love.

He created our love at the beginning of time
and saw that it was good and blessed it then and there.
So sweet destiny it was that brought us together in rhyme.
He gave her the beauty of soul and the length of her hair.

Down through the long historical ages we sought each other out.
We found each other just last year and, as kind destiny requires,
fell quickly in love and became engaged, letting the world know with a shout!
"They are in love and will be married forever!", sang all the angel's choirs.

To this day, we roam over the lands of the Earth, telling our story
to all who would hear, who would listen, so that they too
may follow their own destinies, giving God the credit and glory.
and fall as deeply, intimately in love as we the blessed two.

mindbringer, 9 March 2014


Heart of Snow

The rising sun had never seen a day like this,
although he did not know that yet.
His rays touched the tops of the forests,
his shining lit up the mountains of azure.
I saw this through my window and made a wish,
that my true love's demands could be met
and that I would sing her praises in one long chorus,
loving only her with a love that was real and sure.

The sun always rises, cold or not.
The snow from yesterday evening, all melting now
before the constantly consistent morning rays.
Under the shade, snow hardens and turns to ice that will last for days.
In the snow-bound meadow nearby, the one lone milk cow
stood there dumbfounded like some lifeless robot.

The dripping of the snow-melt off of
the rooflines of nearby houses yields
a pitter-patter sound to the backdrop of Winter.

It is still cold here, but the sun by itself causes melting.
Shivering, I draw my smoking jacket closer around me, as wreaths
of incense swirl over my head.  Sometimes sweet Jasmine,
other times Mag Champa, it always adds an air of mystery
to the overstuffed library.  Outside the huge snow flakes are pelting
the early Springtime leaves
shredding their new growth before they had been seen by men.
But that is another story...
The empty, cold firelplace begs the question, "why?",
as I begin to shiver and then to cry.

My fiance's mere words over the Internet thawed my heart of ice.
Turned to ice after long, sad, lonely days of no communication.
Now beating again like the husks falling off of grains of rice,
I live again, celebrating by myself in this new time of jubilation.

Rivulets of melt-water run down the streets,
gathering forces with others until the storm drains
are surging with the flow.
Normally full only with the never-ending Spring rains,
the pulse of the water entering the drain beats
with the rhythm of my thawed heart as though
they were connected somehow
in the here and now.

My heart of snow now one with hers,
beating together like a cosmic clock,
she lying in her bed amongst her furs
thousands of miles away, high upon a rock.
I here in the cold heartland of the mountains,
wishing for the Spring thaw when rivers become fountains.

It is in such circumstances as these,
that true, undying, unrelenting love is born.

mindbringer, 28 February 2014

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Storm Of The Century

The gentle snow fell down like cotton puffs.
It had been a uneventful winter so far,
but gray clouds warned of a change coming.
A change in weather always seemed to come
after a change in romance.
The blizzard came, blowing sideways across the roughs
of the plains.  Quickly it covered the car
and the snow piled up, a sign of more looming.
A storm of the century, this was the big one.
He rolled out of bed and put on his pants.

He turned around and there she was.
Laying there sound asleep, all beauty
and quiet loveliness.
The storm outside woke him but not her.
He could not bear her vision
without touching her once more because
he loved her so deeply. She was now his duty
for they had been married yesterday in oneness.
He reached over and pulled away the fur.
Her nakedness aided in his decision.

He climbed back into the warm bed out of the cold
and rearranged her delicate form,
then entered her in one smooth movement.
Their love had manifested itself many times that night.
Now morning would see more of the same.
Love like theirs was straight out of the tales of old.
Her long, long hair enveloped them, kept them warm.
Their sweat flowed in the primal heat as testament
to their undying love which had taken flight
to a new height. Hence the storm came.

She awoke in sudden pleasure and pulled him in close.
Writhing as one, their love met its climax together.
It was then she noted the howling winds
and the strange coolness of the room.
Not wanting him to leave, she pulled him down for more.
Outside the noise, far from abating, arose
drowning out their own sweet noises with sounds of weather.
It was from God who in his wisdom also sends
the seed that was planted that night in her womb.
They loved each other to their very core.

He decided to not go in to work that day,
it was probably going to be cancelled due to the snow
anyway.  Here he would stay with his asawa, his wife.
They would climb new heights of passion as the storm
outside rose with such clatter and power.
He loved her that morning in every which sort of way.
Their love knew no bounds, no limits, would go
on forever and ever until the end of their life.
They held onto each other to try and stay warm.
It was then that he gave her his gift, a rare spring flower.

Rescued before the coming of the storm, the change in the weather.
Now it was thrust into the center of the real maelstrom.
The storm of the century, their love for each other.

mindbringer, 1 February 2014


Saturday, January 18, 2014

Love By The Sea

Her eyes found me across the crowded room,
glancing sideways as usual, piercing as always.
Locking on to mine, I was like to swoon.
I stood there frozen while she came my ways.

I opened my arms to embrace her and she fell into them
like water flows into an empty crystal glass.
I noticed that she was dressed to the hilt, her hem
rising up, the dress conforming tightly to her perfect ass.

I touched my lips briefly to hers, an electric jolt flowed between us.
Then I kissed her more fully, not being able to resist her siren call.
It was like being hit by a Mac truck or perhaps a Greyhound bus.
Surely I would have stumbled if I had not already been leaning against the wall.

My hands roamed across her body, settling finally on one quivering breast.
She let out a moan and settled even deeper into my arms;
she told me she loved me along with all the rest
which did not but should have set off all sorts of alarms.

I led her out of that stuffy place and out onto the balcony.
There I embraced her completely, she melted like butter
and collapsed there right at the end of the symphony.
I supported her and took her away from all that clutter.

We found an empty bedroom and there I gently woke her.
She was insistant and soon we had made the sweetest of loves.
I discovered that I loved her even more than I was right to infer.
But she was not yet mine; technically she belonged to the man in the white gloves.

It was a matter of incomplete paperwork, she had already disowned him.
He had abandoned her but now regretted his error.
He wrongly thought that he could get her back on a whim.
But, to her, he represented nought but terror.

So, we went on from there loving each other so deeply,
but unable yet to seal our love, to marry.
There was no way to have her finally and completely;
this was the sad burden I had to carry.

But I was not to be denied.
No obstacle would be allowed to keep us from our goal.
She woke up from her little love nap and sighed.
It was in that moment that I knew I loved her with all my heart and soul.

And so we carried on as before, falling ever deeper into love,
while separated by time and space so great as to be numbing.
I saw her again from time to time when one day, she looked down on me from above.
Her excitement so apparent, she came flying down the stairs stumbling.

"It is done, it is done" she exclaimed in great joy.
We are free at last to marry and to live happily ever after.
She had finally separated herself from the non-man, that snivelling boy.
And we melted together as one, erupting into great relief and laughter.

We were wed on top of a grassy hill by the sea,
just outside a quaint chapel with just as quaint of a ceremony.
Covered in flowers, her long hair flowed behind her to her knee
and I, amazed at my luck, drank myself silly amidst the lovely cacophony.

mindbringer, 18 January 2014


Sunday, December 29, 2013

Green River

A man rode down the lonesome trail
trying to hide himself from the incessant rain.
He came to a train crossing and led his horse over the rail.
The rain was so hard it was coming through his hat and pounding his brain.

He guided his horse around the back
and found a place to tie him up in a hidden location.
He looked around and saw what he was looking for by an old shack.
There were three gunmen standing boldly out in the rain looking the wrong direction.

He pulled his Winchester out of the saddle
and checked his two Colts to make sure they were ready.
They slid easily and quickly in and out of the holsters without a rattle.
He flipped the sides of his oil slicker out of the way and became quiet and steady.

Slowly, he worked his way towards the gunslingers.
Taking cover wherever he could find it he grew closer and nearer.
They were standing outside a saloon from which could be heard the sound of singers.
As their voices grew louder in crescendo, he stepped out of the shadows, looking like terror.

The three wet men turned to meet him as if by instinct.
But too late.  As their hands went for their guns, they were cut down.
Down they fell to the ground, blood flowing in the pouring rain red and distinct.
The lone rider stood for an instant to make sure, then holstered his guns with a frown.

He seems to have been hit by a richochet somehow.
He felt around his abdomen for any holes or wounds and found one.
It was in a most deadly place and he knew his time was up.  He would surely die now.
So, he walked into the saloon, now silent.  A gasp went up from the crowd as they saw his gun.

He ordered a whisky at the bar and there he picked his ground.
Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he gulped down his last drink ever.
It burned in a good way but was like fire to his wounds that were oozing all around.
He suddenly felt light headed and collapsed there amongst the singers and strangers of Green River.

His few last ragged breaths were fast and light but warm.
Slowly, the crowd gathered around and saw who it was that lay dying there.
A boy shouted out, "It's him!" and ran out into the fading light of the after storm.
The lone rider died that day as alone as he was when he was born with no one to mourn or care.

He was buried in the mud just down by the river.
No one even put up a cross or monument of any sort.  An anonymous grave.
But the legend grew anyway and people came from all over to see the grave of The Deliverer.
He had shot three of the fastest and meanest gunmen in The West.  A quicker man he was, better and brave.

But he was now as dead as a doornail.
The West changed that day, some say for the worse.
Everything became riskier now, walking around at night or even delivering the mail.
He was no lawman he, but everyone now sang songs about him and told of his death and curse.

For his last dying words were that all evils
should be stamped from the land by a new breed of men.
The Rangers they became known as.  Men that joined had vigor and scruples,
and were fast.  Fast on the draw.  They scoured the land far and wide and sought to win
freedom from evil for all the homesteaders and farmers, railroad men, wives, children and pupils.

It was his legacy these Rangers.
From his heroic stand that day at the Green River Saloon
law was brought into a lawless land and settlers now poured in despite the dangers.
But his blood had been spilt and his life cut short there on the floor of the Green River Saloon.

mindbringer, 21 December 2013


Sunday, November 10, 2013

Out There

Sandpaper fingertips traced the outline on his skin.
The outline of all that was, and that still shall be, evil.
Red eyes met his own and signaled his impending demise.
But wait, instead of weaker it was stronger that he was becoming!
What mischief was at work here in the dead hours of the night?

With sudden wings he took flight, the fresh air exhilarating.
He sucked in each breath as if he had never breathed before.
Such newness, such youth!  Where did all this energy and vitality
come from?  From God or from the other, the fallen one?
Instantly, upon seeing a likely female far below, he felt fangs
grow inside his mouth, forcing it open.  He let out a terrifying
scream as he swooped down upon the poor soul and ended her sweet
life before it had really even began.

His purpose here now known to him, he hunted during the dark hours
and hid from the sun during the daylight.
But, still his feaverished mind said something was not quite right.
There was something even wrong about what he was doing.  Wrong.
The night-time version of him did not know anything about right or wrong.
But this version did.  It was still struggling to resist the takeover.
Then, he remembered the outline.  Looking down, there it was!
He scrambled looking for something, anything to remove it.
He found some sandpaper and began scrubbing his skin repeatedly.

After much blood and pain, the outline was gone.
And so were his wings.
But now what?  Once a horror, can you ever go back?
He wondered around for a few days in a state of severe anxiety.
Finally, having forgotten how to eat (his bodily functions had been
mortally altered), he fell over into the Sienne and drowned.
The bells of Notre Dame rang as if they had never rang before.
And the days returned to normal, as if evil did not exist in the world.

mindbringer, 10 November 2013


There was a little broken down barn
falling apart down by the brook.
And in it, deep inside, there lay a secret.
A secret itself so deep that none
but the blind may know it.
Blind so as to not go blind
upon the revelation's eruption.
And, yes, eruption is the best way
to describe what happens when the
secret reveals itself.
Reveals itself to the right recipient.
One who just happened upon the old barn
and dared enter into its inner sanctum.
And was blind.
And then passed the tests.
Tests on patience, loyalty, trustworthiness,
honor and sincerity.
In a flash the secret would know the secrets
of the true recipient's very soul.
And there in this lonely, decaying barn
the true recipient would receive the revelations
of the secret.
Revelations of morality, ethics, tolerance,
peacemaking and meditation.
The true recipient, so now armed, would realize
with a start that his sight had now been restored!
Now truly seeing all,
he would step out into the true light of all nature.
Stepping out to do all he could to help his fellow man.

mindbringer, 10 November 2013

Sleep Walkers

Somnambulance springs forth from the deepest sleep
driving its victim down the halls of dreams
to some unknown goal laying always just ahead.
It is the lethargic walk of the dead.

Trodding with white paleness against the moonlight shadows
spirits are much the same as the mindless walkers.
Blank stares fill their eyes, unresponsiveness their arms,
walking slowly, softly so as to not set off any alarms.

Talking to them is like talking to a ghost.
From them you will get nothing but a distant look,
one that forsook all sanity to be replaced by vanity
and the tendency to, if asked, respond with profanity.

Their limbs stretch out stiffly as they jerkily
make their way down some unknown twisted path.
When the road in front of them presents obstacles,
they come to a stop, confused, as if looking for their spectacles.

Eventually, the dead-seeming person comes back to life
and remembers nought of their recent adventure.
They gaily prance back to bed oblivious of the fact
of being without their pajamas. What an odd way to act!

mindbringer, 9 November 2013