The skies are laced
with the designs
of the creator
lest we forget
how infinitesimally small we are –
the canvas is
drawn with a filigree
that cannot be
captured or copied
for its instant in
time and motion
are ever changing
ever beautiful
ever embracing us
in its azure
rapture.

the world is your home

so may this poem

serve to hone

that feelings are known

to those who have grown

desperate alone

in the city

there are birds that still sing

and waters that bring

life to the human ring

who enjoy

every little thing

that makes them take wing

i like watching

the grey disappear into day

forms emerging from the twilight

conversely i like watching

the day disappear into grey

the forms merging into the twilight

the earth is
quaking and shaking
trembling in her boots
aching with
tumultuous waves
as we try to unearth
her beauty
we seem to be powerless
to actually understand her
we analyze each bit
exploit her seams
and she is like a banshee
tossed
tossing

i go through the throes
of touching my toes
of loving my foes
of finding my knows
of probing the woes
of hitting the lows
of raising the doughs
of creating the shows
of seeking the flows
of screeching through rows
of shedding the blows
of believing in prose
of sharing with those
who celebrate glows
does anyone suppose
i’m through with the throes

the mind of the poet is discreet,

touching the realm

between the dream

and the reality,

finding rhythm and rhyme

where no one else can.

poets colour illusions,

poets seek the truth.

poets see in the dark.

they are children at heart.

it is a while since

the words have mince-

d though my pen

into papermation

so now

for your information

there are swirls

that are curls

around me like waves

in sunrise constellations

brave new summations

filling me to the brim

in an indescribable fulcrum

on which I balance

parched, starched, enhanced!