You claim that you're no poet,
That you lack the gift of words,
Yet your notes convey such meaning,
Leaving me filled with the gift of love,
So I respond forget the poetry,
Pretty phrases and simple rhymes,
Continue writing as you do,
As I will love you for the rest of time.

If you are the a sun,
Then I am life blossoming from your warmth.

If you are the earth,
Then I am the moon eternally by your side.

Three hearts for thee divided,
Lust battles with duty for attention,
Making waves that drowned your cries,
Yet you persisted.

Three loves became one,
Your heart the sole victor,
To you go the spoils,
And yet you persisted.

One heart's love is yours entire,
Overworked and overwhelming,
Wounded soldiers make terrible bedmates,
And yet you persist.

You’re the message my heart needed to hear.

I don't know that I believe in fate
Or angelic intervention
Or providence
Yet you are in my life
Which is a miracle that grows
With the passing of each day

Misery is the wanting but inability to smile with you.

My dissatisfaction does not come from you,
It is not a reaction to your moods or your sometimes bleak outlook,
Nor your terrible self-imaging.

I remember laughing late into the night.
I recall with clarity falling in love with a woman who loved the world we found ourselves in and we laughed till we cried drunk on life and each other.

I sometimes wonder where that woman went.

At times I believe you when you say you whither within a relationship.
At times I believe that is part of my curse.

I do not choose a woman who is content to bake cookies and clean the house,
Though you do those things,
I chose you in your glory with all your lust and love and life.

Yours is a heart meant for freedom and no matter how loosely connected we are I am still the tether to which you are leashed,
And you are chaffing.

I do not want to let you go,
Nor have you asked to,
Yet what are we to do when the life you once celebrated is now oppressed from the summer heat?
I cannot offer shade cool enough to calm the fire smouldering inside of your breast.

Thus my dissatisfaction does not come from you,
Rather my bleak understanding of our future,
One I hope you know that I will do everything I can to discard.

I would have you happy and content.
I would have me the same.

I do not love you as Romeo loved Juliet, tragic misunderstanding, spurned by society's blind perception.

You are no angel sent from heaven above, God's promise made flesh just for me.

We are not soul mates separated by time yet brought back together by Cupid's arrow.  

I am not a frog prince whose kiss will wake you from your long aimless sleep.

Your dragons are you own, good luck slaying them.

I will not build you a tower to look down upon me from above,
Nor will I climb it in some idiotic feat to win your passing fancy.

My love for you is not some tale told by faeries to orphans to give hope of a better life, of a love for each and every one of us, tragic as it may be.

I love you, simply.

My words are not my own,

Nor do they belong to my totem frog
Which hippity hops
His way trough my life,
Guiding me towards a metamorphosis,
From drunkard
To enlightened.
He (I) sure am taking his time,
But should/could this journey be rushed?

My poems are not the caw of the crow and/or raven,
She does not sing a song so beautiful that I am moved to purge it least it take up too much of the spare space I have inside of me.
She is my spirit guide,
Turn this way, choose that one (with the pretty smile which makes you ever so nervous),
Do not wear that ridiculous outfit,
Don't even think of-
Too late, now live with the repercussions, idiot.
A ****** of voices.

My muse tickles my lust and embraces my love
But is neither.
She/he dons many faces none of which I have ever seen.
Whimsical *****, ******* of emotional release
I do not know you!
I write your words as they come into my head.
Or I would,
If I could keep up with your maniacal laughter;
You spew nonsense rapid fire, child slaying zombies with Cheetos stained fingers,
And with all the elegance therein.
Yet,

I am thankful indeed.

My poetry is not for you.
My heart is.
My words belong to the wind.
Emotions cause this volcano to explode.
A release of rhythm, of prose
Of joys and of pains
Of memories of today.

You are a muse.
That's amusing.
A tempest of a temptress,
Your touch sings maladies on my soul.
A dirge of crystal tears
Reflecting lost hope
Lost love.

This poem is not for you.
Yours is a smile that lightens
This burdensome heathen.
Whilst your scorn leaves new scars
Over old,
Like a worn patchwork cloak,
That no wizard ever wore
But this one dons with the certainty
Of the pious
And the loved.

We run from the rain,
Take shelter beneath buildings
And flimsy umbrellas
Afraid to get wet
As if the rain might wash that which is us
Down the street drains,
More sewage to be chemically treated
Before we pump it through the pipes
To shower over our heads
Safe this time as it is controlled by man
Nature's tears confined,
Man's nature defined.

I no longer understand the night.
How it thinly veils the corruption of our souls as our hearts bleed out all that was once innocent.

I am more at home in the light of early morning.
When the sun's warmth takes the bite off of Winter's parting kiss with all the promise of spring and summer's love brightly lit for all to see,
The shadows of yesterday forgotten at least for the moment.

Public transportation reeks of human sweat; the unwashed bodies of common man pressed together like flaked tuna fish in a can, only less well preserved.

What folly bathing can be; as it hides the dark animal truth of who and what we are. The stench we turn our noses up from whilst we traverse throughout our day holds within it's sour notes our true identity.

We are not nicely scented soaps and perfectly groomed hair. We are not our finely pressed clothes or smoothly manicured hands.

We are creatures of this planet with a developed mind capable of great feats but our greatest achievement thus far may be the lies we have convinced ourselves to believe.

And so we pack into busses, trains and planes and do our best not to breath the same air as our fellow passengers on this trip called life.

You warmth slips past my eager lips as I take you in,
Your fall spice tickles my senses as I sigh, falling into the joy of our annual ceremony.

I am not alone in my adoration of you, but I do not grow jealous as others call your name,
Rather I find a sort of community in our shared appreciation,
Like a perfect song you were meant for the world, not one,
Yet each of us singular in the definition of our experience with you.

And so I wet my lips, again tasting the hint of a memory of your last kiss,  I prepare to brave that soft beacon hill of whipped cream topped with a seasoning so familiar yet unknown.

When I think about it, it hurts, so I don't.

Pain is separation from you.

Passion leads
This fool follows.

Pathetic

The worm pinned beneath the claw of the morning bird,
Doomed,
No brain to realize it's peril,
Just automatic twitching
Back and forth like an equally wretched dog's tail.

The drunk homeless vagabond,
Too filthy for mere soap,
**** fights for supremacy of stench, With feces, blood and *****.
A human stain on society.
Nobody's father,
No one's son.

****.
Pull your skirt a little higher,
Her husband may not have noticed you yet,
Buy that man another round.
Where are your morals?
Lost with your self worth?
And you too stupid to comprehend that your emptiness cannot be filled by the ***** that you swallow.
Wake up wrinkled and alone,
No yoga pose is going to save you from yourself.

Me,
In your eyes when I show weakness,
Cry over veiled insult,
Admit defeat in the face of misery,
Depression.
Well I'll give you that,
What is depression anyway but a weak man's excuse to fail?

Pathetic.

Merry Christmas for me
Today
Is you asleep
In someone else's bed
Yet beside me
As I sip wine
While the muscle relaxants kick in

Few things touch a poet more than the pure beauty of a smile newly in love,

Or the tremendous pain seen in the tear filled eyes of a heart recently broken.

I can no longer see one without recalling the other,
And in that I find my poetic doom.

A cup of coffee in my hand,
Fresh aromas rising with it's steam
In this cool crisp morning air,
As I sit and read,

Your poetry inspires and moves me
As I catch a glimpse of your soul's echo.
We remain strangers separated  by land
Yet together we find community in words,
In prose,
In the release of voices that reside inside of each of us.

This is my morning routine,
I greet the day with your rhythms and rhymes,
I sip and savour them,
Along with my coffee,
And my heart knows peace.

I am ready for this day.

You don't look like I know you should; your clothes, your hair, your body and your accessories speak to a culture that I do not understand.
I'm not even sure I want to.

Before you cry hate realize that I am not speaking to the colour of your skin; pigment has zero relevance to the way you were raised, the friends you chose or who you are as you stand before me in this modern society.

The alien I find in you are the choices you've made, or rather the very few choices you've made as you've allowed the flavours of the masses to salt your very being, laying the foundation for the same row houses on each block, 'we' nothing more than automations that turn right, vote left and drive straight on into the witless death of 'our' meaningless life. Group hug.

I obviously am not talking about you; you read this poem and judge it unworthy or not and write your own birthing thoughts not yet authored, cutting yourself free from the tether of normality making the awakening of social consciousness possible.

Or perhaps I'm just another ******* on the train wearing awesome golf pants coming back from the game that takes more than it gives griping about life and those that don't live it or love it.

His high intellect was a whip and a chair to keep the lion of your growing independence at bay.
Cowering child,
You roared your defiance against proud deaf ears.
Now a beast grown with a pride of your own,
Your let sound your growl,
Your angry howl,
But within that defiant song can be heard the whimper of the cub that just wanted to be heard.
Stop it.
Listen and speak softly for your voice carries and is heard.
You are not your father.
You are your own man.

Two strangers exchange eternal vows. Neither lovers yet fully born.
You were more a stranger to yourself than to her.
In you she sees a mirror spirit,
More lost than found,
Lacking an identity to call your own. Her passion, a hot storm built after a lifetime of suppression,
Is released by another man.
In this and in him she begins to find herself.
You think you lost her, yet she was never yours.
Oaths sworn by the wraiths of the beings you were yet to become are not considered binding by any council of lovers,
Lost or foresworn.
You are not her husband.
You'll place your ring on another hand.

Your eyes swore to possess her as her faery beauty woke within you the imp of desire.
Fey creatures know there's magic in *******.
Her every whispered breath was poetry as you pressed your stiff need against her back.
There was honesty between you even as you lied to yourselves,
Just one more kiss, another **** another glass of wine.
No amount of pleasure could bury the wrong.
It was not your lips she kissed goodnight,
Nor your smile which greeted her in the morn.
You were her paramour,
Her poet,
Her escape from another man.
She belongs to another man.

I do not love you for your smile,
So welcoming, warm and mischievous,
Or even for your special glance, so demure, meant only for me.

My love is not a reflection of some ensorcellment found in the depths of your jewelled eyes.

I do not love you for your charm,
Your wit and lust for life,
Or for the way you embrace new friends, companions and experiences.

My heart is not a slave to your every touch, bound by a witch's brew of lust, tenderness and desire.

I do not love you for your beauty,
Enchanting as you are,
Not your flawless style and grace or the way you walk a room, every eye captivated by the boundless joy that emanates from within your breast.

I just love you,
Simple as that yet all encompassing.

Bathed in my own tears
Baptized in love's broken promise
I lay here and remember
Whispered words unsaid

Night's mystery does little to dampen the pain
Memories brought back in an instance in this digital world
Your Instagram smile looks up at me and I recall all that was good
Social media failed to capture the hurt

Sleep deprived,
My mind whispers of your soft touch
Urgent with need.
My eyes wander over your every curve,
Intoxicated by your beauty,
They devour you whole.
My skin recalls with vivid clarity
The feel of you beneath me,
The throbbing desire,
The explosion of mutual release.
My mouth can still taste the moisture on your lips,
It yearns to return to you,
To nibble,
To lick.
Watching you dress,
I wait...

I sit amongst rampant consumerism,
Yet I smile as I sip my Starbucks tall Pike Place.
To my left, old ladies decked in Tiffany decry their neighbours folly,
Even while they sit blind to their own.
To my right, Chapters!
Book store that offers so much more,
A perfect monument of society's needs answered in one storefront.
We don't shop here for a read, or for the escape some unknown author's words spell for us.
No, this masterfully crafted shop answers our shared need of empty spending on soulless items that will lift us from the mire of our meaningless lives for one instance,
Before that scented candle or witty greeting card is left to collect the dust of our fallen gods.

Behind me the street is full of noise but no one is listening,
Busses carry the many but each is a world onto themselves,
Thoughts not of their making wrestle for attention with smartphones,
Before long the thoughts echo what the eyes read on the digital screens glowing below them.
The enemy of my friend...
Don't let consciousness wake!
Combined the noise without and the noise within will drown whatever chance we had at relevancy.
And so Oprah wins,
Look under your chairs,
It's your new life,
Not to be mistaken with your old one,
This one comes with a shiny new automobile, trip, ring, dress, shoes,
Anything but enlightenment.

Before me,
Possibilities.

You?

The day will not arrive when the bird awakes and thinks "Not today, I don't feel like attending to the worm."

Nor will there ever be an ant who sits back and does not do its part for the industrious colony rather living off the labour of its fellows like so sort of parasite.

Some poems are not meant for public eyes to read.

As I sort through boxes of yesterday
I hear you whisper
But I do not answer
For I do not speak with spectres of plans that went awry
Or the ghosts of love not fully realized.

As I dig deeper more spirits of past disasters join the chorus of the broken hearted
But I do not add my voice to your song.
Yet when I sob I ask:
Do I cry for you?
Do I cry for them that came before you?
Or am I just crying for myself?

Question: Do I place these memories we shared on a mantel to be polished and admired?
Or do I pack them deep into a box not to be discovered until the next train wreck?

Photos and mementos are just snapshots of what might have been,
Who needs that reminder?

Where are you?
Are you sitting on the floor like me? Tears dropping unchecked as you write poor poetry?

No. I picture you sipping tea with a friend. Your laugh, always loud, resounding off the walls and finding it's way into the hearts of everyone who hears it. That is your gift.

This poem is my goodbye. It will be packed away with our other things.
Not forgotten, yet no longer a part of my life.

Goodbye.

See the beauty?
As the sun sets on our day?

Take a turn at poetry
See the sky in it's endless capacity
Smell the moisture and promise in the soil of the earth
Revel in the love and beauty of the many bird calls
Dance to the song that beats for your heart
Relish the warmth of your ***** thoughts
Catch your breath as she catches hers

Shudder at the shivering heat of her touch as your mind sparks, kicks and starts like an old rusty pick up truck.

Shed tears at her loss,
soft pattering rain on the window of your soul where you hide listening to the scratch of the records as they turn out melodies fresh with the scent of the baker's hands
but lacking his warmth.

Don't hear that thunder,
Rather,
Feel it within the bones you use to brace the thin beliefs and morals you wear like bleached white skin yearning for the colour only she, your sun, can provide.

Embrace that rumble,
let it shatter those bones of learned judgments, smash your shivering fearful spine allowing brave voice to let sound the cries of the hobbled child inside.

Return to the naïveté of your birth
Blood fresh iron mist flavours your first taste of life.
In this you find true words
In this you find poetry.

Sometimes when I'm down,
Defeated,
Or weak,

All I need is a kind word from you,
As you to listen to my song,
Or read my poems,
Followed by a smile,

Then I will know that everything will be alright,
I will pick myself back up
And become again the strong man that you demand,
Whom you love.

That is all that I needed

Death is boring.
Dark, cowled and skeletal,
Exuding a mysteriousness that she fails to fulfill.
Her goals are one dimensional
Though myriad in her often creative
Approach.
Creative after an eternity of
Collection.

God is almighty.
What can you give the man who has everything?
Your faith?
Omnipotence...
Safe bets are seldom captivating.
Unless you’re a criminal stacking the odds
While your fellow man takes the dive
For your gain,
Your glory.

Buddha is just a man.
Enlightened.
He accepted Death’s embrace,
And God’s divinity
Thrusting aside the Devil’s whispered
Temptations.
Yet
Buddha was just a man.

The Devil whispers the sweetest dreams
His voice is a silk melody
Dancing along our nerves
Touching our forbidden parts
“Take her, she wants your ****”
Plunge into her moist depths
Sheath your spear,
Spill your seed,
****** hard
Then soft
Find release in her moans
Peace and heaven in her trembling touch.

Her moist lips part
But it is not your name she sounds
Her voice once radiant with lust
With desire
Now drives a shard of hate within, through your still rapidly beating heart.
Cupid speaks another name

Once hard now limp
Pull back, pull out your flimsy ****
Look down into the empty depths of her eyes
See in them another man
Her hunger is sated
Bruised lips mouth the apology your ears refuse to hear
Yet your heart laid bare just moments before
Is pierced anew.
Laugh it off but
The Devil has his hooks in you

Another carcass for the heap
She is the hook, you are the meat
Butchered
The lost leading the sheep to slaughter
Do not fret, you are not finished
Soon you will rise a phoenix from her cooling embers
Golden and resolute
Stronger for having licked her poison
Yet you will know that you are now
A stranger to yourself
You are the hook
Find him some meat
The Devil hunts again.

The fleeting peace of softly playing music and oncoming dreams.
Too soon I will wake.
Too soon we will pick up our burdens & stumble on.

The library is a quiet, empty cave where voices echo like ghosts in a gymnasium.

Laughter.

You can feel the history here, both in the dusty tomes and the architectural nod to the Roman coliseum.

Strange visitors of which I am numbered as I stand here spouting poor poetry on my phone.

Enough.

The lost drown and smoke your words away
Hidden behind layers of a self-induced fog too thick to be heaven’s curtains,
Yet too thin to be effective.

I hear your whispers
Soft melodies of melancholy
Ripple down my spine
More paralyzing
Yet akin
To a car wreck
Birthed by the same vaporous spirits I used to hide behind.

Now I choose clarity.
Mindfulness
The Buddha showed the way
Is it easy to follow a path first lit over two thousand years ago?
Ask me again tomorrow.
Today those whispers like tiny devil worms sneak along
My spine delivering emotions and thoughts
Not mine.
And I am lost
Helpless as they take my mind
And defuse my spirit
And giggle as I follow Rome
Once great, forgotten, found but never resurrected.

I defy you Voice inside my mind.
I see you
I hear your whispers and acknowledge
That I am not your author.

Be wary
Be mindful
Because I too whisper
Of a love stronger than your hate.

The world is dying
As we keep trying
To assimilate
To accept our fate
And drown our fears
In a stranger's tears
But we are one
We let our own blood run
When we wound
We become doomed.

Cannot find the words when
I have nothing to say...

The next station is love forlorn,
Broken hearted from empty promises from the one who made you believe, in Cupid's hunt and Romeo's fight however tragic it may seem.

The next station is love returned,
You celebrate life's purpose and meaning fulfilled, the sun shines on children playing, laughter and song fills the hills and you smile in the certain knowledge that all is as it was meant to be.

The next station is loss,
Dark days loom with shadows cast by the person no longer here, the newly formed ghost cries spirit tears which stain the depths of your haunted eyes; you will never see that face again.

The next station is faith and spirituality,
Jump on and off with the regularity of hobos and with all of their thought and deliberation, flip a coin and choose your path, your plans and intentions are mere butterflies facing the cosmic storm and no 'god' will save you from life's rotten breath.

The next station is you,
A culmination of thoughts, feelings and experiences, some of which you acknowledged, most were spun by your subconscious with the greasy excellence of a politician on campaign.

Some of you love yourself, most do not; you're locked in constant battle with an inner monologue which preaches self-hate and immolation, cast out that voice as you would a demon for its only validation comes from your accepting attention.

The next stop is your freedom,
Awaken; your mind, body and soul are yours to do with as you choose, feed all three with gluttonous abandon and find a path not yet traveled, for your life and it's purpose are not the reflection of anyone who came before or will arrive after, it is yours and yours alone to discover should you brave getting off at this station.

Two hearts were never closer when separated,
Nor more apart when near.

We do not stress the important stuff
Rather we raise the ****** flag of war over the inconsequential,
And trample our soft field of love beneath the heavy trod of harsh spoken words stomping over the ripe carcasses of anger.

Where do we go from here?
Do we turn back time and bite our tongues never uttering the words that have bound us one to another,
Or do we plod onwards trusting that joy, loyalty and our oft proclaimed love will win through our clouded emotions to arrive at those poppy fields where this war becomes just another memory?

You are the vision of my heart's beauty.

Wake up to the pounding in your head,
Whiskey and regrets make for a mean hangover.
Three Advil's, a smoothie and 45 minutes throwing weights won't fix the evil inside,
But it will allow for yet one more day,
Of this sad blemish you call life.

Suited up, don't you look nice?
You hide your weakening smile behind your Starbucks tall half sweet nonfat double shot wake the **** up latte.
Strut your stuff,
Male model martini,
Sell another lie,
Buy yourself time,
Swipe another credit card.

Don't look that homeless vagabond in the eye,
Lest you see the need there,
And feel your own, answer in kind.
Rather make a crass remark,
Throw the keys for your overpriced sports utility vehicle to the valet,
And ***** about the mayor cleaning up the streets.
You pay your taxes,
You give to charity,
You've done your part to end world poverty,
These little lines go through your soul as fast as the ******* you've snorted,
But with less effect.

Your empty voice barks all the louder to be heard,
It joins the chorus of the lost as you sidle up to the bar.
You know the keeper, you tip him so that he greets you by name,
All so you can impress the charade around you,
Master of ceremonies for a freak show that not one of you,
The cast,
Can truly see.

Now you wake beside a beautiful stranger.
Rip off her skin and peer within
The ugly you see is the demon you share,
Drown it's harpy song with more devil water,
Pierce your skin and let it ride the needle ***** high beside you,
Into your own special hell.

I want to express my love for you,
But what can I say that hasn't been said throughout time eternal,
So I sit here in the shade on a beautiful summer day and picture your stunning smile and feel again the warmth and joy that your look infuses me with, and like a child in the front yard with a sprinkler I revel in the knowledge that your smile is meant for me, because of me, in response to the love I feel for you which emanates as heat from the very core of my being.

I guess that says it.

*** slave workers
Bent over stained beds
In forgotten brothels
Far from country and home
Have more joy than you
Or I.

Skeleton thin children
With skin stretched
Over illness bloated bellies
In poverty ridden streets
Under a relentless sun
And equally relentless culture
Kick a worn ball around
And feel more hope than you
Or I.

Flea ridden mutts
Runts of the brood
Feasting on garbage
Shying from the kicks
Of rotten teens
And sour drunks
Reciprocate more love
From the hand of a kind stranger
Than you
To I.

not lost but not found

You are my peanut butter,
I want you everyday,
Breakfast, lunch,
Snacks and dinner,
You go perfectly with my jelly.

Do not stress over the broken dreams of yesterday,
Cracks in the walls of your good intentions allow the glimmer of light,
Neither sought or understood,
To shine through.
You cannot know what awaits,
Not can you have more than the slightest effect on your life's outcome for 'you' as you know yourself to be is nothing more than a grouping of molecules more complex than the universe you reside in and your thoughts and designs no more authored by you than your eventual fate.
So please do not angst over broken hearts and what may have been,
You never really had a chance anyway,
Yet realize that something good and often better will come for within you resides the universe just as you reside within it.

You come in the night
Wisp of vapour
A spectre reaching out
Waking me with your tendrils touch
And the hunger within.

You're the monster from my closet
Come to haunt me again,
You wear many faces and none
Yet I know you
As I know myself.

My lust answers your need and
I stiffen even as my will melts beneath the icy flames of your ghoulish desire.
I give in, relinquish control and with it my identity,
My soul is yours to devour,
Which you do with great relish,
As we both reach again for that taste of ecstasy.

Too soon it is over,
You return to the depths beneath my bed,
Back into my closet with your fellow demons,
Mostly forgotten,
But for the smile on my face
As I slip into a sated sleep
Even as I pray
That you never visit again.