You know Sverre I visited Norway once as high summer had begun
I stayed at a place called Avia (I think that was the name)
4am in the morning when we watched black rabbits play
At least I think  they were black,  possibly dark grey
I climbed the barren rocks, collected samples by the score
In that short time I learned to love Norways rugged shores
Sverre dear friend in two short weeks I came to love your land
I reach out cross time and space to take and shake your hand
I've climbed the Vidas rugged rocks and trekked your complex land
I envy you my true friend, you have a country wild and grand

I'd follow you
  To the ends of the earth
I'd sell you my soul
     For what it's worth

A sign for the blind
    And brale for the deaf
You told me you loved me
   & then you left

       Theft!

An OxyMoron
     Stole my heart
Found my sutures
   & picked me apart

A blow to chest
    He rattled my cage
Took my paper heart
  & turned the page

Your skin pale from
Winter. Smooth as
Female Nature Herself; as silk,
Yet warm as young
Motherhood, electric
As newlywed love.

I whisper improvised poetics
Between lips that know each
Pore of your perfect person.
I kiss clichés on your cheekbone,
Nouns on your nose.
Bury my face in your sweet
Eternities of seraphim scented hair,
And pray that the poem
I leave on your parchment skin
Remains unread by
Other readers.
You wrap your covers around
Me, unfolding, then folding,
               Unfolding, then folding,
Like a slowing butterfly mid-
Butterflight.

And I add a poem to everything,
As always.
A poem the exact size of a
Lady loved, -the sound of
Waves of Wish upon Thank,
And the weight of
The world's only
Actual
Church.

We search once more for the crystal stream
Where poets wrote and young lovers dreamt
Of the beautiful years to come

But no more now is the crystal stream
Where poets wrote and lovers dreamt
Of the beautiful years to   come

The crystal stream now a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
The hedgerows long ripped out and gone
The once green fields now barren ground
What legacy do we leave to our unborn sons
Now that the beautiful years have gone

But we poets still can sit and dream
And write of things that might have been
In our minds we still see the crystal stream
And dream of the beautiful years to come

When you take your first steps on that far distant shore
You might be hesitant,  nervous and wont travel very far
But people there will welcome you with warmth and open arms
So look at poetry as your way to open wide the door
And let this become one more step on another distant shore
No one here will mock you or cover you in scorn
If you hesitate to wander round new streets in early morn
Language is no barrier to want you want to do
Because poetry is our language so we will understand you
And so as the number of stamps in your passport grow you might become the one
To hold wide the door for the new and nervous poet first on a distant shore

Shhh..little poet.
Why so angry?
I know you hurt; it comes with
Caring.

Black is a beautiful colour
When used for emphasizing
Contrast.
Alone it is a candle
In a dark room,
Unlit.

Life bites, kicks, pulls your hair
And puts its pointy fingers in your
Eyes laughing.

Other times it is a sleeping lion,
Warm and soft to the touch; too
Full and drowzy with sunlight
To anything but purr.

When Life bares its teeth,
Remember how much a grin
May resemble a growl.

Tell me how it feels to
Scratch the King of the Jungle
Behind its palm-sized ear.

All that glitters
Is gold.

Shhh...little poet.
Why so angry?
There is more to Life
Than life.

The salty ocean air bit his ears.
The sea was angry.

I'm not like you.
Stay there.
Go away.

Silence.

He turned around and walked.
She would never let him truly kiss her.
But his lips had been all over that skin.

I'm done.
You won't let me in.

He felt something crack inside him.
Like a plank of wood shattering.
He felt the shrapnel.

*Medic...

I clearly don't want to die,
So I need to crawl out of this pit.
So ***** you all,
I'll see you on the other side.
That is, if you make it too.

Define a full life.
I sleep four-five hours on
Weeknights.
In winter I work in darkness that
Only breaks during mid-day;

With snow blowing sideways,
Finding its stubborn way between
Garments to touch skin
With a thousand needles.
I have one deep scar for every

Week of work.
I've been more cold than warm,
More exhausted than rested,
I've been to death and back; have
Photos of my own heart from
Nearly unsuccessful surgery.

But staying dead was not for me.
With friends and interests like mine,
Heaven held no grounds to hurry.
There is too much music.
Too much wisdom in old eyes, too
Much beauty in brand new ones.  

I wake up in a warm bed
Beside a warm woman,
Eat warm food daily. Both my
Parents still live. My brother is
My best friend.
I meet challenge upon challenge
Upon challenge.
Some I win.

But more important than anything:
I laugh. I laugh and laugh
Until my stomach can't move,
And I smile to the skies
With my face still wet from tears
I wouldn't bother to hide
From anyone, saying
Well played, up there.
Love every scene; every joke; every
Set. The soundtrack is impeccable.  
Characters loveable.
Give my best to the scriptwriters.
They crack me up.

Can't wait to see how it ends.
Promise me a
Sequel.

I'd do it all again.
Define a full
Life.

Then live
It.