A crooked smile upon my face,
I hear the water running.
You said the bathtub was dirty,
with Comet in your hand,
you scrubbed and scoured,
you plunged the drain.

Earlier I had asked you if you
wanted to hear my poetry,
but you said you weren't awake
enough yet.

Funny how these things happen
to poets,
to lovers,
and life
that leaves page after page
of discretion.

Once upon a time, I would have
loved the bathtub clean.
You can't have every thing it seems.

Poetic Tsunami,

Dry droll the roll
the dreams are fallen off
the bed

and its time to wake the moll
slip her into pin stripe slacks
and get her moving
back on track

the shoes need shinning
waiting where they lay
tipped against the trimwork
of the hall

she runs a work of preparation
and we ration the goodwill
down the steps and at
the lights we part
behind the dark glasses
that hide our bleary sanity

God shall protect us
for he looks after all
drunks and fools

thought is as the wide endless firmament
the anima of void

creation as the clouds
formulating and dissipating throughout forever
painting sorrows and joys

i think therefore i am
existing in perpetuum within my own thought -
my own heaven or hell

and throughout the boundless empyrean of ideation
in this billowing vapour that is elapsing illusion
my spirit has free reign

but, no matter where the now
as the clouds cannot mark nor taint the sky
so, too, nothing manifested can stain my soul

Dreamers dream
In hopes that they will
Come true.

Schemers scheme
In hopes that they will
Manipulate.

Seekers seek
In hopes that they will
Find.

Gamblers gamble
In hopes that they will
Win

Thinkers think
In hopes that they will
Discover.

Cheaters cheat
In hopes that they will
Prosper.

Writers write
In hopes that they will
Reveal themselves.

Painters paint
In hopes that they will
give vision.

It's time to surf the thoughtful waves of life,
and bravely dive into its seven seas.
The fear that rising waters wash in strife,
would fleetly pass when gently laid in ease.

Then free yourself from strains upon the shores.
Once tired, anchor, give those bones a rest,
and lightly soothe the wrecks of heavy chores,
for hard is life, so get from it, its best.

Near the sea shore I stood alone,
with no one within a mile or more,
Looking at the sun sinking down,
Trying to hide in the depths of the sea.

The golden sand and the reddish sea,
Appeared to me quite heavenly.

Then I can hear the sea murmurs,
Calling me towards her.

Her tides crawl near the shore
To swallow the land more and more.

Now I walk alone to find a home,
Somewhere in this sandy sea shore.

I don't know whether I will live anymore,

Once you all switch to Free verse things will get worse
a curse
Loved has made all forget
what was poetry and verse
and
the best critique we all know,
will my cruci-fixation rehearse
ere that happens,
guys go back to your archaicity
and
leave my precious verse
to and for me...
I must thank thee
if you want to see
the bard survive in me...

Forest line
stretch like a taut ache
a hunger slipped with aces
and access desire
pulled against the crotch
and hip like the snout of
a holster warm

a walk perfumed and an eye
of fire
Caveat Venditor
how I adore
stature of splendour

Thank you for your service,
Your guidance and your grace.
Thank you for our history.
Your welcome to this place

Next time I go to Bingo,
I will truly look around.
I know of your museums,
Yet I play on sacred ground.

Thank you for your culture,
Your people's Benediction.
Thank you for your patience,
Forgive us our condition.

I wrote this as my personal poetic thought s upon Native American Week just last month. Will be nice to see what others think of my thoughts.