sing me a tune, Band Man
rock me to weep.
take me to heaven
on a song I can keep

my heart has a melody
you seem to find it.
the rhythm surrounds me
and in my soul binds it

rolling and swaying
we feel the same groove;
laughter in unison
as one body move

no time to be weary
on memory wings;
when this bird comes flying
we leave all the things

behind us is worry,
lose anger and fear;
we have only music,
a few happy tears

ride into the moonlight
on serenade of peace;
its waves will hold and thrill us~
may magic never cease.

looking past mundane and bore
the isolation such a chore
remember what we do it for~
to not repeat a sickly lore.
the pestilence in days of yore
spared neither emperor or *****.

though we now find common fight
absent kin is not quite right
or lover in the dead of night
too far to hold my body tight.
I ask with no one in my sight
when parts this darkness for the light?

I miss the skin and velvet touch
and loving in our dreamy hutch
but we all know this feeling-such-
to bear it with a hopeful hunch
to greet with kiss and ardent clutch
when time has healed the world that much.

so care for neighbor with a prayer
sing a song and bless the air~
‘tis not so much we can not bear.
observe the quiet for it’s rare.
and finding outside beauty fair
feel happy you’ve the time to spare.

until it comes I inward gaze
and see my soul is still ablaze
with hope for man and better days
amidst this heavily pressing haze.
we shall emerge with better ways
of sharing in the heaven’s rays.

Nothing is fixed;
like stars that
drift the sky by night
as Earth journeys round
in spite of Orion’s might.
The Sun that sets
ne’er regrets a day
on which it shone;
but all that’s grown is grateful
for the heat and it’s rest.
While Earth and heaven shift
the flowers die,
and stars implode.
I shan’t look back with tears
at love I had
and left in change of years.
All the light that shines
from years away
can sometimes find me, still.

I’m cutting your string.
The ball can roll
like columbus round the world
looking for the edge.
And I’ll be left
with the short piece
ready to drop it in the trash
while you tangle with your mess.
Sticky fingers,
trapped in knots
wondering how I got away
without a catch.
That’s what happens
when you play with girls
who run with scissors.
I’m sharp as steel
and just as strong.
Be careful
it might be
your fingers bleeding.

life is poetry my dear,
while minutes and moments turn to years
and all the laughter, all the tears
teach us to release our fears;
to live like kings surviving jeers.
so raise your glass and let’s make cheers
for love keeps living, far or near;
a story for the poet’s ear.
I’m glad you’re in my story, Dear.

I’m a love kitten
I feel a little smitten
I think I’ve been bitten
by you

the way I stare
across the air
with eyes so fair
at you

it fills my mind
you’re one of a kind
I’m in a bind
with you

I can’t keep back
this love attack
I need some slack
from you

forgive my daze
this lovely haze
my soul’s ablaze
for you

I anticipate
this will be great
but I can wait
on you

I am having problems, punctuated!
by punctuation...
What beguiles me most- you ?
Is that in my (mind) is an idea
so screamingly!!! fantastic that
I should be !¡YELLING!¡
but unless the world can C me—-
and they DON'T—-
then it is up to the limits
of punctuation...
(Insert "Punctuation for Dummies")
and the abbr skill
of 1 feeble and weary writer
to pick from the limits
of her keyboard;
stifling the ~~flow~~ of thought
along the way;
to finally impart such an originally
insignificant thought.
Period.

intensity is measured in
a  m p s
m i  a  p
a  n  s  i
z  d  i  r
i       o  i
n      n  t
g      a
         t
         e

he saw me on a list of gals
and wondering if we might be pals
hit me up for sudden fun.
to his surprise I said I would
and drove to town to make good
on my word I like to dance.
we had a pair of moscow mules
and breaking with the first date rules
he kissed me on the floor.
and here we were with swaying hips
dancing close and pressing lips,
whispering and laughing as we go.
who’s to say what time will tell
if we play our cards quite well
we might do this a lot.

I hope
therefore I try
I lose
and so I cry.
I dance
to make me high.
I fall
And then I sigh.
I love,
so I will fly.
I live
then I can die.

Spring has gone to Summer
and Summer falls with me
into the leaves that die
separated from their tree.
the sap has gotten thick
and the flowers nodding off
the birds have disappeared
and grass has gotten rough.
the thing that never changes
the sky that stays so blue
covers me with sunshine babe
like happy thoughts of you.
I see it from a bed of leaves
through branches sleeping now
my dreams away like birds
my body on the ground.
the thing that ever changes
the clouds that cover blue
a feeling bittersweet my love
like all my thoughts of you.

Mike Hauser had a brilliant idea to “Pass the pen” and see where it got us.  This, Friends, is the result.

I write of the stars
I write of the moon
I write of the things
That I love to do
I write of the lies
While telling the truth
And when I am through
I pass the pen to you

I read the things
that went before
and add my thoughts
for you to write more
of things we love
and things we hate
so here's the pen,
now contemplate!

I wait like a kid
the anticipation
breaks my quiet
like a train in station
with thoughts
pouring out
like the traveling weary
so here's the pen
"now what's my hurry?"

While looking at this
And studying that
As our poetic peruse
Comes up to bat
With much more in store
From the writer's’ knack
I jot down my last line
Then pass the pen back

and now it get's fun
with my lines and yours
at least it keeps me
from doing my chores!
fingers be nimble
brain be quick
I finished this part
now here's the Bic.

With words tattered and torn
I have you here to mend
Don’t know where I’m going
Brain lights on dim
With little or no warning
Here it comes again
All on a whim
I hand you the pen

*so who will care
if we make no sense
“these poets here
must have the bends!”
but all the same
we’ve had our yen
it was a good run
let's retire the pen

“No,” she said “just no.”
I wilted,
watching her detachment
as if I was an insect crossing her plate
to be brushed aside.
Embarrassed, shutting down
where hope to share myself had sprung
but met her disdain.

But I’m your mom,
and they don’t care,
these strangers without a single string to your heart
or mine.
And yet she yanks on mine
as if my thoughts will hurt them.

What can I do
to get through to you?
It’s not my life but yours,
and someone else who loves you
that may fight
then move away.
I pray it’s not ahead for you.

I don’t have the luxury.
You demand my heart
the way you did my womb.
The hope of all our years
placed in my arms and at my breast
after sweat and tears had left my body.

My baby,
my everlasting love,
my singular weakness.
The one I could never turn away.
Dismissing a part of me with “No”
as if I need permission to be tender
and reveal myself.

Where did I go wrong?
I don’t allow this from anyone.
I walk.
But no one else has my soul by a cord,
through my heart,
taking nourishment for life
and sending back a sense of purpose.

Nothing greater in joy or pain,
than mother.
And this, I know,
is *ahead of me for life.

I'm in your head with what I've read.
Sorry?  You say I'm not?
If we don't want the attention,
then why write this rot?

The poet is a complex breed;
they "spill it" for the page
but deny the closest knowing,
hiding source of love or rage.

Poetry, a selfish sport
we tease the world with rhymes
then troll the lines of someone else
as if we're owed the cries.

Not for public viewing
except what we control;
we measure just the prettiest
and the rest we hold.

Who really knows a writer
except themselves?
Our deepest, truest secrets
we hold upon our shelves.

By this the world's a poem
we wind together deep;
we ought to open up our hearts
let all the feeling seep.

I smile for a while
observing this new style
of speaking with someone
I recall.
The rocks and hills,
contests of wills
have given way to
waves across a sea.
An ocean of time
forgiving sublime;
you’re you
and I get to be me.
So now my friend,
my brother,
the face I wear is true;
just because I’m me
and you are you.

For a time tossed
Over rocks and in the under-tow,
Released from the fight I
Tame my spirit;
Reclaiming my composure to
Embrace lessons learned
Since time began to
Stir my soul.

my self most intimate,
unspoiled,
keeping every scar alive,
albeit cloaked in metaphors
like bandages of silk
that hide the oozing;
my self most raw and
un-defiled,
unguarded,
revealed in phrases
composed to ponder
with your time;
is here in lines of poems
playing like a child in the trees,
like a game of hide and seek
a breeze may help you win.
but to find me
you must read between my lines.

a poem wrote me
almost before I knew.
my hand my mind my pen
just a muse
for sentiment that oozes
like sap from a tree
after Winter harsh and cold
has just released the grip
of icy fingers
melting into Spring.
a poem wrote me
while hungry earth
beneath my feet
waited for the sugar
nourishing seeds
growing the flowers
to prove that life goes on.
my life goes on
because a poem writes me
still.

blinded by choice
you mistake me at will
for something ill.
misunderstandings
take two minds
but clarity takes heart.
I do not write on walls,
I carve on sand.
but you the wave
would wipe away the moment
as if my heart
would scar the beach
you have eroded for yourself
and you prefer
to hide the truth
I speak.
where have gone my words?
sank beneath your toil
like whispers in white noise.
we can not hear a gentle breeze
when tide is high.

someone who resembles you
but not you.
what the hell?
a stormy heart
a quiet smile
eyes a piercing blue.
I know that I’ll be into him
because I’m into you.
some would say I’m broken.
I know I'm soul stained.
a lonely truth I’m living
that it’s not me,
it’s you.

dragon fly with silver wings
see my soul and show me things.
in my heart and to his ear
sentient wisdom of love's nature.

song and wine have been for naught;
I have given all I've got.
a kindly deed and soft caress
the moonlight and the sun confess.

the wind can take you dragon fly
far past the reaches of my eye
to tell me if he thinks of me
in moments of serenity.

if I see your wings again
I shall know I have a friend.
though space and time we can not share
I will understand it, fair.

entirely possible,
very probable,
highly likely,
that you are
impossible.
it's an explanation
plausible,
that you're impossible.
it has to be the reason;
the exercise was futile,
trying to keep my grip
and ride.
thrown off,
again my possee
gives a hand
for dusty pants
and ****** knees,
while you
keep up the dance
of the bucking bull.
No embarrassment
you tossed me off
so quick;
just that I kept choosing
to try and tame a *****.

a song growing thin,
a stream of honey nearly gone;
I wait
as the last note forms.
forever it falls
and silence
finds me full
and hungry.
so I dip my finger again
twisting, turning
the golden promise
of another lyric sunrise,
a day in fields of green
where bees and birds and I
roam free.
if silence is the night
between my heart and a song
I pray it hasten.

I've missed you.
But it's not your fault
you secret little ***** of my pain.
My interest never dies
I swear
though time for you
I haven't had to spare
since I've grown happier
with every passing day.
Do not complain.
I'll pick you up again
when my heart bleeds for no one
standing near.
For in an hour
that finds me lonely
I will want your listening ear
'neath my pen,
taking stains
so I don't have to wear them.
You take them,
hold them,
wait for me.
My little book of verses,
I'll return
with tears like kisses.