When I was innocent I dreamt of love,
a kind of love most worthy of virgins–
for whom a simple kiss admits no sins
or shame, or betrays the appearance of
disgrace; But I, blessed not as from above
by heaven or by God, quit, as life wins;
losing all hope and faith till my head spins
with the winds of lust that blew the white dove
of my innocence away. Then a whore
and slut took away my virginity;
she then revealed that there were fifty more
besides me, I recall most bitterly.
But so long as there is breath and hope lives,
love will come; and when it comes, it forgives.

My once stepfather, a racist,
was as verbally abusive
as he was a sick, mean sadist
who’d smack my face with his massive,

black, thick and heavy hands for spite
for minor things that weren’t my fault
that I bemoaned that I was white
and he was black. So in revolt

against his emotional abuse
and harsh beatings, I then refused
to irk him so he’d make a truce
with me so I wouldn’t be accused

of his murder for being beaten.
Then mom and he got a divorce
’cause his abuse was so brazen;
I rejoiced and felt no remorse.

Happier without him and free,
I was then the man of the house
and my life was far less stormy
as mom never took a new spouse.

Life continued until one year
I gave my life to Christ one day
as a trained youth. I was sincere
and with God’s blessing walked away

from years of angry resentment
and severe depression with deep
mood swings that increased my torment
with prolonged nights of fleeting sleep.

Days ago, I heard that he got lung
cancer. I could not forgive him
for the abuse when I was young–
for the trauma that made life grim.

Because I know God’s forgiveness
my faith compels me to forgive
him: we all sin and we all transgress.
He has but a year left to live.

But when it’s time I plan to be
there and let him know all’s forgiven;
it’s not too late for him to see
that God’s grace can show him heaven.

I sailed unaware into
the ocean currents
of her life;
and smitten, I
desired to ride

them with her;
somewhere
along
the ocean ways, a

seed of love

planted in the soil of
my heart had taken root,
and grew, only to perish
like

a young hope

that’s fleeting:
though I loved her,
she still wounded

me like a careless
knife.

In spite of
God and my
conscience, I
looked

for encouragement
in her stare;
and at the outlines
of her appealing
form

I did wonder:
she was

indeed

a Helen of Troy, a prize,
on whose loveliness
I

so richly gorged!

But never was
a lonely man
more wretched
than

I,

as she could
not return my
affections with
equal measure

of feeling.

I would be more
glad had she been
unwedded to another,
and could

easily be within
my desirous
and
hungry

grasp!

In time, I
never

saw
her again;

and love–like
an aborted
fetus–died

with her leaving
as well!

A ripple in time,
we are here for a moment
like fleeting vapors
in this vast, great universe–
members of a divine God.

Into the night sky
I gaze, awed by space and time
and the wide expanse
of the Milky Way, a dot
among endless galaxies.

They spin and swirl in
a dance in the gaping voids
of space and blackness,
their light coming to us from
a time before our Earth formed.

A ripple in time,
we are here for a moment
like fleeting vapors
in this vast, great universe–
members of a divine Whole.

The light of the Sun
nuzzles the verdure of Earth
with gold fingertips
of chlorophyll-induced warmth
like a babe in swaddling cloth.

White, pure, delicate
and beautiful, the snowflake
melts–what tragic death!

Little bird, little bird, what ails thee?
Is it the worm in thy belly?
Little bird, little bird, what troubles thee?
Is it the worm of enmity?

Nature and God, God
and nature: we all exist
in their Yin and Yang.

Fragrant, erotic,
dangerous and red, the rose
smells of love’s odor.

Deep, dark, beautiful
and ominous, the ocean
moves my soul, wave-like.

THEY flock in beauty, like the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that’s best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.

One fleece the more, one hair the less,
had half repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o’er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.

And on that rump and o’er that round
so strong, so firm, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in goodness spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.

Sublime beauty that’s light and fair
is a flower that blooms afresh
like an amaranth that’s plum and rare;
lovely in spirit and in flesh,
she glides in beauty without care
and makes all that’s right weave and mesh.

Such loveliness is hard to find
unspoiled and as innocent;
and with her heart and her great mind
she calms my worried discontent.
As she sighs, both gentle and kind,
my nostrils take in her lovely scent.

Full of love, she outshines Venus,
and warms the nooks of heart and soul
with grace and sweet, gentle focus
that makes the infirm and sickly whole;
without her the world would be joyless
and love would not be in control.

SHE sails in grace, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s lush;
and when the faerie sprites above
unloose her from the twilight’s blush,
she descends like the milk-white dove
with the notes of a singing thrush.

With golden locks, from fair to fair,
and liquid, limpid eyes so blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her beauty and lovely hue
which heal the brave souls that so dare
come to her for her magic dew.

As cloud and rain Nymph and a muse
with the profound grace of a saint,
(which no man can therefore refuse
or with mean words tarnish or taint)
then let all Creatures freely choose
to honor her without constraint.

My errant hands about your hips
and ribald thoughts not wholly chaste,
let together be locked our lips
as passion begs that we make haste.

Tonight we are an ardent pair
as we undo our sweaty robes
which shed our nude, tanned forms that bare
us to each other’s lusty probes.

We are filled with such eager zeal
to love one another this night
without need to hide or conceal
whether we are wrong or right.

This night our coupled souls exclaim
that we must build our lovers’ nest;
Love’s great power does proclaim
our union stronger than God’s behest!

The many voices in my head
reverberate and echo loud
memories and regrets long dead
that are buried in blackened shroud.

The voices scream, “You’re the Devil,”
and prophesy the Anti-Christ.
They accuse me of all the evil
since mankind first became enticed.

I deny their demonic call
and find in the Apocalypse
that I’m the avenging Christ of all
whose advent is the world’s eclipse.

“Not Anti-Christ!” I do reply.
“Not Devil,” I begin to shriek,
“for the Lamb of the world am I–
the Lord’s Savior for the meek!”

Sinners will know their final hour.
They will drown in their anguished cries
when I at last know my power
and expose all their wanton lies.

In this soft, padded cell of white
they watch and look on me with dread.
They view me as a deadly blight
and starve me with infected bread.

“Dear God! I hate these lousy drugs,”
I shout, “that they shoot in my ass!”
They hold me down, these stupid thugs–
injecting Thorazine real fast.

Why am I caged away by men
when I’m the Christ from God on high:
“Dear Lord,” I pray, “let the heathen
know me whom the Scriptures prophesy?”

Once free again I’ll be reborn,
lifted up in divine image;
I’ll end man’s need for crack and porn
and prepare him for my Marriage.

Hear my voice and see my vision!
The lost will burn without release
once they all know My religion–
only then will my Judgment cease.

A month later and officially discharged from the mental hospital, the Mad Poet writes:

P. S.

To whomever it may concern, please forgive my embarrassing God complex above-expressed–. Thank you. The Mad Poet.

Poetic genius eludes me
and flees from me like love,
as if my lady already
flew off like a wayward dove.

I fear my talent’s further gone,
so far removed from here
like a nervous, capricious fawn
too coy to stay for fear.

For my misfortune is such grief
too profound, too deep, to tell;
I pray to God that it’ll be brief
before I hear death’s knell.

For now my spirit will endure
for my Genius’s return
so again with love’s warming cure
I’ll know its peculiar burn.

A flower breaks out afresh from its swollen,
green bud and then stretches outward into
the sun-drenched sky.

An image of nature that’s timeless
and perennial, it faithfully blooms and
adorns its surroundings like its predecessors.

Never alone, it is joined by its floral neighbors
of its own kind in fragrant numbers, suffusing
the atmosphere all around with a heavy, yet
sweet stench of lavender and honeysuckle.

The thick odor seduces and encourages the
flower-borne bees, hornets, and yellow-
jackets nearby into a steady rhythm and pulse
of continuous labor over the pollen-rich
blossoms and perfumed, colorfully-tinted
petals. From an adjacent pond the over-
abundant and unsubtle beauty of the
lily-of-the-valleys add their distinctiveness
to the already rich and lush floral landscape,
now teeming with the life and vigor of
spring in full bloom.