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Can you be mine? – I ask,
Unfold your soul,
You are a river of love
Looking right into you
And seeing
Reflection of me.
Mirror of water,
Gentle feel of your hand,
Is it your heart
I reached?
Or have I just touched
A rainbow?
2 day two morrow
today ur here......tomorrow u will be there .
...today you r into her.... tomorrow she won't be near.... so lie in her and endear.... why fear.... tomorrow will come ....do you hear .... but it will be another today ....so in side ur lover's heart do stay.... tomorrow is coming don't sway...... have a hay day ..be gay if you may. as of ..today..... for tomorrow you may for her pray ....so don't dismay ,,she will go far away...today is yesterday's tomorrow.... all say...you may love to follow.... O poet yes u may
SPLENDOR
I write as though I were
in a trance mesmerized
by visions of my own creation
haunted by early childhood
recollections, and the disillusions
that a lifetime brings to each of us
yet we rise to the unique
in a sea of commonality :
this is our Splendor
and our eventual Fall
Senyru
Kids played in the snow
Massive snow ball fight erupted
They all made sitzmarks.
There are two kinds of rest, two pines in a forest
of crestfallen trees and dreams' fallen leaves.
These evergreens bleed these much needed seeds we seek;
I beseech, underneath these trees, which of their seeds
succeeds in superseding weeds.
Now there’s Sleep and there’s Peace,
and the tree that’s known as Sleep
believes in reaching towards headboards and sheets,
while the tree that’s known as Peace
believes in teaching support that’s born in feet.
LAUNDOZEMATHIAS
an arc lamp sizzles
the tug thumps its steam bowels
all is ordinary and surreal
as the river crawls us along
the crew whom have worked this riveted
dory have their plethora of shivs
and iron
but we sense the greater urgency
of importance
like the eye of a great blind cannon watches
us pass with a bored puck
flint and steel in his hand
Far above frozen clouds crumble
and send their pieces down below
in flakes which dodge and slowly tumble
as the winter cold winds blow.
My felt hat turns from tan to white
as I go about my evening chores
in January's fading light.
I check the stall's and old barn's doors.
Then climb into the drafty loft
to heave hay bales down to the ground
hoping that their landing's soft
not breaking twine with which they're bound.
As Autumn draws its windows closed to change
I find myself reflecting on my blight
and wishing days will never bring the light
as hopes and dreams flee farther out of range
When feelings are nothing short of deranged
as gods and demons stage a war of fright
to clench my heart before they take my sight
and leave me with a body gone estranged
His dying inner fear
Why next?
Ask Hilary on Everest
He couldn't get a cup free
hot or cold may be...
you are at least relishing poetry
as we all sing praises of thee
hear us here
no where else
you shall ever find folks
of my kind
all you will leave far behind....
For if you do, just sms me
I shall fly towards you
simply catch me
thoughtwave charmer
torn from the wing
the sail a harmer
walk a mile in the shoe
the cut of the clothes
the eyes of forever
and everyone knows