Upon the dark night, striking three;
A tick representing each step in time,
but time overwhelmed by a trinity
of peace, and a plan greater than one's wildest dreams.

As the trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
a bird sings unto the dark night her song, unique, sweet, and free-spirited

Another beauty upon the night, a tulip,
blossoming, not fully grown, in admiration of this free spirit, the bird.
The tulip observes from a distance the song the bird sings

A praise, a never ending thankfulness
"Thank You for the trees,
Thank You for the waves,
And thank You for me," the bird sings.

In awe of the song bird, the tulip longs to grow, to blossom, to fly, to sing;
Oh, the joy, the praise, the song she'll bring
when fully grown to exemplify her thanks to the three

But, Hold! The clock ticking three, a breath He takes.
The songs of beauty the bird once sang
are silenced more than a whisper

Oh, dear, wilting Tulip; she wonders,
"Why?" she misunderstands, "Why has the bird's song been hushed?"
Oh, so joyful with praise, the songs she sang,
but now unto another Audience, unheard by the flower;

However, the sun rises, the flower realizes,
A new day is upon her. The trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
Waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
Just like any other day.

Partaking in full bloom overnight, grown, she hears the call of three:
You're unique, sweet, and your free-spirit will sing,
for the steps of time past quicker than the steady rhythm of that clock ticking

Fly free, song bird,
Your legacy will only grow sweeter with time
As the bloom of a tulip smiles and praises the One unto which your song once thrived.

Funny how easy
Loves appears to be, until
It laughs with the other easily
Reconcilable "maybes"
That devalue your first "hello".

First, it began as "hello".
Little did you know how
Interested he would be in you, but
Reflecting on it now, you see how those
Tender tendencies weren't exclusive.

Finally, all you have left is "hello",
Like every other girl he knows.
Inevitably, you're one of many
Recycled pretties that thought
They were more than another "maybe".

Hands unraveled
Brutal freezing
Frigid heartache
Hardly easing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Hold me closer
Never ceasing
Take my hand
Forever reaching
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

On your shoulder
Feel me breathing
Touch my heart
Forever pleading
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Let’s be bolder
Take me dancing
Feel the rhythm
My heart racing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

For my last word
Hear me speaking
Love is here
But I’m still seeking
Because I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover



See me tremble
Ice cold breaking
Heat misguided
Feel me shaking
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Take a second to jot down a few words directly into the post box.
Be thankful for the moment you got away today and drove with the windows down to pick up pizza for dinner.
You didn't want to step away from your computer,
but your parents told you to, so you ran the errand.
Driving...
yeah...
hm...
What a nice relief.
Remember the music that played and how the wind brushing your arm reminded you of that liberating feeling when you would ride motorcycles in Estero, and it felt like nothing mattered...
You just drove and hummed whatever song made you feel the happiest.
yeah...

Okay.

Your procrastination is over, so seclude yourself out on the lanai;
brace for the long night ahead.
Maybe your friends will wish you a good night and it'll motivate you for the long haul.
It hasn't been too long since you last stayed up until 2... 3... maybe 4am, right?
Put on that playlist. (It will help.)
Let Son Lux provide that numbing white noise,
loud enough to keep you energized, quiet enough to let you type.
Maybe you'll stay out until you get it done.
Maybe you'll just get it over with tonight.
Maybe you'll want to stay out, to see the sunrise.
Maybe,
but for now, finish up your word doodles,
your little mindless rants,
so you can apply your mind to the "important things".
You'll make the best of it. (I know you will.)
Maybe you'll have fun with it.
Maybe you'll be proud of it.
Maybe you'll forget everything you've learned,
Maybe,
but for now, this is your time to write,
your time to prove yourself,
so you can tell the rest of the world,

"I did it."

I’m stuck between impatience and time moving too fast.
If only certain moments could hold off and last,
Yet let me be the first to set the record straight.
I know that, in the end, it will all be worth the wait.
I’m not here because I want to relive the past.
While times have been perfect, the idea is too vast:
To stay where you are, red, and not look for what’s ahead.
However, why is the future an idea i’m urged to dread?
While this time is exciting, and often inviting,
I see the circumstance filled with crying and spiting.
No, I’m not scared, or maybe I was.
I’ve learned that I can’t live that way, only because
I’ll suffer that way in this current time I’m in,
And living right now is already hard enough to begin.
I’m not here to sulk, i’m not here to brag.
I’m just impatiently enduring the drag
Of time, of now, wanting it to slow to yellow,
While I’m eager, insisting on life’s green light, “go.”
Time, a constant thing, still looks me in the face
To say, “you think you know it all, but I will set the pace”.
No matter the task, the toll, the race, I’m in it for the ride.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell my impatient indecisiveness that it’ll have to subside.
Maybe time is like traffic. “Do I gas it, or hit the breaks?”
Either way, I’m afraid of collisions, so that’s a risk I just won’t take.

Rainy days and dripping windows,
Once again, beside my pillow,
I lay upon my bed alone,
But in a place to me, unknown.

Day two, beyond the first “hello’s”,
Clouds still hover, and even billow,
They say goodbye to each of their own,
They thunder and sprinkle before heading on home.

After their hastened diminuendo,
Most clouds scatter among the fellow.
I compare to them to see how I’ve grown,
knowing rain brings a harvest from a seed that was sewn.

There once was a boy with chameleon skin,
But his eyes told a story the more he gave in.
There was no hiding, as he caught the attention
Of a helpless little star, stranded in the horizon.
Familiar with the longing, she yearned to fall fast;
However, she couldn’t, held by the hurt of her past,
Until, one day, she saw the twinkle in his eye.
“How could a chameleon outshine the night’s sky?”
She questioned her reality, bound by insecurity,
But dared to lean further into his sincerity.
One night, she tripped, and out of bounds she fell,
But she couldn’t help but dance, mesmerized by gravity’s well.
“How silly I must look” she said, approaching the ground,
But all else disappeared once she heard a familiar sound.
His mindful inquiry, she never knew she needed.
Her heart began to blaze, “that’s all I want,” she pleaded.
She couldn’t help but be inspired by the sight
Of the twinkle in his eyes, refracting her own light.
Lightyears of observation presented a reality,
One she so wanted to feel, but could not really see.
She oft’ recalled the hour that her heart was still,
Remembering his freedom, while he perched upon that hill.
There once was a boy with chameleon skin,
But she loved how he shined as he failed to blend in,
So as she saw his heart, she really hoped he knew
That while the whole world could watch her, she told him
“I see you...”

Fistfuls of lust, yet tender
Smell your skin, and dare remember
Holding, yielding, grasping, pleading

Smokey eyes and steaming embers
Destruct the inner walls to lend her
Naïve tongue and tremble breathing

Heat. “I like it”.

Roughing, grinding, fasting, slowing
Oils seeping, fingers deeping
Push and pull to tease and bend her.

Stop, but just to start again,
Steaming. Heating. Beating… Beating…
Beat the heart to break and mend her.

Days like today call for second dinners
Because days like today missed the one in the morning

Seconds dinners substitute one for the other
You get sleep, but miss the one
You miss sleep, but get the other
Though you hardly ever get the one,
You can still hope to get the other,
Because one bowl filled with satin glazed rings is just as promising as those midnight stars outside your window.
They both help you sleep
and the thunder begins to settle.

...My hardened heart has been awakened.
The broken grounds will begin to quake and
within the crevices between the faults,
Your rushing water will flood....

Goodbye, my dear friend, for now.
I’m gone for only a day,
But I know that you know how,
for our next minuet, I’ll await.

Goodbye, my dear ol’ Chickering,
‘Til the next time I’ll sit and then
I’ll listen to your diamond ring
Bless my ears again.

Thank you, yes you, my dear,
For offering your friendly counsel,
For lending me your patient ears
Over years and through tears as well.

Just a day, my dear, lil’ piano,
Until I’ll peer again into your musical window.

It shook me.
Like the buzzing of an early morning alarm, I was awoken from my sleep.
Into reality, I was thrown, and into the mini-van, I was packed away.
I didn’t want to leave, but I left with my family
And, by the grace of God, a fourteen hour drive landed us safely in Georgia.
Georgia… Ah, Georgia.
It had been a while since my last visit, though every previous time was voluntary.
In Georgia, they cancel school over a little rain,
While the eye of the storm hovers its dreadful head over my home,
As if to see what it could devour.
But it didn’t.
It didn’t succeed.
It didn’t quench its thirst.
It couldn’t devour.
It barely left a mark on my home, but the mark on the community was much larger.
This was a wake-up call to that community to commune, to partake in its purpose.
It was a call to me to partake in mine.
My calling, like a dream from a deep sleep,
Was awoken… and
It shook me.

“Why does she write poetry?”
“She must be in love...”
“I wonder who she’s writing about.”

My words are more
than mindless infatuation,
though they lend themselves
to this tendency.
For instance, I wrote this
in less that 5 minutes,
because “love” isn’t the only
motivation to my poetry.
Don’t underestimate
the intention of my inspiration.

5 pennies in a nickel…
10 pennies in a dime…
25 pennies in a quarter…
100 pennies in a dollar…
Each penny plays a particular part in
the grand scheme of economic "advancement"

Money is exchanged.
It comes…
It goes…
Some people see its worth,
while others don’t.

It makes people happy,
But then again,
It only brings sadness at the same time.

It's counterproductive.

Over the counter, at the minimum wage shopping center,
Minimal glances are changed,
For minimal durations…
Each penny is a part of a whole…
There’s a price to be paid…
It moves into the hands of another.

Hum, hum, hum along.
Sing with me (y)our favorite song.
Please listen close, for here, tonight,
You’ll find your comfort in my plight.

Hum, hum, hum along.
Sing if all the words are wrong,
But don’t delay, just hold on tight
And maybe we can sing them right.

Hum, hum, hum along
To every note, both short and long.
Erase your troubles from your sight,
And there it is: your soul’s delight.

Star light, star bright,
Twinkling with a neon sight,
How I love thy brilliant light,
And marvel in your twinkling might.

Shooting star, longing sigh,
Flying through a misty sky,
How I love thy wondrous why,
And stay along ‘till you draw nigh.

I wish I may, I wish I might,
I wish to understand your plight.
How I love thy marvelous height,
And hope you’ll stay throughout the night.

Flying fast, flying high,
Right before my very eye.
How I love thy heart’s imply,
But hate to have to say goodbye.

Innocent girl
You have no hate in your heart
You only see the best
In people

Innocent girl
Precious in all that you are
You deserve the wholesome things
So little

You have to understand
How the world is imperfect
And no boy or any man
Should make you feel less worth it

Pretty little girl
Let no one challenge your art
It’s unique in every purpose,
It’s fragile

Pretty little girl
Talented, careful, and smart
Keep that steadfast, selfless love,
It’s valuable

I often see poems that go by "untitled".
Some may even refer their poems as "Untitled" with capitalized importance.
"Untitled" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unimportant".
The work is still in process.
It has importance.

I often write poems that go by titles.
Some may even say that my poems are "Unoriginal" with cliche names.
"Unoriginal" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unintentional".
The work went through the process.
It has intention.

I often read poems because of their titles.
Some may even claim that their poems are "Profound" with unlimited potential.
"Profound" is not to be, now should it be, mistaken for "invaluable".
The work is still processing.
Its value has yet to be seen.

My room is looking emptier than it ever has before,
Got the clothes on my back; boxes are packed, sitting by the door.
Oh, how this is happening oh so soon feels like a dream,
But by the time the week is up, it’s me, my dorm, and the university.

You know, I haven't written in a while.
It's been hard, because I don't know what makes me smile
anymore. I see one's eyes, feel his fingers through my hair,
while, on another note, I cannot forget how another one cared.
I thought love was something that I once knew,
until my love for my best friend suddenly grew.
I fought and I argued and I justified the means,
but now my heart hurts from hearing my head's screams.
I'm torn, I'm broken, and my heart has been shattered.
I don't know what to think, as my romantic thoughts scatter.
I can't help that one is so close of the two,
but also can't help but wonder if the One is You.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo;
why were you the one to go?
Why is another one so close by?
How can you both cause my heart's cry?
The time is not now, so I'll wait for it's end,
but it's difficult when some want to be more than friends.
I wonder if this collision is sometimes inevitable,
but if this is it, how could I feel so terrible?
I don't hate the kindness or subtle ways of affection,
but it feels like that's the surface of this overwhelming infection.
One overtakes me completely, working hard with great intention,
while another barely speaks, and he has all of my attention.
Which love is greater? Is there such a love as this
that can take my breath away with a subtle little miss,
or is it of another, the one who gives me all his time
to sweep me off my feet while the ground is one my mind?
Am I falling in love or caught in it's memory?
Can I call it quits now, or still wait for my legacy?
If I knew, I wouldn't be ranting in a poem.
I just wish I had closure, so I could better know Him.

www.

I searched for your name
I searched for the famous
words of your own oppression
to learn a valuable lesson
of why you are yourself

I searched for your name
I searched for explanations
and recommendations of whom
you admire to know, whom you
aspire to be for yourself and others

I searched for your name
I searched. For what pertains
to a complicated mind
if I can't understand my own rhymes
for myself?

No. I searched for your breath
I searched for the air in your lungs,
the restless fuel waiting upon your tongue
so that I my breathe and feel
the reality that truly is surreal
in the brilliantly mind within you.

And these are the things we don't always see:
The hour spent walking, the trouble spent curling, the struggle one has in knowing.

And these are the things we don't want to see:
The blisters from hurrying, the burns from perfecting, and the tears one has in breaking.

Like swimming upstream,
Going against the grain,
Walking through a festival's crowd,
I cut into the package,
But I couldn't get through.
It was stuck.
Pressure
Would not
Suffice,

So it

Snapped.

It hurts more to succumb to the darkness
Than to resist its emotional drag,
To give into the negativity
And accept the longevity
Of that damp, moldy, abrasive rag,
Than to accept and see the Likeness.

Accept the overwhelming Embrace,
Rather than the darkness of that place.
Overcome. Claim what’s overdue:
The Love, the Peace, and the Grace.

Recently “minutes” or recently “hours”?
Recently, minutes were reasonably ours.
Like how I “recently” saw him at the grocery store,
And “recently” went back, hoping I might again.

Sure, we spoke…
Recently.

So I logged on, recently,
Just to see what’s up.
That’s how it always is,
And the status is always the same:
“Recently”

When I would visit Ohio, my grandma always said
certain things in Spanish, as to not flood my head.

I wish I understood that secret life she led
by interpreting her knowledge, I know to have been well read,

But now my striving hunger will never be quite fed,
for now those precious, foreign words are unforgivingly dead.

Oh, how I cry very often, at night while I’m in bed.
Regrets like these don’t go away, so I try to cope instead.

I’ll never forget her loving Spanish ***** (that memory’s never fled),
even though my nostalgic heart regretfully succumbs to dread.

a lot can happen in a year, maybe four;
a lot can happen in an hour, maybe more.

talking is fine, but can you take on the risk?
now, i’m not just talking about an ordinary task.
whether it be a lifetime of love, the love of your life,
or one particularly special night,
it all comes down to this:
a right
of passage, a race.

who’s better?

he’s taller, but he has the nice hair;
she’s blonder, while she tries not to care.
he can’t dance, and he won’t try;
she won’t admit to the tear in her eye.
he knows what he wants, and he knows nothing;
she tries to distinguish a little bit of everything.

stop it.

there’s no winning the race yet because his shoe is untied;
she can’t stand and go face that finish line.
he tripped and fell, but so did she;
the other guy ran, only to fall to his knees.
stop panting and collect yourself- just breathe.

a lifetime led to four years, and four years to that day;
she ran and chased too many check points along the way.
afraid of being alone, she asked too many times;
afraid of dancing alone, she asked, but was still denied.
him, him, him, him, he who was possibly that sacred hymn:
one he wondered impatiently,
another he pursued contradictingly,
another he fell flawlessly;
however, no he was to be lawfully,
but only so rightfully.

this is no lifetime, but only
one evening not meant to be lonely.
the only way to win is to face them directly in the eye
and have every question answered. why?
because this is that special night,
senior year, and you have the right.

step back, step up, have courage, calm down.
ASK her to a quaint place in town,
but before she even knows you’re listening,
just as both your hearts are quickening,
surprise HER with that special something.
if she knows, you may think you blew it,
when really, this whole time, she probably knew it.
it won’t be easy, but if it comes from the heart,
there’s the finish line. all you’ve got TO do is start…

ya know, sometimes Poems Reveal Oblivious Messages...

I don't write to myself.
I don't write for a shelf.
I write for strangers in an electronic abyss.
I don't write to take care.
I don't write just to share.
I write to hide behind metaphorical bliss.
I don't write for my friends.
I don't write for the trends.
I write sometimes because I am just bored.
I don't write 'cause I'm good,
but maybe I should
write for me, what I want, instead of making it a chore.

“I love you.”
“I know.”
Between the highs,
And the low,
In the times
When I’m alone,
That’s what love does.

It comforts,
And hides
In the corners
Of your mind,
Yet surprises
Just in time.
That’s what love does.

It takes
The chance
The percentage
Of circumstance,
The sacrifice
In glance,
And does what love does.

It conquers,
And pays
The cost,
Without delays,
As if it’s not much,
To stay,
Because that’s what love does.

It hugs,
It kisses,
It sees you
And misses,
Yer true love,
Rarely disses,
Because that’s what love does.

Well, hello! We meet again.
I’ve brought you here today to inquire about your likeness.
No, I’m not going anywhere, yet.
But I do want to inform you on how important you are.
Compliments are just a formality, but you’re pretty,
Despite the chains that hold you back,
There are keys to happiness and you’re one of them.
I wonder, though, how even with your colorfully streamed
Shimmer, how you still manage to get lost…

But no judgment here!

Without you, I’d be stuck more often than I already do.
Please consider how much I appreciate your companionship
On those many exhausting rides, and casual strolls.
Now, if you’d excuse me, we gotta go, or we’ll be late.
Please don’t get lost again.

Allergies... Allergies.
Gosh, **** it, allergies.
The sniveling sniffles
Ravaging in my nostrils

Itching... that itch,
It makes my nose twitch.
The sting through the tunnels
Of my overall troubles.

Eh.... AHH...
I promise I'm not sad,
My eyes are just showing
The twinge of my sneezing.

were we dumb or were we clever
when we said we'd be together
did we really think that we
would end up where
we are
going to have a great adventure
it's just you and me together
so let's go have fun forever,
go exploring and endeavor
things like love.

I See a picture,
Dear with color bright.
Its whimsical strokes,
A smooth, but lovely, Sight.

I Smell the paint,
A sense not faded yet.
Like prints left exposed,
With the trail's fine Scent.

But underestimated, the Tool,
And ability to express
The ideas my head
Conjures as a coordinated mess.

Yes, the paintbrush,
Much simpler than I,
Yet it works its hardest,
While I don't even try.

Tell me 'bout your family
Tell me how you've been

Have you found your saving grace
With every act of sin

I hope you know, with every word
I am captivated

With every poem I've ever heard,
I have cultivated

A passing transaction
Of humble attraction
For you, my friend.


Tell me 'bout your heartache
Tell me how you feel

Have you ever seen a thing
So precious and surreal

I hope you know that you are loved
With no hesitation

With every song, I come undone
Accept my invitation

For conversation
With consideration
For you, my friend.


Tell me you won't leave me
Tell me we're not done

Please leave no words left unsaid
Or any song unsung

I hope you know this is the time
It's ours for the taking

With every hour, before you leave,
Just know that I'm making

A heartfelt pleading
Of hidden feeling
For you, my friend

waiting
              for
                   the day
                               that you
                                              will
                                                     write me
                                                                      a few
                                                                                kind
                                                                                         words
                                                                                                    ........................

I have a friend in town from out of state.
Though, whenever he’s around, he receives much hate.
The people around me share my same profession.
We’re creative writers, who who occasionally seek attention,
but there is one person we don’t want to see walk
down our humble little street we call the writer’s block.

Rainy days and dripping windows-
I look out. A mystical creature
Tiptoes into my front yard, knowing
He carries on his back the feature
Presentation: a man, maybe a knight.
His boots creak, walking up the steps
Of my front porch, a simpler sight
Than those from Romeo and Juliet
And other fairytale stories.
I slip on my fuzzy socks with gripping
Bottoms and head towards the door.
Silence. I open, and with his hand extending,
My feet join his on the wooden floor.
"Where are we going? I'm not sure
If I can be dressed like this and go that far."
He told me "The clouds are pure.
You just come as you are."