Sing for me, angel
Lull me to peace
Let the timbre of your voice
Tremble me to sleep

How lovely is your voice;
How the air sits still when you sing
And how the people cheer in joy
With the blessing your voice brings

Yet, however beautiful your voice might be,
Your soul is more radiant,
More brilliant,
Your laughter a testimony to that shine

Sing for me, angel
Lull me to peace
Give me that angel voice
Let's be best of friends eternally

Scarlet lips done in roses. She kisses
the sun goodnight, leaving crimson
smears on the horizon.

She ties black orchids to her ebony
curls; copper-colored hands weaving
redolence into midnight gold.

The night holds her close. She caresses
the leaves and play in
shadows that move like smoke.

Her amber eyes catch moonlight like
glowing drops of honey. The tears from her
eyes always the sweetest.

Operatic tones held in drifting
petals; zephyr notes from her
soothing voice played by trees.

The sun lights a bonfire on the horizon;
she gently kisses the embers
and recedes like the tides.

Fire drains into blue light.
Orange seeds dot the sky. They look
on and see him kiss her in the morning.

we learn of
celestial bodies in
science,

and i touch
what is
considered

forbidden
knowledge about
the stars;

the longing of
the supernova
to cover as

much of
the blackness
as it can in

a moment
of explosive
intensity. write

me a song on
the blackboard
in health class

comparing your
nature to the
onslaught of

solar winds,
atmospheric
pressure on my

lungs, and
the force of
gravity you

inflict
upon the
bearer of flowers.

tug and pull
celestial seeds
floating in

its own beaker.
attack me.
force me to

answer and
make me
want more.

ignore my
protest and eat
up the blank

space with
smeared
fingerprints and

crude words
about my lust in
the dark

and how
the night sky
swallowed me

whole.

Floral limbs paint pictures in these woods,
Overlooking the garden where evening now hangs it's hood.
Dwelling among the stones where we used to sit,
Longing and loving, I shall not forget!
And I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

We took this path once when it was green and blue.
We counted the flowers and beheld this picturesque view.
We also walked around my favorite tree, so tall and so old.
It still flourishes over the weeds, truth be told!
And I'll still remember where your impure heart my lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

The ivy hangs itself around these gates so artful.
A dove slipped a vine around it's neck ever so mournful.
And I wish I could have stopped it and made it wait for the sun
To shimmer about this garden tomb to make these curses come undone.
But I'll always remember where your impure heart may lie.
Where the loveliest did bloom, and where the blooms did die!

Cold sunlight fills my
room today. Coffee
from the night before
stains the corners of
my mouth and I
remember to fold the
laundry. I am not
missed when I touch
the same stained
white linen shirt
for an hour. But
someone said they
thought they heard
me crying from the
upstairs window.
Its lunchtime, and all I
have to eat are
complaints about what
someone else did.
I feel as though I
should pass the sugar,
but that may cause alarm.
I only touch what
I am told. I only touch
what I can control. I
think about eating the
dish soap as I show
you the contents
of my stomach
and see the surprise
on your face.
I think its
evening now.
I lose track of
everything now and then.
So forgive me when I say
I don't remember
your name, and which
room of the house
you stay in.
Quit yelling at me
when I'm face down
in the baby's bath
water.
Please quit assaulting
me with IVs
every time we
take unexpected trips
to the ER.
I hate how cold hospitals
feel. They make my
nose runny.
And that doctor needs
to stop telling me
that I should go
away for awhile.
What does he mean anyway?
I'm watched for
several days after.
I think they like
the way I do
the laundry now.
I cleaned out my
drawer and I
fell in love
again with my
station in life.
Its evening again,
and I can't remember
why I was crying
at all.

A poem a day
Keeps the doctor away
Two he may need to be called

Three poems a day
The doctor’s on his way
No way could his coming be stalled!

Four poems a day
The doctor has to stay
Five and tough is his work

If the number are six
The doctor’s in a fix
How could he stop the flying spark!

Poems by the hour
Is beyond the doctor’s power
Poems by the minute is his bane

It’s where he loses self
Badly needs a help
To be declared utterly insane!

Free flow the waters
of the river passing by,
though we thought
we'd caught her sleeping
when we heard their lullaby,
and though
with a thousand bridges
we bound her where she lay
still her waters pass like lifetimes
and we watch them slip away.

Autumn approaches
hiding her dance of decay
beneath russet skirts.

Evenings bleed early
through chill days
bringing steel dawns.

All falls silent
as leaves pirouette gaily
to the swansong of summer.

Birdsong threads remain
as harmony takes flight
to sheltered shores.

Autumn approaches,
bitter winter tracing steps
in her glorious wake.

O how a comfort to exist in sleep
Lovely oblivion so many receive
But so few appreciate

O how true mercy is my friend
Hugged in the arms of weariness
A moment restored from anxiety

O what freedom brings these words
The language of my soul
O what merriment

To read my thoughts on page
Written by another hand in haste
To finish a statement,
To release the containment

O how painful to awake
To rush back to a world of hate,
Hate for greed, lies and disfigurement

And let go
Of this peacefulness