I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Down the pipes it pours.
Wet, earthy smelling and
warm in July.

Keep the sounds for
me.  I hear only the
horns and slather
of the wet cars.

Rain in the buckets.
Rain in the storm
drains.  The pouring
down street lamps
glowing at night.

Rain.  The song of
Songs in the Bible
of my life.

I stand still in the
night.  Listening
for your voice
in the splash of
rain

on my face.

Caroline Shank

We’re all a little cracked.
Or a lot cracked.
Some are even shattered
Because the world
Isn’t perfect
And neither
Are we.
We cry
Then we laugh.
We are flawed creatures.
But don’t
Let your cracks
Break you.
Flaws are beautiful.
A perfect human
Is not truly human.
A rose that never wilts
Is not truly a rose.
Embrace your cracks, people.

No one gets you
Your not useful
In a crisis
Poor box of donuts
I will buy you
And you’re on sale?
I will buy two