Conversations deepen as
old friendships remain in the shallows
So swim above the dark abyss of
self awareness vast and mysterious
Here I’m finding new companions
speaking from the heart’s wide breadth
Storied pasts and harsh mistakes
released into the sinking depths
Join us here in letting go
Float about with unburdened mind
Holding onto heavy things
becomes a shallow life defined
Talking small is no great sin
these pleasantries we all abide
Most folks speak of news or weather

You are my king
I am your queen
You've given me your true and fulfilling love through this ring
My love for you is simply just not anything but far from simply in between
Even on the days I pull you from your toughest seams
I still see you within my own set of dreams
Even when it seems on my darkest days, we never truly part our ways
When we are closer I feel complete from our hearts beating as one, when our hearts begin to sing an ever so beautiful harmony
One day we are going to be united in the arms of the Lord in Holy Matrimony

I am playing hooky
just looking for some cheer
Thinking about having a cookie
to get away from here

Two cookies and a cup of tea
for breakfast, is what I'm thinking
I sit watching out the window
Whilst my tea, I'm drinking

The sparrows from the eaves next door
swooping low then high
Up in the hole with straw and stuff
to keep their nestlings dry

Mother Nature is back with Spring
her baby of warm wind breath
Taking back the landscape
with the advent of Winter's death

I could have done things different
I would have, had I known
I should have thought to think
I'm thinking with a groan

Could have is just a thought
that I would have done it better
I should have done it different
and I wouldn't wonder whether

But, could have, would have, and should have
doesn't really matter now
It's all in the past, I get it
Thinking ahead is my new vow

Poacher’s Snare

In silent wood with anxious pace, I creep below broad bower,
And follow scent of early dawn, inhaling nature’s power.
Secret life in damp earth, hidden dark and deep,
The vixen and her cubs, protected as they sleep.

I take another covert step, close to her construction,
The vixen pokes her nose out black, distressed by interruption.
My sniper’s boot breaks a twig and cracks a violent round,
And nervous vixen terror froze, kits hidden underground.

Stupid Tongue...

Hindsight is twenty-twenty they say
My eye looking back, says, "Stupid tongue,
you shouldn't have said that"

Brain, rather late...
Says, "Yeah, stupid tongue,
what the hell did you say that for?"

Stupid tongue stutters, "I didn't mean to!"
Eye in the mirror, disgusted, "You are so stupid!"
Brain again, "Yeah stupid tongue!"

Intangible sunset.
Silentious silhouette.
Uproarious beauteous,
Integrate in thou.

Expression reeking of
enthusiasm entranced splendour being.

Haphazardly harbinger of light manifesting a tune of new meaning.

Incongruous at first.
The then developed thirst,
of knowing intensively.

We’re all seeking something, that something is meant to be.

For tomorrow is not promised. We can make it our own way if we join forces to our-selves lovingly.

when I heard
Miss Piggy laugh,
on those days
I would be OK
between the
oceans of pain
we had paddled
to meet

plastic bags of magic
hang from fishing poles
wheeled in by flying nuns
with blessings
of water and love,
we divined ways to forget,
the moments in minutes
when agony pushes through

to shave another piece off
our shared sheer will,
and eating the pieces
were the demons
we all harbor,
unwilling jailers
of repeat offenders
spot our roll-call

I always felt as if my poetry wasn’t real poetry.
That my writing could never be as good as Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, or Lord Alfred Tennyson.
They were masters of their art.
But then I read a book that explained the breaks, rhythm, and melody of poetry.

How for one to be a poet,
One must write from the heart
And let words flow from the soul.

How poetry isn’t defined by rhyme,
But how the feelings of the poet are conveyed.

She holds his eyes accountable
but pours him another drink
Her feminine wiles beckon smiles
and serve him a sexy wink

Like all the others before him
he falls for the line of her story
seduced by the scene where she's seen
and she denies she wants the glory

Photos of desire imprinted
made-up lips of what she said
eyes torn away from the cruel light of day
he falls for her look instead