I grew up in Kansas.
I graduated from Phillips Andover.
I matriculated at Colunbia over Yale.
I dropped out of law school because I couldn't sleep.
I spent a year at Menninger's that saved my life.
I wrote a poem to my parents. As my father walked by me,
he said "Go buy a rental property." That was the moment
I gained my independence. I was no longer his
"good little boy." I would no longer be his son to live out
his unconscious dreams through me, dreams of becoming
megawealthy, famous, powerful. I was free to be
my real self. I would write "the intellect sees that all
are different, wisdom that all are one." I came to
understand that wealth is not worth. Love is.
I took my dog, Shepard, to the banks of  the Yampa River
where the two of us lived with the animals and birds,
our friends. I wrote over a thousand poems. I even
wrote a novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH. I was at
one with all around me. I live a bucolic life now.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I feel time running like a wild animal tnrough my body
the air might hide from itself in the frenzy of an embrace
the molecules of emotion create the music of muscles, of spheres
I watch this momentum of life unfolding, rising and decreasing
passion feeds the wind, the waters, the eartquakes, it dances on liminal edges
bound and unbound the pulse of creation, of destruction
I am so very quiet, as quiet as the retina that translates the light
when the light touches you my optic nerves get burned but look
how strange,
I see further away into the clarity of hands

Of all the literary
devices, my favorite
one is living.
There's no substitute.

As poets, we pull back the
curtain to our view of life.
You can shape your craft as
you go.
Metaphors will come all
over the page.
Your imagery will become
pencil-sharp and vivid.
Be patient.

If you don't have to
write, it will be easier if
you choose not to.
There are more enjoyable
activities:
***
Eating a lobster at dawn
Fishing
Swimming
Playing with your dog
or cat
*******
traveling.
Even getting your teeth
pulled can be less frustrating.

But if you must write,
you will.
Try not to ***** when
you are sick to your
stomach.

Paint a picture with
words.
Frame it with phrases.
Shine a light into the
vast darkness of mankind's
soul.
Be the light.

I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley

I’m flipping cards and reading the room,
The sun has set, I’ve a meeting with the moon.
I’m begging her, please, take this part out of me,
The part that holds back until she gets up to leave.

I want to be open without all the hurt,
I want something real, something that works.
I daydream and plan and fantasize life a certain way,
But I want to accept it how it is today.

I want to believe the words from his lips,
But I think they’re poison, and I’m being tricked.
I spiral and spin and tornado a lot,
Trying to be brave, something I’m not.

It feels okay until everything is quiet,
Then all of my feelings join in a riot.
I just need a second or two to relax,
But I’m always on edge, and I can’t seem to step back.

Yet I don’t fall, just stand here and wait
For the wind to call or to decide my fate.
Just enough fear to keep me frozen in place,
Standing on a cliff in a purgatory daze.

(Maddy’s Music challenge:
“Write a poem based on three words from a song.”
Song: 'Words of love' by the Beatles 1964)

I’m the harshest critic,
the truest of nonbelievers,
when words of love are used.
Soapy words will not deliver
so please stop trying to be smooth.

Don’t compare me to a summer’s day!
I know that’s from some Broadway play.

Waste not flattery’s rose
praise not my grace,
at least not to my face,
you’re better off praising my clothes.

Forgo sweetness, promise nothing
then you may be onto something
say it, straight up, I won’t faint
trust me, sir, I am no saint.
.
.
A song for this:
Words of love by the Beatles