Here is my broken heart
Here is my shattered life
Here are all my faults and failures
As a woman a mother and wife
All the promises I've broken
All the hateful things I've said
All the life I left unspoken
Wasting my breath upon the dead

Here is my sweat and sacrifice
Here is my blood and pain
My hollow effort to pay some price
Worry wasted for no gain
All the lies I cling to
All the truth I threw away
All the darker thoughts I bring you
Waste my steps and run astray

Here’s the sum of my existence
Here’s the hardest part to learn
This wretched pride and persistence
Stokes a bonfire set to burn
All I am at the end of me
All damage done that I could do
All that’s left is the love that sets me free
Everything comes from you
TL Boehm 10/06/2013

I shouldn't be telling you
that I think you're beautiful,
or that I think of you more often than I would like to admit.
And I shouldn't tell you that I must have read every single line 500 times.
I shouldn't say that I think you're perfect,
or that you make my heart flutter.
I shouldn't let you know that I look forward to seeing your name in my inbox.
I shouldn't say that I have never seen anybody radiate grace quite the way you do.
I shouldn't tell you that I fell asleep last night,
thinking of you.

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair—
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it’s useless of investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
“It must have been Macavity!”—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macacity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

.

Pathways lead,
I follow with my eyes closed
euphonious tender wings
of painted treetop songs
counted in measures of bliss

Sunsets drift,
tangerine sleeves roll the horizon
as symphonic emotions call
in echoes of promise
lingering in eternal dreams

Destinations wait,
in distances of northward thought,
where cities come to meet,
and skylines form in your melody,
choruses of breathtaking brush strokes

Passion abounds,
played of satin stringed desires,
sonnets on silhouettes float
in the  harmonies of my heart
*singing sweetly with you

>

Another rainy morning spent staring through
a wiper smeared windshield
hoping to beat the next light, no such luck
When that song, our song or what used to be our song
sneaks in through these worn out speakers…again
and I listen…like a fool…again
  
The emptiness returns full force and I feel sick
It happens every time and every time I sound like a broken record
“Turn the **** thing off”, my mind shouts at me,
but still I am unable to hear over the singing sadness
and the sound of my heart breaking all over again,
God I’m pathetic

So here I am heading to the station earlier than usual
at least the traffic isn’t so bad, I guess because roosters can’t drive
Who schedules meetings this early in the morning?
Obviously someone unaware of the benefits of a good night’s sleep
Well look there, maybe my luck is changing, a parking spot right up front
But still, I have a feeling this is going to be a bad day

Ducking from the rain I pause at an advertisement for the rail line,
“Where the hell is the sunshine and blue skies that poster is showing?”
I think as I enter the car and find a seat, which wasn’t hard,
there are only three people on here at this hour,
two old ladies dressed for church or the doctor
and a kid with headphones, sleeping, now why didn’t I think of that?

I pull out my notebook when I see her hurrying for the already closing doors.
I jump up and hold them open so she can enter.
She is soaking wet, but ****, she is drop dead gorgeous,
dark hair and beautiful light brown eyes, she looks up and says “thank you”
with a smile that melts me right where I stand
“My pleasure” I answer as she takes the seat across from mine

She opens her ipad, I pretend to look at mine, but can’t take my eyes off of her
Now engrossed in whatever she's reading, swiping a finger across the screen  
and then that smile appears again, I can barely breathe as my
heart tries to beat its way out of my chest. Dressed in a black skirt and top,
she looks like she’s just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine…
“Oh crap, she just caught me staring”

I quickly glance down to her ipad then back up to her gorgeous eyes.  
I feel like an idiot, or worse. When she giggles and says, “Poetry.”  
“Poetry?” I ask in a voice stuttering from embarrassment
Waving her device she replies, "I’m reading poetry, do you like poetry?”
“Umm, yes, I, uh, do like poetry.”  She pats the seat next to her and says,
“Come, sit here. Let me read you one.”

Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all…