In the quiet of night,
I’ll sit near the amber
Scented candle,
I’ll stretch my hand
Over the flame that
Sits on top like a bee
Peacefully sleeping
On the petal of
A sunflower,
I’ll stir it up,
Let it sting
Until the night
Not so quiet anymore
Blows out the flame,
Seeing it dance before
It becomes absence
And pollen.

Yep,
I ****** up
I lost my head
you can either
blame me
hate me or
forgive me
leave me
or still love me
instead.

This morning I woke up
with music rolling
down my sleeves,
I sit up and as a soft ballad
That the universe sings
Runs laps on
the rims of my ears,
Making me jump up from my bed
To slowly put out my arms,
I can barely keep my eyes open
As I look to see
My right hand holding
unto the hips of the non existent,
My left hand grabbing
Tightly unto the hand of memories,
I waste saliva to ask the quiet room
If they are ready yet,
I don’t wait for an answer,
I slide through the path
That has been walked upon,
I twist and turn and smile.
I let the emptiness
rest upon my arms
As I let her down
as close to the ground as I can
Just to bring her back up
In a subtle graceful movement.
The music stops
and I let go.

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.

I could never love a woman
who does not write poems
It may not be the way
things are said these days,
but I am a man out of time.
I need the blood
that flows through them
for I am weary of bloodless women.

I have aged 100 years since
the dead of this last winter
My skin is paper.
My nerves are bare
and my eyes will soon be chalk
So read me from your heart -
read me with your soft blue eyes.
Let me dream of the wine of my plunder

I could understand a woman
who’d turn her back on poems -
but for love, not
to define herself by –isms
and politicise her  –asms…
I need a woman who is the author
of her own life, not the client
of what others would have her think herself to be.

Come lover, we’ll go walking -
hand me down my boots and shoes
I’ll hobble on my
numb and stumbling stumps
for one last ramble through the sands.
See the trees?
Their hands beseech, from the hill,
your voice to rise in poem one last time.

I traverse the clouds today,
In search of a better day,
Forgotten eyes,
A momentary break
From what the past
Brought and the
Future will bring.

I look out my window,
And suddenly there you
Are again.

You are the blend of
orange and blue
That stretches
from south to north.
So pretty to the common eye,
So undetected to the ones
That don’t know you.

You are the feeling of peace
I feel when the plane
Shakes to the ground
Just to set himself straight
Before touching concrete.

You are the
Air underneath
The wings,
That takes us
To my destination,
And All I wish
is to be grounded
Once again.