I like to Write about Life,
Living, its not like everybody
Doesn't Do It Daily...
Its a Common ground,
Scattered with what we found.
That touches our Souls Deep
And burden's us, secrets to keep
Some Buried so Deep it's Forgotten

Up and Down, it's Sky and Ground.
Sorrow And Joy, Smiles and Frowns
We all go  through the Crush...
All feeling Flush, Blood pumping Rush
And the Let down of the Rejection.
Good days with Erections....
Others with Misdirection

Burdened with heavy Eyes, til'
We pop up and rise, hope in our eyes
Just to do it all again, like a Soap Opera Plot
With Disappointment never a Thought.
Thats why I write about Life........... JMF 10/11/14

Minutes passing
Continual Eyeing
Pulse pumping
Heart Jumping

Fingers Tapping
Clock Watching
Vision Scanning
Anxiety Climbing

Clock Stopping
Sudden Stabbing
Heart Bleeding
Joy Fleeing

Thoughts Cauterizing
Time Healing
Well they weren't worth it
Anyway..............................JMF 10/11/14

Hot August winds
Blows across dried yellow grass.
The shimmer of heat.
Rippling off the blacktop.
At a roadside Motel.On the
South Dakota Landscape.

I see the arrival of
An Amish family all,
Dressed in Black.
Arrive dragging their
Simple bags into the room
As the door closes.

I head inside to escape the heat
The smell of sulfur.
Rises from the water faucet.
Mixed with the smell of
Bacon and Eggs frying
In an electric skillet.

I head out under the overhang.
To escape the heat and my parents.
Down the way, a boy in Black Hat
Black shirt open,
White Tee showing.

He walks over to meet me.
I show him toys I brought,
Bored in the blasting heat.
We hop across the hot blacktop.
Barefoot trying not to get burned.

Off to the park, We find
The hollowed out carcass.
Of an F-16 Fighter Jet,
We bonded as pilot and copilot
Jetting across the Badlands.

We strafed and bombed.
Enemy installations.
Cutting off troop Supplies.
We blasted the afterburners.
Breaking the sound barrier.
On a hot August afternoon.

a blue winged butterfly
pirouetted in the garden
like a pretty ballerina
twirling on the stage

If I were a Unicorn nibbling on Roses
I would stomp my Hoof and Snort
That men Exist, I should Suppose
I would shake my Silver Mane
And rake my horn upon a tree
That men could exist, Non-Mythically
Such Tales are whispered by the colts
Unicorns know the very Idea Revolts,
That Unmagical Creatures may be
Walking Upright under the trees
With a Quick Swish of my Tail,
I would Deny the very Myth,
That men should be, indeed
For having no Magic you see
They Lack  the Will to believe
But, never will this Myth Disperse...
Should Men exist 'twould be the worst