Lou FCD“Why?”

you ask,

“do you write so much

about woman?

Her soft lips,

blazing eyes,

tender touch,

flaming spirit,

and burning soul?

Why her throat,

bared to your teeth?

Why her breast,

filled with passion?

Why her hips,

shaped to entice your lust?

Why her person,

wild as untamed horses?

Why her chin,

more high and noble than any king?

Why her kisses,

more honest and devious

than any manchild ever born?

And why her song,

the hypnotic song

of the siren?”


And I,

in humility,

must answer,


“My good friend,

It seems to me,

You have answered

your own question.

What more stunning creature,

could enchant such a man as I,


As Woman?”




Lou FCDLit up by the shining full moon,

Enwrapped by the biting October wind,

Roofed by the clear bright stars,

Standing with the hard, cold concrete

beneath my feet of ice,

I wait.

Time passes in circles,

Each breath is hours from the last,

Each heartbeat stumbles before the next.

There is no traffic,

this time of night,

No passerby to break the silence,

No owl in this city

to keep me company.

My thoughts have traveled

a million light years and back,

and again,

they rest on you.

Reality swirls

and is an extension of imagination

From the dark alleyway

a stone rattles against a brick,

From the black shadow

your form explodes into the light.

Your passionate greeting

leaves me bonless



We walk to the river,

along the bank,

Saying much,

but nothing on our common mind.



The Three Bears

Lou FCDCute,


Is how the exercise began.

She was reading from a book,

The Three Bears.

As I listened,


I began to recall.

There was a day,

a time to be more precise,

when I told this story to my daughter,


Each and every night.

I spoke the parts,

Papa was gruff,

Mama was motherly,

and Baby was small.

Her eyes were wide,


Like each time

was the very first.

“Hot stuff will burn you, Daddy,”

“Porridge is like oatmeal,”

“She broke it on accident, Daddy,

That’s ok, isn’t it?”

Though I am not given

to public grief,

The tears flowed beyond my control.

Not that I attempted to control them,

That would have meant futile madness.

I make no apology,

for apparent melodrama,

I simply explain my loss,

my grief,

my pain.




Lou FCDHer Cherokee blood,

Her dark hair and eyes,

Her wild intelligent spirit,

Fighting to break the chains

Shackled on her in childhood.

Knowing what freedom was,

Yet afraid to test the water,

Fearful of the mythology

and superstition of her youth.

In my haste and excitement,

I pushed her into freedoom,

And in terror,

in shame,

She huddled back into her prison,

and ran away from me.



Untitled about my Father

Lou FCDI walked along the shore,

Thunderous crashing of surf,

against the rocky cliffs below,

Cold wet spray of water

against my face,

Salty smell of the mighty Atlantic

burning in my nose.

Out over the water

I could see the proud ships

of my homeland’s navy

Coursing through the waves.

I sat upon a rock

and thought a while,

Remembering times

when I was quite young

And my father brought me here.

I miss my father.

We were great friends,

He and I.

We still speak,

every few weeks.

I drive the many hours,

Once or twice a year,

to see him,

hoping to recapture that something

That doesn’t seem

to still be there.




Lou FCDQuestions,

fill my wandering mind.

Where do I go?

What do I do?

Where have I been?

What have I done?

Junctures and crossroads,

Backstreets and alleys,

Highways and byways,


There has been much pain,

much sorrow,


and gloom.

But, too,

there has been happiness,

joy and contentedness.

Days of sun as well as rain.

There will be more of all,

I suspect.

Though I face the future,

with all its fearful consequence,

I just can’t wait to go on.



Heaven and Hell

Lou FCDWild.


Emblazoned with electric flashes,

The blue flames streaking across the sky.

Thunderous silence of pouring rain.

By the strobe-like lightning

she danced across the field.

With her hedonistic pleasure

she compelled me to follow.

A silent zombie,

I traced her steps,

to the edge of the abysmally black forest.

Without thought or hesitation

I shuffled into the yawning deep.



Rising again,

to follow the dancing spectre.


and there again,

the glimpse of her form,

Enticing me,

in this midnight game of follow the leader.

For hours she led,

For hours I followed,

Til at last,

beyond all time,

we came to her abode.

In a perfect circle,

In a break amongst the trees,

Where the rain crashed,

and the lightning flashed,

Where the moon was black,

We stopped.

Centered in the circle of trees,

Within her now concentric dance,

An altar beckoned me forth.

As I approached the marble slab,

Her movements transformed,

From the insane,

to the insanely erotic.

I, the sacrificial lamb,

and she the acolyte.

I lay upon the stone,




It was here,

the spawn of Hell was conceived,

And here,

the concept of Heaven was born.