Sometimes,
I just need a good cry,
but can't seem to get
the words or the tears out.

Sometimes I look
like a blubbering mess,
and sometimes I appear
heartless.

I couldn't cry around my ex
(I had to remove her name from my vocabulary)
and I don't even remember when that started,
except that it happened years ago.

And I'd like to get on with things,
with life,
but tomorrow feels
like the deadest end.

A slice of bread
that I split and shared,
fills me with delight
for I gained a new friend
when offered
as a gift
from the heart.

Along the banks of a raging river,
In its placid bays and indentations,
A family of mallards bobbed and grazed
In peaceful habitation.

The little ones were almost grown,
Fluffy chicks no more.
They had not yet learned how to fly
But were still driven to explore.

One was a drake named Jake,
The wild child of the brood.
He had swagger in his waddle
And a daring attitude.

Jake looked out on the river
And a challenge came to mind.
He would swim across the water
To see what he could find.

I have a shirt I like.
I wear it often;
long sleeves, collar, and breast pocket.
I think it's called aquamarine.

And a favorite chair;
arm rests, scooty wheels,
black, of fake leather, my guess.

Living with the familiar,
such as previously mentioned,
facilitates and expedites
excursions of thought.

At the drop of a hat
an adventure begins;
exciting
spontaneous
and sometimes,
scary as hell itself.

Daring
the dark ages
ferreting out dormant superstitions.

Anne it was, my sole desire, those many years ago.
Anne it was, who split the world, I had come to know.
Anne it was, Anne it is, that pierces heart and soul.
Awake it’s Anne, in dreams it’s Anne, I’ll never now be whole.

My heart was cold, its now afire, she bestirs my peace.
My soul was dead, it trembles now, in such a hot release.
If only Anne, if only Anne, if only Anne could see.
The war that rages deep within, her own I’d surely be.

Prickly little spears,
bursting forth from the delicate rose,
inching forward to get a piece of succulent meat.
As i walk by they seem to reach forward to poke,
pieces of skin punctured by the thrusting thorns.
Blood flows and the roses wave in the wind happily.

in the will the malestrom knows
of candlelight progression
in ceremony forest sheild

the train has ground to its
stop steaming
simmering Its lamps like
fate shines in the mist

one step two

into the deep
though the fear of
chaos is unpleasant
a taste
there is no handicap
of haste

we are mere
matter
existing
sending and
recieving
the terror
and the beauty
of the bane
and wonderful

an adventure

Whatever is said,
and whatever things I'm said
and you are said to be
why, these are things
we don't have control over.

Oh it's true
that people will take
little tiny nuggets of truth,
truth they have no idea how to process
and turn them for their own gain.

And it's true I was a little bear,
and it's true I wore shitkickers
back when I was young.
It doesn't mean
those things
apply to me now.

When earth twists around the block
to summer clock – tick-tock
the sun charged daylight
crazies up.

That heat source, in outer sky
is hot to fly – oh my
‘til it bursts orange
power down.

Still, when the moon flings around,
and earth, night bound – is gowned,
a stellar coolness
comes to life.

Admire nature but silently
it changes colours momentarily
it does all eyes please
then comes the sunset
the darkness
nature sleeps
come enjoy with me
'tis, yes nature is
poetry

CLICK ONE READ ABOVE

YES THIS IS CLICK TWO ...Sea below

I am on a newer path
a newer vista to be
where poets just don't praise
to please
but hug to find a release
if you please