I am not a poet.
I may write poems
but I am not a poet.
Poets speak pretty words.
I speak in a tongue no one knows,
not even me.
I am not a poet.
I am a girl,
with unspoken words
who gazes at trees.
I am a girl
with red hair and
watery eyes
but I,
I am not a poet.
I am not a poet.

I wait
Swaying with the long grass
Humming low
Whispering the bear songs
I wait
Palms open to the the evening breeze
Legs tense in suspense
Eyes closed
I wait
................All the time I bent for you
................ All the time I spent changing for you
..................All the moments I kept myself in check for you
I have nothing left to give
Now I wait
I wait
For the Moon
His gentle touch on my soul
I wait
For the Moon
To rise and ask nothing of me but what I am
I wait
For the Moon
In this long dusk into twilight
Breathing in the dark
As I set

(JL)

What love you about summer camp?
I can bet it was not canned food,
Nor being the archery champ,
Nor the crafts, which were often glued.

Though pancakes always made you smile
And swimming would have many laughs,
It wasn't like home, by a mile,
Nor were there always happy staff.

Perhaps you enjoyed riding horse;
There were climbing ropes and hiking.
You made at least one friend, of course,
But the fish were never biting.

So, what about camp did you love?
Certainly, it didn't feel like home!
But it was indicative of
That, at least, you were on your own!

cos' you shined so bright,
too bright,
and that's what made me blind.
so when you left,
I can't see anyone,
I can't even see you.