I love it when you walk barefooted
its not the fairness of your skin
or the scarlet of your nails
I touch the ground you grace
I feel the flames on my face
Sometimes I think you are the devil
and how easy you tempt me like sin
And if you are the devil
your words are ideal persuasion
your kiss is addictive as heroin
a snake slithering under my sheets
So I shall let nothing extinguish this heat
for its the love I have for your barefeet
What shall I call you? I do not know your name.
I’ve heard you speak my name in the silent night
The way one hears the blowing wind
Or the rain or the falling leaves.
My heart is heavy, my failures great. The note
Of deep sadness in your voice echoes through me;
I need to see your lips, your face,
To your voice I must give a name.
When you called me
I could not answer.
What shall I call you?
I do not know your name.
One day I’ll leave this town for good.
No one shall know I’m gone
Till some trespasser on my lawns
Makes sense of the silence,
The piles of newspapers and mail,
The cobwebbed porch and flourishing weeds.
I would be gone and won’t look back.
I shall seek the future:
The road that’s yet to be traveled,
Mistakes yet to be made,
New towns to wake up in, new friends,
All the stories yet to be told.
And nothing would hold me back.
This free spirit will be
The greatest of all my triumphs;
But since nothing would hold me back
This uncompromised freedom
Will be my only regret.
so kind and good
the day that we met
you shines no regets
that rise and set
from dusk to dawn
thy soul begun
more than faithful
a ray of hope
until the very end
a warm and gentle friend
sun thy soul begun
my brother is not a king, but a giant fool,
who would have thought 'he' of all gods get's to rule.
I have faced him with many challenges,
but what I'd like more than anything is to face him in a deul.
He let his own daughter be taken by me,
let's see what this so called ''leader'' shall do.
they watch, they wonder, they look and they see
but what those fools don't know is where to find me.
Persephone, my queen-for 6 months she stays.
my sister and that fool still wait for days and days.
dear ''Persy'', she cries, she moans, she prays,
but cry as she might, she'll stay till the end of days.
No-one shall get her, she's my prize, my queen.
I'll keep this a secret; they won't know where she's been.
My brother, the oaf, the godly fool,
will never know how to judge or for that matter, even rule.
The Weather Channel,
Who among us does not have this app,
On their phone, computer, mobile device
Ready for a quick scan..
Odd topic for an essay,
Strange, that your poetic silence
Should be broken this way,
Then again, you didn't inquire,
Or even notice it had gone missing.
Yet the channel of which I write,
Is mobile, and certainly, applies to each of us
But cannot be found on any device but in our hearts..
When we awaken,
The temperature is taken,
A glance upon your visage
Reveals rested or irritable,
Blue clouds or storm warnings,
Better dress appropriately...
But even this is not the forecast
Of which my heart and words speak,,
The whether I need, the thermometer reading,
The barometric pressure that needs knowing,
Measures whether you love me still,
Love me more, love me better,
Than the last poem/day we just wrote/recorded,
The channels we will yet navigate,
The sky we shall observe,
Cloud shapes to design and designate,
A fortune to prognosticate,
Is the sum f the fortunes/forecasts we create daily.
Our weather is our good fortune,
And strangely the forecast is the same daily,
Whether fair or hurricane,
Whether gladdened or pained,
Our forecast, ours,
Our forecast, unique,
Our forecast, let us record it into reality,
When we awaken entangled,
Looking out the window and envision and
Predict our life-scape.
When the skies are grey, my worries fade away
For only in the darkest of nights can I shine bright like the day
And when there is a raging storm I shall peacefully sleep
Though in the brightest of times, I will always weep
If any of us felt the cold of the sun
We didn't let ourselves know it until the end of the day.
We didn't let ourselves show it until May was over.
No one ever let slip the ideas or the we we're stuck inside a supernova.
Nothing came between us on those Spring afternoons,
Or in those twisted nights where we turned into loons,
When the clock started to move backwards and something was expressed,
Something wrapped up in foil kept cold and compressed.
But somewhere out there in the back of our minds,
the message was sent with the passing of time.
Everything is as it should be simply because it is,
How we express ourselves is like when we were kids.
And sometimes when the lights are out and the curtains drawn,
Something comes stirring that doesn't rest until dawn,
What it is I can't quite place,
But it lurks on as I motion from place to place
When this is over and I am elsewhere,
I'll look back and wonder why it is that I care,
Being on some distant plain I shall digress.
And hope that the animal in my mind can finally rest.
Words are misgiving and maybe I've said too much,
But I continue to write and I think its not such.
So whatever I draw from this somewhere down the line,
I can carry on going because everything really is fine.
And this life I live is so uniquely mine.
Do you want to live forever?
said the Gardener to me,
tending to a creeping thought
and watering the sea.
I replied, no, but thanks, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.
And spread my branches out
shelter creatures underneath.
A tree? A tree? He whispered tentatively.
Why, I can't remember what it be.
That word. That thought. That memory.
He shook his head and shrugged at me.
(So I scratched a crude drawing in the dirt
and The Gardener squatted there pondering at it a while,
robes lifted up above bony knees)
But I do that too, said He, jumping up quite suddenly.
Pardon me, but I just see no need - No need to be a tree!
Just beg a princely role of me
and I shall fill your fantasy!
I said, thanks, but well, you see..
I'd rather be a tree.
He paused for quite a while.
Then said okay, a little hesitantly.
Then said that he would not be that okay
until He sees these silly things called trees.
And until he sees the purpose of the thing it is
that means so wonderfully much to me
want to be a tree.
So He turned me to a tree and put me in a park.
Where couples came and families
and cuddling lovers in the dark.
And colored birds were friends to me
and I sheltered all of them beneath.
And spread new life through little seeds
and quenched the world its need to breathe.
And in the autumn dropped my leaves
to feed the insects in the weeds.
I stretched my roots in
luscious ground and saw such beauty all around.
old and happy as only a tree
could ever wish or hope
And then one day I saw a face, quite out of place, was watching me.
And He said..
You are very naturally a tree
and have done so extraordinarily well in green
that I will leave you be to live your dream.
And as he walked away, it seemed
he smiled happily back at me.
This cup that overflows
Does so with tears amidst the wine
Gently, I lure
Gradually I shade pain
Wishes in need of a voice
So you can breathe
In unknown protection
Footsteps echo today
Louder than any loss of direction
I let the cup overflow
Acidic taste enlightens the tongue
Burns the coiled serpent
That desires release
Hisses around my want
In your name
It shall only be vain
To let blossom grow
Where I have carefully let all decay
It is for the good
If scales fall away
I have spent too much time
Letting it all decay
To allow it to breathe again
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