You don’t have to rise like the sun each day—
some mornings, it's enough just to open your eyes,
to sit with the silence,
to feel your heartbeat and whisper, “I’m still here.”

You are not the storm that passed,
nor the ruins it left behind.
You are the seed under the soil,
waiting for the right rain,
the quiet miracle of a soul not giving up.

Let no one shame the pace of your healing.
Let no voice drown out the hush of your trying.
Because surviving is not small.
And breathing, on hard days,
is a kind of bravery the world forgets to praise.

So rest, dreamer.
You don’t need to shine tonight.
You just need to stay—
soft, alive,
and wildly worthy of tomorrow.

The wooden boards
of this old harbour
reeks of blood
stains,
seeping through
the gaps.
Splashing
into
a crystal
but yet
blurred mirror.
Who we were,
before the jump
now forgotten,
Drowning
into red seas.

Viens, cherchons cette ombre propice
Jusqu'à l'heure où de ce séjour
Les fleurs fermeront leur calice
Aux regards languissants du jour.
Voilà ton ciel, ô mon étoile !
Soulève, oh ! soulève ce voile,
Éclaire la nuit de ces lieux ;
Parle, chante, rêve, soupire,
Pourvu que mon regard attire
Un regard errant de tes yeux.

Laisse-moi parsemer de roses
La tendre mousse où tu t'assieds,
Et près du lit où tu reposes
Laisse-moi m'asseoir à tes pieds.
Heureux le gazon que tu foules,
Et le bouton dont tu déroules
Sous tes doigts les fraîches couleurs !
Heureuses ces coupes vermeilles
Que pressent tes lèvres, pareilles
Aux frelons qui tètent les fleurs !

Si l'onde des lis que tu cueilles
Roule les calices flétris,
Des tiges que ta bouche effeuille
Si le vent m'apporte un débris,
Si ta bouche qui se dénoue
Vient, en ondulant sur ma joue,
De ma lèvre effleurer le bord ;
Si ton souffle léger résonne,
Je sens sur mon front qui frissonne
Passer les ailes de la mort.

Souviens-toi de l'heure bénie
Où les dieux, d'une tendre main,
Te répandirent sur ma vie
Comme l'ombre sur le chemin.
Depuis cette heure fortunée,
Ma vie à ta vie enchaînée,
Qui s'écoule comme un seul jour,
Est une coupe toujours pleine,
Où mes lèvres à longue haleine
Puisent l'innocence et l'amour.

Ah ! lorsque mon front qui s'incline
Chargé d'une douce langueur,
S'endort bercé sur ta poitrine
Par le mouvement de ton coeur...

ınk a new line that drips upon a page;
poetry plays a point that letters spell.
when feet are running meter's rhyme and rage
the poet writes of love that's worth the tell.
a statement made of stanzas rings a bell
in ears that crave the rhythm of a verse
rehears'd in dulcet tones that maybe yell
at times when feeling love is but a curse.
volta Velveeta cheese an early hearse
and bathroom book of verses by anon.
musical fruits smell better smelling worse:
ıf music be the food of loveplay on.
     in octaves, sevenths, sixths, fifths, fourths, and thirds,
     poesy footsy plays with gaming words.

God bless the poets!
The pollinators they are!
The architects of the soul's garden,
The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds,
The ones who witness and testify
The pain of growth,
Applaud the blooming,
And invite the bees.

Pintad un hombre joven... con palabras leales
y puras; con palabras de ensueño y de emoción:
que haya en la estrofa el ritmo de los golpes cordiales
y en la rima el encanto móvil de la ilusión.
Destacad su figura, neta, contra el azul
del cielo, en la mañana florida, sonreída:
que el sol la bañe al sesgo y la deje bruñida,
que destelle en los ojos una luz encendida,
que haga temblar las carnes un ansia contenida
y que el torso, y la frente, y los brazos nervudos,
y el cándido mirar, y la ciega esperanza,
compendien el radiante misterio de la vida...

Soft Rock Music
Old and New
No social media
Fan or Air conditioning on
Cold drinks standng by in great Thermos
Phones silenced
Hugs that go into the night
Amazing and loving moments
Easy and gentle

the dots are slowly disconnecting
I can see it coming now
the register jams more often
did I do that
and why...or how?
'yes, you told me that
remember...?
but it's okay
everything is fine'
the signs are now clear
this creeping fear
the foggy mist of my decline

the familiar sound
of the 2 o'clock train
snaps me out of my hazy state
I move to the porch
and view the mountains
listening to nature
I wait

the new Sun is crisp
and it's warmth dries the night
the first cup of coffee
with the first sign of light

I search for the shirt
that I'll wear on this day
and my best fitting jeans
then to Father I'll pray

the walk isn't far
half mile...a bit more
odd smile from Ms Harris
as she opens her door

the wildlife remain calm
as I take up a seat
pulled out a Lucky
and inhaled it deep

the dots reconnect
head bowed
on my knees
2 o'clock comes and goes
like a chirp in the breeze

The best part of waking up






is picking my nose
and rolling all my gooey boogers up
into one big ball,
an amalgamation of snot and crust,
then flicking it off
and trying to get it to stick
up on that one spot on the ceiling.

Y'know, that one slightly darkened spot
just above my *** stained desk
downstairs in the back room?

It's down there next to all those
empty Jim Beam bottles, well
I mean they're not empty anymore
because I keep filling them up with ****.
But they used to be empty at one point,
actually I guess they've been empty twice;
once before the factory added the liquor
and then again after I drank all the liquor
but before I added the ****.

I digress,
you get it.

The ****** spot on the ceiling.

Good morning. 🌞

In You, I am alive —
In You, I can try; thrive —
In You, I can create,
In You, I know my fate —
In You, I can fail.
In You, I can see all,
Now, truly.

Bed shaking
stop thinking
it's going to be just fine.

Head spinning
eyes that are just there
and a song for the restless.

Oh what i would do for a pretty brain
it's way too much pain
free me from this cage...
It's growing inside my veins.

When the moon meets the sun,
it dies —
carrying all three brightnesses in its sight.
When relief kisses pain,
the pain disappears.
Believe me, dear,
I'm not afraid to be the moon —
I'm scared you're the pain.

All the things I wanted to say to you
Have turned to fading memories.
And there’s nothing left I can do
To rewind these quiet miseries.

This isn’t what I wished for—
Your light dimmed,
Then outran mine before.
But I already missed the boat,
Fate tore through vows I never wrote.

At least come to me in dreams—
In my sleep, or drifting through day beams.
Don’t bring in the noise of reality,
Let this world be just you and me.

We’ll hang ornaments on fading daffodils,
I won’t wake if the silence fills.
If you’re a lie, let me stay within it,
I'll cross every tie just to relive a minute.

So please—don’t wake me up.
Let me swing inside this make-believe rhyme.
Not just for now...
Because at least in this world,
You’re finally mine.

You found me washed up,
I’d fallen at sea,
Searching for an island,
I’d dreamt into being-
I was sure it was safe from all harm.

Half alive,
you dragged me up and into the dunes,
Began to resuscitate me,
with nothing else, but the sureness in your eyes.
My heart danced,
Yet my head stood still.

We tangled our threads,
I held your throat, with electric hands,
Wrapped up in our own special place,
You were my fire in the rain.

And as the fires roared,
Love soared,
So I jumped from my own skin,
With fear In my hands,
Strangled my self to death
Put myself out,  
trampling upon the embers of us,

      With the same old boots i had worn before   you saved my life x x

i feel a sense of dread
there are beings inside my head
they believe me to be undead
i think the monsters want me bled.

i told them i think something is wrong
they looked at me, smiled, and moved along.
i danced with one in the dead of night,
now they grip onto my mind with all their might.

Le couchant dardait ses rayons suprêmes

Et le vent berçait les nénuphars blêmes ;

Les grands nénuphars entre les roseaux

Tristement luisaient sur les calmes eaux.

Moi j'errais tout seul, promenant ma plaie

Au long de l'étang, parmi la saulaie

Où la brume vague évoquait un grand

Fantôme laiteux se désespérant

Et pleurant avec la voix des sarcelles

Qui se rappelaient en battant des ailes

Parmi la saulaie où j'errais tout seul

Promenant ma plaie ; et l'épais linceul

Des ténèbres vint noyer les suprêmes

Rayons du couchant dans ses ondes blêmes

Et les nénuphars, parmi les roseaux,

Les grands nénuphars sur les calmes eaux.

Me ha quedado clavada en los ojos
la visión de ese carro de trigo
que cruzó rechinante y pesado
sembrando de espigas el recto camino.

¡No pretendas ahora que ría!
¡Tú no sabes en qué hondos recuerdos
            estoy abstraída!

Desde el fondo del alma me sube
un sabor de pitanga a los labios.
Tiene aún mi epidermis morena
no sé que fragancias de trigo emparvado.

¡Ay, quisiera llevarte conmigo
a dormir una noche en el campo
y en tus brazos pasar hasta el día
bajo el techo alocado de un árbol!

Soy la misma muchacha salvaje
que hace años trajiste a tu lado.

Someone I loved once gave to me
A box of night, no lock, no key.
I held it close with trembling hands
Not knowing then its strange demands.

It whispered cold, it swallowed light
It taught me silence, sleepless nights.
I cursed its weight, I grieved its cost
A symbol of the love I’d lost.

But seasons turned, as seasons do
And cracks let in a deeper truth.
Within that dark, a seed was sown
A strength I never would have known.

Now looking back, I see it clear
The gift was pain, the gift was fear.
But in its heart, a truth would lift
That even sorrow hides a gift.

Tell me your secrets
Tell me your sorrow
All of your regrets
Your dreams of tomorrow
If I asked you to stay
What would you say
Would you tell me right away
Or make it a game we play

If I could catch a rainbow,
I'd do so just for you
So you could share its beauty
On the days you're feeling blue.

If I could, I'd buy an island
You could call it your very own,
A place to find serenity,
Where you could be alone.

If I could take your troubles
I'd throw them in the sea,
But all these things I'm finding
Are impossible for me.

'Cause I can't buy an island
Nor catch a rainbow fair,
So I'll just do what I do best:
Be someone who's always there.

Grey clouds crack open, weeping angels,
rain cascades, a liquid broom
washing earth's filth and sin.
The smell? Enigmatic—spring's embodiment,
summer evening's bold scent.
Drops like strings, smacking,
a hundred clapping hands under a faucet.
The wind keeps pace, whooshing,
shaking excess from leaves.
Tires glide on wet slick,
cars pass like crashing waves.

Peaceful, serene, innocent, refreshing.
Cold strings, exploding like macro water grenades,
rejuvenate skin.
A wonder to stare at, always.
Whether three, experiencing first cognizance,
or thirty-one, marveling.
Rain, a majestic measure of universal peace
in a world of chaos and noise.
Chaotic itself, like a jazz band drumming,
wind wailing past windows—
yet so serene.

Still, rain brings annoyance.
Bones ache, joints lock and creak,
and a youthful strut turns rusty tin-man waltz.
But its mysticism deafens pain
and frees the mind to fly.
Clarity, a rare enigma,
tickles skin raises arm hairs,
kisses lips with reality,
appearing ****, flirting with prismatic curves—
often ignored, and unnoticed.
Euphoria is splendidly remiss.

So easy to catalog memories,
reflect in life's mirror,
and determine what needs changing.
Everything changes with time.

Life, a garden.
We inherit seeds of knowledge,
plant interesting parts.
Love and sadness water, shine on plants
bearing flowers we call friends:
tulips, lilacs, dangerous roses.
Unique: blue, orange, red, white, pink.
Some sweet, some foul.
Each one is unique.
Flowers grow wild and wilt on vines.
Some aren't flowers, but weeds,
diseasing what they touch, like death.
Covered in insects, eroding beauty.
As a gardener, you decide:
anarchic disarray?
Or grab shears, and prune ugliness.
Friends who matter won't let your soul wilt.
Yes, rainfall brings such clarity.

But clarity's bubbles are superficial.
Easily burst, window closing, smog reconfiguring.
A bowling ball rolls across the sky and strikes pins—
a lucky strike.
Tree branches of light shoots extend,
lasts a second, and seems slower.
Adrenaline rushes, heart pounds like a drum.
Seconds pass, another strike, another flash.
A storm had come...
and it would pass.

So, you're finally seeing the truth,                                                           ­         more aware of what's happening with you                                                      You don't have to dress up the hurt,                                                            ­    or rub your wounds with salt or dirt                                                            I've seen you in confusion and despair,                                                feeling like you can't be repaired                                                                  Seek spiritual purification                                                     ­                            not more time in isolation                                                        ­                    find  your purpose and redefine it                                                             center yourself, then seek refinement                                                       ­            This is the dark night of your soul                                                         face yourself or be swallowed whole