Keeping up appearances,
Shutting the dark vibe down.
Keeping up appearances,
Putting on a crown.
Keeping up appearances,
Make a smile out of a frown.

Keeping up appearances,
But quietly you drown.

I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.

I stopped writing-
a poet at a loss for words.

You did this to me.
Yes, you, reading this.
Your beauty left me awestruck
with no relief.
Please...
Please you must believe
how unashamedly I've fallen abrupt
into the snares of love.
I haven't fallen nearly as graceful
as your features fair when you
tilt your head to the side.
My love is just as intense though,
as your focused eyes upon the words I write.

It is true,
from the first time your gaze
stumbled
on my humble scribblings of rhyme,
of times gone by,
my heart has swelled and shivered,
knowing that I have your attention.
But then I don't really have it,
do I?
You don't really see me,
watching you from behind the text.

My love, forgive me.
I make such abrasive claims
of love and loyalty,
but they fall flat, you see-
like the screen you read my words from (I clench the taut strings of my heart as I look up at your illuminated face).
I'm stuck here and that
is what tortures my soul, already sore.

You can never be mine
while I'm trapped in between
these lines,
these rhymes.

I'm trying to find a way out.
Until I do,
just know this:
Everything I write is for you-
so I can see you once more.
I don't know how,
but I will find a way out.

I love the way you smile
when my poems have a happy end.
Then I just feel so awful when
I make you cry because my poems soured
like my bitter heart that hates its apparent destiny.

I'm stuck here.
But the hope of seeing your face again,
returning to read my latest work,
that is what keeps me going without fear
until the end.

I'll find a way out
and then you'll see me for real.
The poet trapped in the book,
waiting for you to look and see
between the lines.
You'll see me-
the poet my beloved reader has, and will
set free.

She captures autumn
in a jar
reads the moon's straying
through leaf and branch

Always in love
with love
and always reeling
from the loss

What wave tossed this refugee
ashore?
What alignment
of stars and planets
of uncountable galaxies
brought this woman
to this world and not another?

A simple truth will tell.
The moon at high tide
hides beneath her skirts.
A slight disturbance
in the silken fabric
of space and time
and all is lost
all is born.

I hold my hands out
palms up
in prayer and thanks
every day
to mark the blessing
to place a peg
in the whole.

Given to all
denied to none
and mysterious to most

Life pours out of
a hole in the sea
leaves nothing
and everything
to chance.

This blessed world.

In the East, the sun luminously gleamed
And bid the nebulous vapors fly
Changing the gloom into radiant blaze
Cheering the languid drowsy sky

Lying in bed, I looked around,
Saw my room so cozily set
With things just enough to make it fit
For a sweet haven for me to rest

Each little thing in it began to muse
In a language discernible for me to grasp
Of the secret of success so elusive to man
Which striving to catch, oft slips off his clasp

The clock ticking away at the wall
Alerted in a tone of rhythmic resonance
That ‘each minute is precious and dear’
And not to waste it in trifling appurtenance

While the ceiling fan, spiraling above
Discreetly hummed, “Be cool and do not fret”
The open window, to me did urge
To ‘look out far and watch the world in beat’

The mirror neatly fitted on my bureau
With a gleaming countenance beckoned me
Asking me to ‘reflect’, ere venturing into anything
That from fatal fallacies, I shall ever be free

The calendar hanging inside the room
Reminded me not to lag or put off things
But keep my assignments and learning up to date
That to great heights, I can soar on wings

And the woolly carpet gently mused;
“Bend your knees and kneel down to pray
With a heart copiously filled in gratitude
Before a God who didn’t leave you aimless to stray"

With such counsel, silent and salient
Got out of my bed with resolutions profound
To greet the morning and start the day
In greater zest with a mind, saner and sound

All the silence does not mean
You are alone,
It is the world waiting for you
To listen;
And in the darkness you are
Found by the light
Of your hope.

And in the tears of your
Pain you are born,
There you become stronger
And it creates order.

Pick up your flesh as your spirit
Lifts,
And speak your happiness
As if the tip of your tongue
Was the mountain's peak
Speaking at the sky,
The burden is a caged bird
And only the conscious can set
It free.
And sing to yourself so that
You know you are never alone
In your body.

Know that your crazy is beautiful
Because it makes you YOU,
Wear your skin like
Your cozy blanket and cuddle
In the warmth of yourself.
     You are not broken,
But scattered like the night
With pieces like stars shining,
    Open your pain and yourself
To the wound of the world and heal
Whatever you choose.

she is so beautiful
and she is so beautiful with words
her delicate fingers
and her ever-colorful eyes
deep and resounding,
people watching
taking in the details
that pass by everyone else
in the streets, lost among the crowds
and yet she sees

she is so beautiful
her face, her mind
her bravery, her insight
her soul
oh her soul

i told her that she is a rarity
she kept bitterly smiling
like she knew
that she was an outsider
to a world so cruel