Selected Poetry

An Invitation to Adventure

I venture for your willing hand to hold within my own,
To gently take you up and guide you through a life,
Replete with joy and wonderment.
I venture on that hand I’d place a shining ring of solid gold,
With splendid gems and stones that sparkled
In your dazzling eyes,
A ring whose charm and style and art would woo
Your soul and find for me a cherished place
Within your guarded heart.

I venture too that guarded heart would be a sacred shrine
And I eternal keeper there,
For I would sin against it not, but take great care
To share myself unselfishly in blissful service
As we dared adventure full of hope and love
Within an ageless, undiscovered, wondrous world.

I venture you a wondrous world, that often
Brings great joy, yet sometimes hurts to look upon,
But always teaches well.
A kingdom not for foolish girls who tightly
Shut their eyes in childish love,
Or boys who still believe the tales and yarns
Told once in youth.
A kingdom meant for princes
And for ladies beautiful and learned and wise,
Refined beyond the commonality,
But taught in discipline and in philosophy,
A kingdom yours to softly oversee and to enjoy
From sumptuous garden paradise.

I’d venture then a sunny garden, green and lush
And full of life, with subtle whisp’ring streams
And awe-inspiring waterfalls,
With groves and orchards, hills and vales,
With juicy, luscious perfect fruit
Of varied hue and shade and taste and form,
For every appetite.
With lofty cedars, oaks and cypress trees,
Whose canopies are reaching high into the misty clouds,
Above an ivied, shadowed, vine-protected forest floor.
Within this paradise I’d venture
Such a soft and grassy meadow
As you’ve never seen or stepped upon before,
With sparkling dew to cool and wash your tingling feet,
With gentle breezes meant to brush,
Refresh, and to caress your wondrous face.
I’d venture too, a wreath of fragrant laurel for your head,
And then a shimm’ring gown of purple silk for you to wear,
And sun-warmed oils, spiced with subtle, rare parfums
That I would slowly smooth onto your soft and tender shoulders
With such manual dexterity that you would sigh
In carnal compliment.

Then as we lie upon that grass, I’d venture
Greenest greens, divinely painted all about the scene,
And skies of brilliant, hazy cyan blues,
Burnt umbers and ten thousand shades of purple,
Sultry scarlet, blazing, crimson reds,
The glorious orange, and sun-touched yellows
Of the earth and skies.
I’d venture then, a pair of crystal goblets,
Trimmed with gold and filled with nectar,
Delicate and honey-sweet,
A subtle yet sophisticated product of the cultivated vine.
We’d sip and sigh and shut our eyes in silent savoring
Until the sun did settle on the edge of sky.
Then music for your soul!
Thus I would venture gurgling, largo sounds of waters,
Gently flowing by that spot we sat,
The soft, piano rustle of the summer leaves
As breezes stirred that scene,
The allegretto, blurring wings
Of splendid, brilliant-colored hummingbirds
And faintly-heard andante flapping of the wings
Of graceful butterflies, who danced about us
To delight our eyes.
And then we’d hear the songs of birds, who’d sweetly tell
The happiness of human love and tragedies of lovers past
Throughout all time.
They’d speak in sounds and tones
That we would wholly understand.
We’d weep in joy and sympathy
And laugh in pain and empathy,
And yearn, as though our hearts would burst within
Our trembling bodies, tempered by restraint.

Yet then, and only then, I’d boldly venture for a kiss
From lips so dear and soft and sweet and delicate,
That though I’d kissed them many times in fantasy before,
The dream does not compare.
For as we kissed, then raging seas
Would rise in frenzied symphony.
Fantastic hurricanes would fill the earth,
Obscuring all except the peaceful, twinkling twilight spot
We stood in passionate embrace.
Then even senseless Time, that enemy
Of humankind and enterprise,
Then even Time would stand a moment still,
And Time would ponder, smile, and wipe a tear from ancient,
Wrinkled eyes to witness love
So rare and wonderful in all the universe.
And yet I’d venture joy and health and happiness
And other things that can’t be bought
With silver or with gold.
I’d venture memories, that live forever in the mind,
Hand-picked wildflowers for your bath,
An open, honest heart to hear your worries and concerns,
A hand to stroke in thoughtful solitude,
And arms to hold you in your darkest nights.
And last, I’d venture words, romantically pronounced,
Yet full of passion—gentle, careful and exact,
Soft phrases, rare and beautiful,
Divine expressions that,

Despite the inspiration of the Muse,
Escaped interpretation by the greatest poets of all time.
Inspired by the beauty of that moment, I would say
Such things to you as men have never dreamt to say,
And with such sweetness and sincerity.
Your quickly-racing heart would beat with such
Excitement and rapidity that you would swoon in dizziness,
All while impassioned blood coursed through your heated veins.
Then finally, I’d look into your slowly yielding eyes
To peer at last upon and venture for your naked soul.
For only then you’d give yourself to me,
And from that moment you would be…

The Artist

If all men were plants, and had I a pick,
A rose I would be, my flower in red,
With thorns on my side, and you they would prick
If you tried to pluck me up from my bed.
Let men be but birds, give me a winged choice:
Night’s gale should be me, one uncooked but saged.
Never for you would I note or song voice
If you tried to lock me up in a cage.
So men are fools. Am I worst of them all?
Some wish for their women— I but to be free.
Into their own vices they always fall.
They slave for their cruel loves— I work for me.
You are who I love, and you have my heart,
My soul is not yours—  I gave it to art!

If all men were plants, and had I a pick,
A rose I would be, my flower in red,
With thorns on my side, and you they would prick
If you tried to pluck me up from my bed.
Let men be but birds, give me a winged choice:
Night’s gale should be me, one uncooked but saged.
Never for you would I note or song voice
If you tried to lock me up in a cage.
So men are fools. Am I worst of them all?
Some wish for their women— I but to be free.
Into their own vices they always fall.
They slave for their cruel loves— I work for me.
You are who I love, and you have my heart,
My soul is not yours—  I gave it to art


Flowers wilt,
Colors fade,
Only Love remains…
Faces become memories
Living all in vain.
Time obscures
What has passed,
Only Love endures…
Death is simply eminent,
Nothing is assured.
Wealth is lost,
Beauty false,
Only Love sustains…
Life too short and flesh too weak—
None escape the pain.
As a man,
I did seek
Treasures of the Earth…
Just to find that only Love
Justifies its worth.
As I die
Ignorant of
Wisdom from above…
I have learned I’m sad to say
I lived but did not love

Sonnet #1 – Acceptance

When sunny days were turned to gloomy nights,
The man in love searched deep within his heart;
When happiness obscured by frowns and fights,
He yet remembered loving was an art.
When once in love, he studied close her face,
And rose or fell by how she held her eyes,
As if by study, feelings he might trace
To grant remembrances that she might prize.
But ev’ry time he thought she loved again,
Forgetting every doubt he’d known before,
An incident would rend the man within,
And he would weep till heart and soul grew poor.
When nothing could be won with one more try,
He knew the time had come to say “goodbye.”

Sonnet #2 – Proposal

If gentle rain was meant to fall,
If dawning meant for dew,
If love the greatest gift of all,
Then mine was meant for you.
If little birds sing pretty songs,
Though they receive no pay,
To you my loving heart belongs,
To cherish more each day.
I cannot give the world to you,
Nor take the pain from life,
But can with love your heart imbue,
Till you become my wife.

If men were meant to love unwise,
I feel a fool in mine own eyes.

Brave New World

Ambitiously, I boldly set about discovering
A fascinating realm in sensuous flesh.
I shut my eyes and pull you close,
At once remembering your scent.
My lips and tongue, the travelers,
Are eager to begin their task to chart
The hills and vales, the undiscovered
Coves and streams, the wonders even
You have never known.
I lay you on your back,
Admiring your irresistible anatomy.
I gage your nervousness and I
Determine I’ll begin between your breasts,
So I might feel and hear your racing heart.
I kiss, and then I trail my tongue between
The supple flesh my gentle hands caress,
Descending to your navel where
I stop to savor and to kiss.
My tongue makes tiny circles to the left,
You twitch, I kiss and I record.
Then on the right at pelvic hilt,
You flinch again, I kiss and I record.

And thus I set about discovering
Each tiny place where pleasure dwells.
I lick and kiss your thighs and then your legs.
I nip your heel and suck your toes.
I kiss your back and neck,
Discovering another pleasure place at left.
At last, I gently nudge and part your thighs.
I hover there, I make you wait.
I watch you quiver at the faintest touch.
I barely graze your skin with tongue,
And then I circle, gently licking tender lips.
And finally, I take you in my heated mouth
And kiss you with great expert ease.
The traveller is in your body then.
I gage proportions, quirks and I record.
The reason for such point by point discovery:
Each woman is a world within herself—
I could not properly make love to you
Unless I had a caref’lly charted map.
When we make love, I’ll know
Where all your sensual, secret hidden places are,
Know every nerve and pleasure zone,
The juxtaposition of every bone.
I’ll show you inconceivable delights,
And usher in a brave new world!


In me Pygmalion is returned to life,
For I have wrought a woman with these words,
A graceful figure in the likeness of
That goddess born of foam and sea.
At first I form her foot,
With careful artistry I sculpt each tender toe,
And then I shape the feet—
The graceful arches and the gentle heels.
Her ankles give me pleasure as I trace
Their subtle outlines with my eyes—
I hold an ankle up before my face
And marvel at its elegance.
I work for hours on the contour of her legs;
I fashion with my hands their pliant lines
And cast their curvature in silky flesh.
I carve her knee for added sensitivity.
I linger on her thighs to shape them properly;
I make them firm and soft against my face.
I let my fingers test the smoothness
Of her bottom and her hips.
In near delirium I watch her belly quiver
As my fingers trace its curves,
While right before my face a fragrant flower blooms.
I hold her waist in my two hands
As I begin to mold the subtle muscles of her back,
And then I form her shoulders and her arms—
I make them strong that she might hold me tightly in
The throes of making love.
Her hands I labor with, for these are hands
That I will want to hold and gently kiss,
And hands that ult’mately will comfort me.
I shape each finger so her hand might
Compliment my own,
So that each hand is truly half a hand,
Complete at last when linked with mine.
And then I kneel and reaching up,
I form her breasts.
I make them full and round and firm.
I shape one with each hand,
I marvel that they are so soft and warm,
Imagine they are pressed against my chest.
With heated breath I gently blow on one
And watch arousal signaled all at once.
I lay my head between those breasts
And want to sleep,
But she is not complete.
I slowly sculpt her neck,
I make it soft and lithe and sensitive,
In need of constant kissing and caress.
And last of all, I form her face
In ev’ry way resembling
The progeny of Leda and of Zeus,
I set her brilliant eyes like Helen’s eyes,
Her jaw, her nose and mouth are Helen’s too.
Her lips are shaped to meld with mine
For kisses far more sensual
Than any I have known.
Her skin is smooth and taut,
Her natural scent arouses me.
I frame her face with tresses fleecy soft
And wonderful to drag my fingers through.
Her glory is her hair.
Now she is done, but yet she is inanimate.
So I look longingly upon her consummated form,
I study her and call out loud,
“O Aphrodite! Goddess of erotic love!
Beloved Aphrodite, hear my earnest prayer!
You know I’ve hated women all my life,
And yet I am in love with what I’ve wrought.
Please, if it pleases you—
Bestow upon her life and fleshly form.
Let ichor surge within her mortal veins,
Give her a soft and soothing voice,
A gentle caring heart,
A soul more faithful than your own.
Grant her compassion for the widow and
The child who longs for love.
Endow her with a shrewd and active mind,
Assign her wisdom that she can
Discern where she is truly loved
And then the strength to act on what she knows.
Dear Aphrodite! Goddess who
Inspir’d this overwhelming love
That torments me in wake and sleep—
Bring her to life for me,
And you will have my everlasting dedication then.”
I heard the goddess whisper, “She is yours!”
So boldly did I venture my own heart
To share my soul and kiss her tender lips,
And all at once, in doing so,
The veil of human memory was snatched away
And you awoke.