I guess that it's easy to say
That when winter skies turn grey,
It's time for a mite bit of cuddlin',
To keep those grey skies at bay.

My heart grows colder,
Though I'm warmer for it.
I feel lost in a small bubble,
Everything around seems to crumble and fall.
My only wish,
If nothing else,
Is for you to call.
Oh,
To hear your voice,
It's like the feeling of a butterfly fluttering on your nose.
It's the feel of cold water as it falls down your throat to a longing gullet.
To feel the soft caress of your hand,
Is downy sweeping across my skin.
It's the tickle that doesn't make me jump,
It's the shiver that welcomes goosebumps.
If only,
If only,
I could simply feel your arms around me,
I would fall back-first into a pile of now broken leaves.
I once walked around our town for hours,
Trying to alleviate the thought that soon I would be gone.
It was then that I heard your voice,
That soft and delicate and loving voice.
It fluttered on my nose like a butterfly,
It brushed itself against my check,
And the sweet aroma of a single white flower growing in the yard outside my window swept gently into my nose,
Then I sneeze.
I will pick you this flower,
Once every day,
Since so many grow,
But so far apart.
If anyone has ever known how to fix this,
It was you.

Within my heart
Lies a little start.
Such a small pump
Haphazardly dumps
A plethora of feeling
From a cardiac ceiling.
A breathless trance,
A love fueled dance,
I sit staring at you.
Your skin,
So lovely in hue,
Is radiant from within.
Whatever would I do
Were I taken from you?
Lie quietly on the grass
As visions quickly begin to pass
Through a broken mind
To pass the time.

Within my heart
Lies a little start.
Such a small pump
Haphazardly dumps
A plethora of feeling
From a cardiac ceiling.
A breathless trance,
A love fueled dance,
I sit staring at you.
Your skin,
So lovely in hue,
Is radiant from within.
Whatever would I do
Were I taken from you?
Lie quietly on the grass
As visions quickly begin to pass
Through a broken mind
To pass the time.

Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
"Kill! Kill kindheartedness!"

The air called after me,
Eyes unblinking, I answer
"For what purpose do you need me?
Of what service am I?"
Is it that I am blind and may not see?
Foresight now fills my mind.
Hindsight, though, is left far behind.
Lonesome, I set out now, divine
Is my cause so I stay in line.
But am I to continue?
Must I search for a new venue,
A different place to call my own?
It seems, for a year, or a tear, I am alone.

A sound falls from the sky,
Such a sullen sordid tune.
It makes on ponder why
A sound falls. From the sky
A bird lets out a cry;
From its sorrow you are not immune.
A sound falls from the sky,
Such a sullen, sordid, tune.

I seek out this bird,
It sounds as if an infant.
I almost feel absurd
As I seek out this bird.
Yet, I barely speak a word;
Far too ashamed to break this instant,
I seek out this bird,
It sounds almost an infant.

The wind whistles in,
I hear the howl clear.
The air is thick with sin,
As the wind whistles in,
So, safely now begin
To cherish those held dear.
While the wind whistles in,
I hear the howl clear.

So now release me, please, from fear
Of the hollow, vacant, plight.
I hear a dawn grow near,
So now release me, please, from fear.
Heartlessness becoming dear,
I've now connection with the night,
So now release me, please, from fear
Of the hollow, vacant, plight!

I feel a tug on my sweater.
The air grows dark as I,
Full of despair,
Turn my head to find what
Being is at my coattail.

I feel a tug on my sweater,
I turn as the space ahead of me
Is occupied by essence of loving magnificent person.
I turn and see the beautiful world, as a
Being, is at my coattail.

I feel a tug on my sweater
And I question her as to what she came to
ask, and she speaks to me in song.
So lovely are the words uttered from
She who is at my coattail.

So lovely are the words uttered for
Me, a desperate shrew. A hollow shroud falls over
Vacant eyes dripping empty tears onto
A careless walkway. Her serenade sing a sort of
Happy suicide into the icy veins pumping
Soft slush into my heart.
Then suddenly

A chorus arises and I am renewed,
Invigorated.
"Sing goodbye to sorrow,
Save pain for a time when you need smile.
For that pain, in it's essence,
Is only a memoir of hardship that will
Remind the hollowest of souls that
There is happiness."
That there is love.
That there is hope.
That there is wonder,
and wanderlust.
That there is reason.

Fall softly by my side,
Ask me why I feel.
Sing the sound of your heart
And learn the value of mine that you steal.
The truth begs a sort of compliance,
The false brings a sort of discord.
The night brings a sort of silence,
But tonight I sing of reward.
I follow the sound through the end
To see a destination,
I find only a cave in the forest
That is filled with desolation.
Sing solace, sing cheer;
Sing worry and fear.
A song to allure the public,
You make yourself its puppet.

Winter falls silently
On a town hidden in bliss.
As rain drops start falling
We recoil, slither, hiss.
The cold burns our warm skin
And we mutter to ourselves
Of how weather is awful
And we beg for the sun.
But the sun will never
Show its face;
It hides away behind clouds,
Oh it loves such a shroud.
Such a wave it sends
With its powerful chill
As the ice shoots as beams
Straight down to the earth,
Such wonder is cold,
So badly it hurts.

Oh hollow sound,
That chest thumping
Engine does Fire the
Soul, rousing its deep
Slumber amidst the cloud.
The sea boils over as
Insipid statements vacate
My hollow mouth
Drips venom from its limestone,
The stalagmites offer no wave break.
Why resist a tide if the boat
Sinks to the bottom of its own
Will?
Why persist hauling land to you
When it refuses to give?
Loose your minute, release the
Tied string from your hand.
The brain is a ruined, hollow, shell
That falters from its duty of
Assistance.
Give in, desist, relinquish.
Self is lost in my lack of
Helping you.
But I learn.
I improve and I try,
I form my self,
I reform myself.
Taking part in a grand dance of
My soul, I am again made for you.
I must be, I must act, I must help
For you.
I will help,
I will try
I will continue to improve.
I will be,
I will love,
All only for you.

It had been ten days
Since I last saw rain.
The clouds above part
Like ripples in puddles.
A quick burst of shine
And I'm drenched again;
How might I leave?
Might the world bear
Down on me with
Roaring thunder if that
Oak door shuts behind me again?
Am I now alone?
Do I drift till I find more land?
Stay by me, shining star.
Oh, you lovely star
Who brightens my
Clouded mind and leaves
No print behind;
Oh, you beautiful star
Who lightens my
Loaded back and makes
All dreams true,
Would you stay with me?
Please, my sweet,
Do not ever leave,
Do not ever abandon,
What sorrow will ensue
If that flood gate should leave.
I may go,
But I could never part that shine
In your eyes.
I could never leave
A shadow on your soul,
So perfect.
So sweet,
Your perfume permeates
Through every hall of
My cavernous mind.
Do stay with me,
Oh wondrous star,
And keep me sane
For your company.

We want not words
Of rhyme nor reason,
We wish for verbs
Words of doing and done.
No time to be kept,
No analysis of style,
We simply want words
Scattered
About
A page, call it poetry.
The story is there,
No difficulty in
Interpretation,
Is it sin?
To take words from within?
To make in a form that may begin
Or end with endings that are akin?
Any fool might make a story
By breaking up lines in a paragraph,
But can they describe it in emotion?
The diction is gory,
Chopped up, sing epitaph,
A poem written in commotion.
A rhyme is no force than a song from a Lori,
Free verse may be fine for more than just a laugh
But the story is lost in an ocean.
A sea of chopped stanzas,
Direction with no form.
But the ship might still sail,
Any port in a storm.

What loveliness there is to an ink,
Such that it may record our innermost
Thoughts however we choose to lay them
Out.
                                                                                                                 With love
Whether in print, or in cursive,
Without regard to a font
the medium will maintain what is written.
                                                                                                            Ringing out
Writing, the pouring out of
One's feelings is
by far
the second loveliest form of
Therapy.
                                                                                                          You are first.

I send my mind through
A whirlwind
A spiral.
The words pour out
Torrential, they cause a sort of
Fear that when the mind does steer
I might falter, might fall.
But I do not lose hope,
I do not give in,
I control.
I gather my skill,
Gather tools of my trade.
That wit may stay with me is
My only wish, so that I might be able
To fuel my mind with love.
With wonder, I feel
That I might
Someday
Gather hope.

I sat next to a man on the bus
Who wore a face so desperate,
He gave a short fuss
But then sat quietly for a bit.

I asked him his name
And he looked in my eyes,
He's limbs almost lame
His face filled with surprise.

"I come from no place,
No title's my own.
My heart strikes a pace
So fast, so alone."

It was at that he wept
The wet drops on the ground;
In those tears he had kept
A love both terrible and sound.

He left at his stop
Though he paused at the top,
"Thank you for your ear,
You've relinquished my fear.
So I bid you good day,
Thank you for your stay."

My mind is ablaze
With that's around me,
It's almost a daze
To be so cherished you see.

I'm glad that my words
Do reach joyous ears,
Songs grander than birds
Could not push out my fears

As well as you friends.
So thank you all kindly,
My heart you do mend,
And you do help me to see

That these words can be enjoyed by people,
For me these words are one of my only steeples.

A spider on the wall
Says to crawl,
To leave this place
An empty space
That fills the void
Of my disgrace.
But I turn my head,
The sound of dread
Floods my ears,
My worst of fears
Now realized.

I now know that
The words are a mat
To step on and desecrate,
So very similar this hate,
This bait.
The voice falls flat
On it's face.
"Second rate" is the term
That so quickly erased
Me. So now I squirm
To avoid that race,
So I may take my leave.

Could we reach such sweet perfection?
One with no rejection?
A bond of pure acceptance,
A rush with no reluctance?
Have we reached such sweet perfection,
That our acceptance knows of no exception?
My love so sweetly do we talk
That I know no topic should make me balk.
Why yes we've reached such sound perfection
That even the birds songs are poor reflection
Of our lovely words that sing introspection
Of the heart, true loves resurrection.