If you want something, don't let it go.
They always say that and presume they know
What's best for me, but I doubt their care
Like I doubt I'd breathe where there is no air.

If you want someone, don't let them go.
They always tell me that and I hear although
Their tones of voice say other things
Like babble speak of ancient kings.

If you need someone, you won't let them go.
Now, for truth; or fact? Do you know?
I don't. I wish I did. I wonder about you...
You have the strength to get me through.

Love comes in many forms, from god, from man,
From everything on this earth that is his, he can
Make wine from water and love from pain.
I can't wait until you're in my arms again.

I tried mango tea once, and you said it was odd
But I thought on my own, and thought what would I lose?
And when I said back to you what you had said, you just nod
And without speaking you took away the need to question you.

If you want something, chances are they want you.
Just love them with every single thing that you do.

Given the rarity of shooting stars,
perhaps it’s not best to use one
in it’s capacity for wishgranting,
to ask for your affections;
to which I’ve become nearly a slave.

Given the beauty of the lake in summertime,
perhaps it’s not best that we sit by it.
Your beauty, in all it’s splendour
would make the lake seem dead,
and rob the world of it’s worth.

Given the depth of my love for thee,
perhaps it’s best for you to stay away.
I may not be able to part from you,
and like all flowers kept indoors,
without freedom, you wouldn’t bloom.

Given that the star has not fallen,
and the lake is still beautiful,
and you are free as the sky and the surface of the lake,
I’ll be content with the idea of love,
and set my eyes in the stars above.

On black sheets
And silver pillows
I pledged a kind
Of oath to you
My love, my love?
Keeper of my coffee cup
Affections and
Bumblebee hive
Passions musings.

Sing to me love and light in a song
And I'll promise that only for you I'll long.

With tshirt lamp
And crystal glass
Kosher wines that
Taste of ash and
Dust in summer campfire
We made ourselves
Like remote batteries
And tuning slides
Together. A: 440

Sing to me of devotion and commitment with your voice.
And I could finally make a similar choice.

Promises made, promises kept.
I promised again even as you slept.

The starlight caught a glimmer, a sparkle scarcely seen.
There was a little cherub just waiting in a tree.

it said, "Now, O Wand'rer, The Lord God sent me
To Grant some comfort; some comfort for thee."

The Wand'rer leaned forward, upon his crooked staff
and searched for his heartstrings left in the mountain pass.

"O cherub," Said the Wand'rer, "Please hearken to me...
I have but one request, if no trouble it would be."

"Please take now this flower, picked from fields of peonies,
and bring it to my lady; tell her not it is from me."

A boy and a girl met in distant wood.
The boy read to her poetry as best as he could.
She blushed and she curtsied to ease his nerves,
for his youth and his passions were no less than hers.

They roamed amidst the moss hanging down from the Oak
and hand on her *****, My Lady, she spoke:
"Dear boy now take easy my kiss on thy cheek,
for never I'd thought you'd make me feel so weak."

       "My Lady sweet, I kiss your feet
        for never I'd thought I'd an Angel meet."

The boy now more a man took his girl in his arms,
and knew she'd succumbed to his love, not his charms.
They walked towards the house leaving not one alone;
her father awaited, for her to be home.

He asked for her hand, may they soon become one;
One Hand and One Heart until all was done.
The father smiled kindly, "My son, she is yours.
Take care for my daughter, my bright Morning Star."

       "My Lady sweet, I kiss your feet
        for never I'd thought I'd an Angel meet."

The time came for a wedding 'midst springtime flowers,
And people gathered candy with toys 'neath the boughs.
He looked and saw his lady with bridal throng
and imagined, and remembered his midnight song.

       "My Lady sweet, I kiss your feet
        for never I'd thought I'd an Angel keep."

She hovered near the altar with peony flowers
and looked up through a white veil for what seemed hours.
The pastor with his bible said five sweet words,
and lovers, now angels flew up with the birds.



Long after laid an angel; stood all her kin round,
for later that day she would be underground.
her husband, her lover, felt something was wrong;
she could not go to sleep without hearing her song:

       "My Lady sweet, I kiss your feet
        for never I'd thought I'd an Angel meet.
        My Lady sweet, O cease to weep;
        for though you now sleep in my heart, you, I'll keep."

Dark hair. Two pins, keeping each other company.
Green eyes like transparent emeralds
and skin like porcelain dolls
carried by a loving girl
given by her mother
taken by none, until later.

Through the city I make my stroll
but I've already gone and paid my toll.

Hair like slinkys left outside too long
curling thrown aside, up, and away
eyes like thunderstorms over blue sea
watched by lovers
fled by less than lovers
never closed, until later.

Through the city we make our stroll
but I've already gone and paid our toll.

Have you seen the cafe? the one with the pig
inside, licking peoples feet and running about
like a dog with no training, like a person with
no idea what they should be doing?

I challenge you, O my love to challenge me.
do I bring out a potbelly pig in myself with you?
isn't that what you wanted?
It would be cute, if I could manage it. maybe l8r.

Through the park we take our walk,
never really needing or wanting to talk.

mango tea and meltdown tears
don't do anything to my existing fears.
They just bring me along, again, to feel closer,
to convince you that you're not simply a poser
but a person that's more than you. more than me.
Thus saith the lord, the lord of hosts.

Around the lake you start to talk,
and I listen closely while we take our walk.

Hissing geese and widowed ducks
only show the gratitude of those things
that are happy to recieve your bread of life
and my grin of awe at you, feeding them.

Hair like palm trees in the wind, tall, thick
happy to have you under his care, he supposes,
but even happier to have you in his arms
watched by others
envied by more.
never saying goodbye.

Hair, getting longer. Have you pearl earrings?
two pins saying hello to the top of a desk
and to the rim of a crystal cup
lips like a rose petal, touched by one in my hand.
Lips carried by mine,
given by both,
taken by none other, evermore.

I wish you knew her like I know her.

The smokey darkness of dimly lit hair
And the smell of Gewurtztraminer on the air
On her breath, which tastes like sunlight
Illuminating the path to breathlessness.

I wish you knew her like I know her.

The watery depths if the green lagoons
Like emeralds in a princess' tiara
Guarding sunlight on her brow;
If only the sun would rise right now.

You'll never know her like I know her.

She's too much for you to handle
Like a child and red balloon watching,
Knowing you'll let go of it soon and cry
Knowing you almost did it on purpose.

Maybe balloons are meant to let fly high,
With the clouds up in the sky.
But don't fret, I don't mean that I will let her go,
I'm up there as a balloon, just like her, you know

You'll never know me like she knows me.

It's only forest eyes and oak hair
With a favorite color similar to a pear
But much sweeter, more than any fruit
And ripe for the tasting, all the way to the roots.

I love her, and she loves me.

I don't wish anything for you a this point you know.
Just gather your things, your memories, and go.

Like the shade of a great tree in summer heat
I sit beneath your love like a weary traveler
As a man tired and panting in humid weather
Waiting for the storm to move in outside
My window and let the raindrops fall like the tears
That no longer flow from my eyes as wellsprings
Or from yours in your pain... I rest beneath the tree
Of your love like a groundskeeper in autumn;
Watering and tending you for now, in my love
Watching you begin to bloom again.

I walk about the path set by
the patch of jonquil spring in bloom,
Nice, now, there is not one save I,
For the springtime flowers, ‘tis just more room.

Down through the low and over high,
the trees wave at their passerby
and I, in happily settled tones,
assure them it is a friend that roams.

And as I come to journey’s end,
I find that in the forest shade
their peace, oh trees of sunshine tend
however old, ne’er begin to fade.

For in the summer meadow’s blooms,
one shall find no dusty tombs.

all you players wanna tap that, right?
you wanna chase her round the night
until you corner her by a sheet-less bed
and ***** her like she dreaded you would,
like you knew you would?
immature boys and your morning wood.

you would, you pig; take her out
and make her feel wanted, asking about
her life, her dreams but never hearing,
not even noticing her carefully chosen earrings?
her specially chosen shoes, carefully applied makeup
perfectly fitted black dress and waxed eyebrows; just for you -

- oh no; you won't even notice in your wrinkled shirt
and boxers caked with more than dirt.
but fine with you, you pig
you're probably not even that big…
just making up for lack of humanity;
your shallow sense and borderline insanity.

you won't even wash in a bottle of beer.
get the **** out, you’re not welcome here.

Looms the myrtle and drapes the willow.

I ponder the forest and it’s crisp cool air,
and wish on the stars again to be there:
In the shade of the trees, in the arms of the wind,
to fall asleep in this quiet, serene din.

Falls the acorn and sweeps the oak.

I ponder the forest clearing and about myself look,
As I listen to the murmur of the woodland brook,
and remember the fell of it’s cold running water
and wish on my stars to return here later.

Full hangs the moon and to sleep I fall.
Yearning for the forest, and being away from it all.

Men **** women, and women **** men.
They **** them with their words and then:
as the words, at the victims heart now gnaw,
the speaker acts as if they hadn’t spoken at all.

Men **** men, and women **** women.
As soon as the heart on their sleeves are given,
they’re broken by those with lack of care,
or left to float away, as feathers on the air.

Words hurt people, and people speak words.
The transitivity makes sense when brought to bear
on the matter at hand; normally unheard,
except those who take the time to care.

Speak with love to those who have none.
Speak with love to those who do.
Because when you feel like you’re all alone,
those whom you spoke to will remember you.

I seek the edge of the world I know,
to find the answers to questions that clearly
could help advance this problem, though,
I lose much of what matters, dearly.

The risk is worth the cost and I,
about the path, ‘neath lilac sky
continue towards the blanketing sands
and waters that maybe understand.

I find it at last, beyond my reach,
as I walk down onto the dim-lit beach,
far out against the twilight sky,
alone, with God, my questions and I.

Ask and it shall be given,
if not on earth, finally, in Heaven.

I wanna take the plunge like a crazy V Neck
on a ****** round the corner like a car on nitrous
oxidation's explanation exceeding maximum flash memory.

I already miss you.
Who can blame the poet for that?
no matter how passionate I am about being mature,
there will always be
that little child in me
that wants so badly
to yell and to scream
because you left me here.

I know you had to, I don't blame
you, my love, for that, but I
do have a childish desire to cling.
It's not something I do, that's a childish thing
to get used to doing. No Thanks, I'm no child.
A Man takes things in stride, and I got out of that car
confidently, and stood ***** and tall
though the inner me crumbled like so many
walls we broke down in ourselves this last week.

It's so easy to write poetry like this.
I remember high school,
when we'd all write angsty poetry with
dark titles and
strange vocabulary words we'd seen
in books we didn't understand.

but Who can blame the poet for that?

I already miss you but I already love you.
It's not like last time when I loved you and had you not,
left to my own devices, to watch you suffer
at the hands of someone who didn't know true love.

This isn't my best poetry, it's only a first draft.
but that's what you get.
I want you to have what I am, unfiltered
un-manipulated
unedited.

It's hard living this way, but I welcome it like Saturday Afternoon
and the delights it holds for us all
in order to await the coming of the dawn after a storm in the night.
I refuse to ever, ever fall.

I miss you my Love. I wish you were here...
Who can blame a poet for that?

You are the clock above the mantlepiece.
You are the ticking of the hand as it draws forth
my life upon threads of silver and green
grass in the yard, beneath the leaves of the high tree.

You are the Angel on the top of the Christmas tree.
The rain of tinsel and the dew of holly on the branches
as they're weighed down by Christmas eve rains
and propped up by the bellies of family around it.

You are the color of the grass in that time
between winter and spring
when nature doesn't seem to want to
get out of bed for the summer days.

You are the touch of velvety leather in an armchair
sat in front of an open window in winter
that lets in the cold air from the snowy sideyard
and turns my breath to fog and to ice.

You are the Clock above the mantlepiece.
You are the slow drawing arm as it creeps
ever forward, never quickly, towards the earth, and back
in a never ceasing draw toward eternity.

Now once there was a maiden, a maiden was she.
She had a big heart for men like me.

She told me "O Joshua, just wait for me."
"I have to try one last time if only for me."

Now Joshua saw her tear drop, her teardrop saw he,
And he knew down deep inside how great is would be.

But he took up his music and gathered his robes
To prepare to make his travel down a dark and lonely road.

She said, "Now wait a minute; Here, take this little key."
"It'll unlock my heart when you come back to me."

O Joshua was a glad man, a glad man was he,
Saying "God bless that woman, her heart leaps up to thee!"

All I ask my lady as you read this poetry,
That in the dark times, remember little me.

Bring me the sweet blowing breeze of November.
The sweet scent of the late blossoms…
and the peace of the forest clearing.
Let me have again the smell of pine,
the sound of rain on the roof,
the taste of kisses and the brush of soft skin.
Bring me the wisps of the clouds in the summer,
the smell of the moist earth,
the touch of grass on my feet.
Let the wind blow from the north,
the birdsong sound from their old nests,
the sound of their wings beating south.
I embrace the earth as if to kiss it.
I embrace it’s peace, it’s allamande of sounds,
the polyphony of smells and flavors.
bring me the cold of December,
the chills of January,
and let me rest in beautiful solitude,
in wonderful lonliness,
until I’m forgotten again.

When I consider the garden in bloom,
I often pick a single flower to take
and put in the shade of my sullen room,
for perhaps a bit happier the room to make.

Lodged in languid emptiness it stares
from it’s protective vase on the windowsill
and secretly I wish it’s fares
to be less than mine, mine greater still.

But sooner, rather than later,
the flower withers, slowly, surely,
and the darkness seems to be something greater,
and I wish for the sun to shine, ever purely.

Tis not the flowers of the garden that bring
the birds in the sunshine of morn’ to sing.

Love is a fickle game, is it not?
like the minutes passing at sunset
that with each passing click of the second hand
leaves the sky completely changed, it would seem.

Falling in love for you and I
are different from each other
yet, the same, I guess,
do you not agree?

You love as if falling back, and
I love as if pushing forward,
but when you fall back,
I'm always there to catch you, aren't I?

You love as if making a sandwich.
You use a knife, I use a spoon for the jam;
but even though you expect a knife in your hand,
I, the spoon, do the job just as well, if not better.
Did you even know you could use a spoon?

Love for you is putting on a robe and crown
and adorning things that will make all beautiful;
but Love for me is a stripping away of all that,
of all skin, and bone, and flesh, and blood,
and it's all beautiful, just the same.

You give me your heart like a child to a parent
would give something they'd found on the floor.
innocently, and carefully, tears in your eyes,
because was that not where he left your heart before?
Am I not there to comfort you in my arms,
and were you not begging me to help?

You didn't need to beg. But you'd been taught that love is begging.
That love is pleading
and hurting
and searching
and struggling
and giving
not taking
stretching
and breaking
and trying
and dying
together, but alone.

But, My Darling,
Love is giving
and taking
trying
and dying
to live
and stretching
yourself
and myself
and creating
the new
and creating
the better
and destroying
the old
and destroying
the worse.

Yes, we think differently about love and life,
but we have a lot in common, more than you know,
or I know, especially.

I saved you, will you save me?

The trees signal my arrival with outstretched arms and waving hands.

Walking seems like such a chore
when the wind stops to carry me
and I have to choose, to be more
than myself or just me, to forever be.

The trees draw me in with loving embraces and kisses of rose petals.

I lay beneath cavernous trees
who seem to rule the forest better than I
could ever hope to, with silent command
and the oldest seem to live, even after they die.

Dark times come as storms in the night
to beat us down more and more like fire
out in the open during such a storm, whose light
flickers when under the rain the coals begin to tire.

You are huddled with me, and I hold you there
knowing there's nowhere safer for you to be
than there with me, in the midst of the cold air
where storms blow and fires cease to leap.

there is a fire there that will never go out, my love,
something they can't take, or stomp out, my dear.
I know you know what it is, since it is in you like a dove
that waits to take off with spirit and no sense of fear!

Let us fly away and be together beyond the storm.
My Love, and your love, will always keep us warm.

Dear love, I write this letter near noon
When sun is shining brightest and I hear
The birds outside announcing that you're here.
Of course, you're not, not really really near,
But near enough for me to know that everything is clear.

How far would you have to go in order to be far?
If that is your plan, you'd better head for that far off yonder star!

Ah, Verse. It's nice to see you again.
Life kinda happened and I forgot you,
but it's interesting how, even when I neglect you,
you still remember me like it was yesterday.

Like a Best Friend.
Like a favorite song.

I rely on you even when I'm not writing
to shape the lines of conversation and song
and bring to life words which otherwise
would mean nothing to me, to anyone.

Like a Best Friend.
Like a favorite song.

Green eyes like forest whispers
Speak to my heart, like a friend
To a friend, to be lovers soon
And say I love you until the end.

Gather my heartstrings and pull them out
Towards you, for you, that I may be whole.

Your face is just too beautiful for
a computer's eye to pick up with any
amount of accuracy.
Can a sensor
in a glass shell
really feel the warmth of sunlight on my face?

I look around my life an see
the other guys around me
who treat their "loves" one way,
and break up with them the next day.

I long for something more that lasts.
something beautiful and new from the past
that still haunts me and guides my steps
thought I don't wish it, to be like the rest.

Nothing is more important than two pins
on my desk as signs that everything is okay.

Stop thinking, start loving.
Stop worrying, start trusting.
Stop trying, start living.

Nothing is more beautiful than two green eyes
inside of mine, as signs that you are happy.

I long for your touch to remind me here
that you are mine, and I yours, dear
Love that saves me from dark and cold
to be with me and together grow old.

I look around my life and see
nothing else, my love, but you and me.
I could ask for nothing more, not food, or gold,
I need nothing else, when it's you that I hold.

Lonely summer lunches, smiling lady sit with me.
Who knew
Who could have known
You.
Me? I had no idea.
To say I knew would be a lie.
I could say I wanted to know and thought I knew,
But that would be unfair to you.