Harley

Pressure 34

black it stroked the road,

pawed,

the virgin beast spewed.

She held tight, the turning wheel,

feeling, wanting more.

Something.

Pressure inside to fill that space,

To rub against,

To feel, held

between thighs.

Riding

Deeper into paradise

Sunrise

I watch.

Night pulls back her naked dark. Dawn shows parting red knees. There, holding gathered fires of purple she stretches across her arc. Split wide, for days final erection, she births first light; hot in virginal red.

My Love

I felt him.

We lay close, together, 

heard his breath.

Soon sleep fell from her hands

into nights dark watch

where time gathered,

in silence,

ready for sunshine

that comes only

after church bells

fill the crack of dawn.

You will stir, turn, love me again

and with satisfied flesh move to sleep,

and I, will listen, 

hear you breathe and keep you.

Shadows are longer at sunset.

Memories of love lie scattered, 

bones on desert sands. 

Unlike distant hills that color 

are brittle, unforgotten, 

flag differences, 
struggles of separated lovers.

On some bright and sunny day 

in a quiet moment 

on the plains of the mind, 

when least expected, 

they hoist themselves, 

visible they fight to return.

For one lover a noise, 

a story of an angry mob, 

screams and shouts. 

For another 

a tired beaten army in disarray. 

Battles lost and colors stolen. 

Some unremembered-

only carcasses. 

My New Books

    Just published: 06-10-2012

available on

Amazon/Kindle/Kobo/ 

download them on to your Mac/PC

 "My fog Sings"    go to link:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008A8LEPE

  "Lotha and the Three Crosses"  go to link  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008A8LECC

He looked at me by Peter Frickel He faced me with molded mind and a stare unmoved between stutters. He gesticulated. Spoke with difficulty. Spat out the vowels of a language foreign to him. His right hand comforted a physical disorder wrapped in bandage while a mindful grimace stretched like rubber across his face. All of him sent aches into me. I felt for him. As I placed money in a hand that had never worked the fields that was delicate rather than strong I told him to spend it on food. He replied with a grin through decaying yellow teeth that challenged: ‘I am in charge’. I let him keep the money. Walking away I realized how cunningly he had drawn me, how well he colored teeth. No, I didn’t feel screwed; just proud of my counterfeit money.

Darfur


by
Peter Frickel

The single line pathway

moved humans 

carrying empty pails of sorrowed hunger

and despair they should never have owned.

Some brought extended bellies

swollen lips and cleaved tongues,

others empty eyes,

faces cracked 

and scabbed skin 

where tears had dried. 

And the dogs

that came on burnt paws,

that pulled tails across stones, 

whimpered for those they left to die.

We walked 

slowly 

into miles, 

to the horizon,

to a town.

Some groaned,

stopped and dropped

with voices that gurgled 

between cracked lips, 

before they died.

For each that crumpled

I bent down.

Besides,

with a prayer, 
I pressed eye lids closed.

With whites covered 

each rested 

in their dark,

our misery unwanted.

By the edge of the town

with thinned ranks

we stood still 

to feel the pain, 

to let it run away.

to remember friends and family 

who like fallen sign posts 

now mark our way.

Bodies lying lost upon acarpous soil 

tell others

who seek shelter, 

‘it doesn’t hurt anymore.'

Thank your for your visit

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www.peterfrickel.com

Quotes from my new book: 

"Lilies of the Vlei"

Set in Southern Africa: 

True stories

Coming Soon