Style
        Texture
                    Shape
                 ­            And grace
They put the smiles on your face
                              Brown and
                   Green and
      Blue and
Grey
Eyes like that just make your day
Curly
       Wavy
*****
     Straight
You love all that, you think it's fate
                   Curvy
              Skinny
          Thin
Or not
Who cares about heart, you think she's hot.

Yet talent
   Skill
Passion
   Love
They're the things that life's made of.
Caring
                            Giving
                   ­                              Loving
                 Heart
They bring us together, not apart.
  Spirit
   Strength
    Sensitivity
Faith
Someone like that will keep you safe.

But money
Fashion
***
And greed
Those aren't things for which we were freed.

Lost? No, wandering.
Alone? No, independent.
Afraid? Undoubtedly.

                                            Lost is never lost for long.
                                  Alone may never feel so wrong.
                                Afraid can never seem so strong.
                                              Never will never belong.

Separate? No, different.
Peculiar? No, quirky.
Crazy? Undeniably.

                                Separate's just a calloused touch.
                              Peculiar's just a weathered clutch.
                                        Crazy's just a mental crutch.
                                       Just has never been so much.

In absence,
A lost key is only
                   A catastrophe,
When the door is locked from the outside,
And everything important is within.

That is when we are reaquianted,
With an old concept.
One that can occur to anyone-
                              If they have the mind to lose the key.
It is the called,
                  The snowball effect.
When we are to leave without our prizes inside.
And all that is taken for granted,
Is kept beyond the width of a door.

But most of all, there is one,
Who will again take for granted his prizes,
And lose them along the way.

And although, these are not materialistic prizes,
They are prizes of greater worth than any
Kept behind that blasted door.

When these, his friends,
Give sacrifice, and he cares not to thank them.
When these, gifts to an undeserving man,
Are asked yet again, and these favors are not repaid.

This, is the snowball effect.
Something that can occur to anyone,
                    -if they have the mind to take their prizes for granted
Or ever have the idiocy to lose the key that unlocks them.
For locked out he may be,
This man has lucked out.

To watch from below,
                  life expanding in every direction.
  I walk down a path of stone and soil,                  
     placid in comparison to the trees around me.
          I sit upon a stump, the wood colored with                                        
            darkened stains like abstract art of the gods.
I star out at the picture,                    
                                                                ­  unbroken,

and at its base,                              so vast, many arms
                                a willow;
wrapped and woven around its trunk would not      
                  touch on either side.
    Beyond the old willow, far distance mountains      
dressed decidedly as lingering fog, lay cluttered in powdered blue peaks along the horizon.
           I stood up, and approached the old      
       drawbridge, the metal rusted red on blue  
   railings. I smiled up at this miracle, where the    
      hands of Man and Mother Nature clasp
             in an embrace of grace and beauty,
                    and passed beneath it.
It was then I came upon the cliff,
                                             which drew up in a boast and dropped in a dare.
The ferns, in their envy, stretched to reach as high    
      as the speckled rocks that towered against a      
                      painted, sunset sky.  
   I pressed my toes to the cut and shrapnel of the  
   cliff, and descended, a leap if faith. For it is said, 'When a man jumps from a cliff, he could fall...or he could fly.'

Two siblings walk, hand in hand,
Shoulder to shoulder,
their footsteps paving grass and stone
in wary gilding.
And when other footfalls trace their steps,
the feet will slip,
And the trail will have gone.

The siblings work in synchronization.
Unique independence,
Contrasting, and Dissimilar
both harmonizing in nature;
They tie knots in eyelashes,
Weave fine chain with obsidian,
and break nails with simple deeds.

I, with hands of hardened base,
and fingertips that stroke Saguaro spines-
Will reach for straw figures
with blank, witless features,
And cold tin men,
with ice coated *******-

And a sharp-edged shadow will bark at my heels.

Born and brewing on the road
A choice on me has been bestowed
To grant one side my presence there
Take time to choose; contrast, compare.

Offers, one side, an easy life
Let's sing all day, and play the fife!
The other, it seems, is harder still,
Yet full of life; a forest's trill.

"Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!"
"Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!"
"It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal.
"It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle.

Forever struck, undecided on the road
For which side is better; my humble abode?
Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon
Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn

Quick like a deer, I unfold into action.
Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion?
To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back?
Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack?
To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air?
Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair?

So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride.
For I will always remain with one foot on each side.

Where do you take a story?
To the deep and dusty dungeons filled with rubble ridden cages?
Or to the telescope of fame that starts with talent, strength and stages?

Do you have a happy ending where the girl and boy get married?
Or do they drown into the sea where they're taken, swept and carried?

Is their world a crystal cave of wonders; stone and solitude?
Or do they fall upon the rocks, too sharp, too strong, too crude?

Are their masters death and dark and depression, silent and abused?
Or are they dreamy- light and creamy- hazy or confused?

Do they take the path less traveled, sure that they are wise?
Or is their confidence a plague that's hiding in disguise?

Does she run across a meadow with the daisies in her wake?
Or does she swig the pills down fast for a childhood mistake?

Will he make the deal of the devil
In a race for gold and soul?
Or does he spend his life in hell for sin and shovel coal?

Is she strange, and strong, and special,
Is he big and brave?
Is anger, lust, and vengeance,
The only thing they crave?

Where do you take a story?
Where does it meet its end?
Is it written in a poem?
Or pretend that it's your friend?

*To be continued...

We all hear of wishes
But there are two types out there.
Those which all wish for
And those that wish for similar reasons.

I wish I could fly for its freedom.
                                               I wish for wings to escape from here
                                                                                         and start over.

As I've said before, and I'll say it once more,
My heart was born in the ground,
Raised by the sea,
And housed in the trees,
And that's why I love them so.

In separation,
My soul was lifted on wind,
Traveled by light,
And slept in the clouds,
And that's why I love them so.

For my heart and soul are one,
One that has yet to meet me.
One that carries nature on his shoulders.
And that's why I love him so.

He and I are separated still,
Distanced by time,
Lost in the woods,
And brought closer by opposite currents.

We are carried by will
Followed by fate,
Inspired by others
And freed by blue skies.

And that's why I love them so.

Sneakers left in blue shoe boxes
Milk is spilt on ruined floors
Sewing chair just ricks and rockes.
Paint is chipped off old, white doors.

Mice and murmuring reconcile
Sheets left huddled in room
Books and briefcase in a pile
Hatbox smells of old perfume.

A child's dollies left, and loveless
Glasses cracked and on the chair
Courtyard empty, dead and dove less
Frames are empty, cracked and bare.

Stairs are winding up, unending
Cotton seeps from cushion wounds
Old oak branches broke and bending
Cluttered forks and silver spoons.

Empty always, still and lonely
People come but never stay
Stay one night but one night only
Then they up and go away.

Snuck between the bars at last
Holder's faces all agast
Thoughts of future, brightened gloom.
Failures stalk back to their doom
Slip between the steel-wrought veil
Holders, demons, on my trail.
Panic reigns,  instinct rides
Deep inside the hope resides.
Sneak away and lose them quick
Willow's weeping hides me thick
Blamed for treason, ****** hands
Yet Guilty sleeps and Innocent stands
A swell of joy and I am gone.
But freedom's cradle rocks till dawn.

When Poe leaves Kingdom and hails the sea
And absence wins to ecstasy
Seraphs dwindle in their clouds
Never minding Annabelle Lee.

When Cummings follows floating bells
And someones and everyones reap their tells,
spring winter autumn summer
the snow of children swells and swells.

When Rosetti ventures in the day,
and golden hair shows not one grey.
Sisters wander, sisters stray
And can't keep Goblin fruit away.

When Frost forgets to watch the trail
And takes the worn path most preferred.
Keeps walking til his footsteps fail
The leaves are trodden, black, stale,
The road not taken, undisturbed.

When I wonder what poets say
When they turn their truths away
And venture into the unknown,
Do they leave well enough, alone?

Steeping hills send water flowing,
Tinkling,
Down the street.
Snow whirls in shrinking circles,
Crying,
In the heat.
Icy branches sag with sadness,
Dripping,
In defeat.
Snowmen's smiles slip and slide,
Frowning,
Incomplete.

Boiling winds chase the cold,
Snapping,
With their teeth.
Flattened grass curls and coils,
Wincing,
Into heath.
Crystal icicles loose their grip,
Crumbling,
Underneath.
Cold, white gold sits warm and and alien,
Sweating,
Off the wreath.

Summer dares to show it's face,
Grinning,
In the light.
Winter goes to silent slumber,
Waking,
For the night.
Autumn's drenched in vasoline,
Slipping,
Out of sight.
Spring is patient, next in line,
Waiting,
To take flight.

To have that terrible urge
That horrible, grotesque thing
That feeling we wish to purge,
But we do not push, we cling.

It's that wonderful squeeze
Of his hands in yours
That tiny viral disease
We hear of in legends and lores.

Whispers of little white lies
We tell ourselves at night
One half loves, one denies
Warm in joy, cold in fright.

His wicked love devours
All your morals, all your cares
His crooked smile empowers
Warmth like poison, it ensnares.

Here, it whips you from clear eyes
And it blinds you of the truth
All decisions, it decides
Made of confidence, of uncouth.

You fall victim, you fall ill
Endless falling here and there.
Still you tumble down that hill,
You are taken, *love beware!

I sing sad songs to soothe my pains,
And curse the evening when it rains.
I wallow low in self-pity.
Forced to bear suburban streets,
Feel fear where arid country meets
With paranoia in the city.

Stereotypes sadden, cynicisms break
What friendships I still stand to make
In this, my schooling’s final tool.
Emotionless, a way to make me smile,
At friends with whom I should reconcile,
  With hope, not looking like a fool.

Have you ever heard that growl
That comes from some beast's mighty bowls
A rumble from way down the street
That makes you shake from head to feet?
Have you seen the woods at night
So dark it's seems there's never light.
Have you walked right down a trail
Dressed in red, so small, so frail.
Have you ever felt such fear,
You wish to see your mother dear,
One last time before the beast
Takes you in and makes a feast?
Food from the basket in your hand,
Have you ever seen such teeth on Gran?
Or claws so thick, they're rip and tear
Just by passing through the air?
Have you ever heard it told,
Where beast keeps Red within his hold?
The woodsman fell asleep that night,
But never had the beast to fight.
So Red was eaten with the bread,
She'd saved for Gran, who'd been long dead!
So now, I think I'm willing to bet
That you haven't heard that ending yet!

Mom-
Our home is a gray and white picture you fill
With colors that shine way too bright to stay still.
Paper and lead are just desolate lands,
Yet grand and amazing, like clay in your hands.
The tree is towering shadow at night.
Then you dash it, and flash it, and coat it with light.
The house is wasteland of all that is lost,
But you clear it right out, like the fog on defrost.
The food is a pile of mush in a ball,
Then you turn it to pie, with a touch of the fall.
When anger is raging, and storming with pain,
You meet it head on, and turn it to rain.
When sadness is settling deep in our eyes.
You see it, and show it, and ignore all the lies.
So if ever you feel that we don't really care,
Read this, and you'll see that the love is all there.

The sky is grey
With falling ash.
I wait upon
The snapping lash.
The sonic boom
That scalds my skin.
Bites my back,
Licks my chin.
A cry bursts through
My ****** lips.
And tiptoes through
The sails and ships.
My face is raw
And black and red.
By blades as thin
As pin and thread.
The rope that binds
With hostile ease,
Is as merciless
As the greedy seas.
The cannons gleam,
And spit out smoke
Then fire sang,
And war awoke.
I strained a gaze
On black and white,
That streamed right through
The brightened night.
Now torn to shreds
And at my feet,
It was the last
Of the pirate fleet.

Roam the country
Sweep the sea
Fly above us
Forever free.
Hold our pride
Keep us strong
Live your life
And do no wrong.
You're the symbol
You're grace
You're the model
We embrace
Take our hope
Take our glory
Bring the battle
Write the story
Cry your fury
Bite the beak
Smite them down
The mountain peak.
Don't stop fighting
Don't let go
Show no mercy
Strike a blow.
Be our savior
Guard us near
You're the eagle
So show no fear.

October, with lilting melodies that play,
Rocking my frame with frisson,
Has yet to send the warm winds away,
And succumb itself to autumn.

The season change has just begun,
We’ll watch it turn in equinox,
As I bid goodbye to the sun,
And again await its warmer rays.

I sometimes think the trees can scream
So loud as to change their color,
In desperate need to re-achieve the dream,
And catch the sun’s eye with their flame.

Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Sometimes I feel that we should wait.
                            Just a second, hesitate.
                            One more moment, contemplate,
                            The inevitable that is destined to us.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            I wish I hadn't, Pain, invite
                            Freely in a fiery thought
                            A life anew, a love, ignite
                            In that first new friend I sought.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                            Before we plead and seal our fate,
                            Let memory briefly resonate.
                            On others, lost at last, too late.
                            To deter our hearts from another's future.
Rest in peace, my darling.
                          But then, I think no new regret
                          Could wish your existence never in mine.
                          For though there is pain, newly beset,
                          I cherish the happiness since whence we met.
Rest in peace forever, my darling.

This poem is no Billy’s babble,
I know this girl who tends to dabble,
Dabble with unkind creatures.

She’s beautious, dark, and loyalty-tied,
Non-gregarious, starry-eyed;
Starry-eyed for the inexpedient.

Wit is written on skin so fair
Eyes like skies, too deep to pare.
But pare her idea of ideal men.

Challenge, with whom her morals meet,
Picks scoundrels, wreaking calm deceit.
Deceitful words are hooks to her.

Beknownst to all but she herself,
These rogues take riches, turned to pelf.
Pelf, for she is better than them.

Too low they sink below her merit,
Her virtue, they could stand to inherit,
Inheriting her in return.

My eyes probe the mist where it clings to to mountains.
The mountains who stand tall and strong
                                      Who grow darker as they rise Shadows.
They're pitted against the sharp vibrant sky
                                                    That surrounds them, vast, blue, mysterious.
I linger over the glassy river surface  
That reflects the cotton clouds
             And the dark, haunting mountains
             And their huge blue groundskeeper
The river winds and winds,
                            A great thriving knot,
                                                          Untanglable.
That sinks and weaves
And swims
Level with the earth
Equal in grandness
                                                         Acts as home to all
                              All who breath air
All who drink and sleep.
Those who gaze up at towers of green
When the sun is high and summer abroad
They chatter and gather and hunt
They roll in beds of fuzzy moss
                      Growing, growing,
To give life to others
To leave when it's time
                                                        I reach, I stretch
                         My fingers strain
To go there
To escape
So close, so close

                       My hands hit the glass.
The **** jumps the frame.

A ceiling of texture, ominous and cream
Four walls of difference surround me in a dream.
Songs from my memory lead my poetry
a ceiling of texture, keeps me in my dreams.

Five clocks stare, but only one has no hands.
Every one is different, but only one correctly stands.
Dimmed down and dangerous they watch  me, faces white
Five clocks stare with their fingers pointed, ******.

Strange, misshapen chairs, and a maimed and mangled cat
Nothing give me comfort, nothing gives me that.
I am out of place here, lost in my own head.
On a strange misshapen chair sits that creepy little cat.

Ticking clocks and memories surround me in a dream.
In a living room of senselessness I couldn't even scream.
So don't try to find me. I'm lost subconsciously.
Ticking clocks and memories haunt me eternally.

My breath is like a ripple in a still blue pond.
      Going out but never coming back to me.
It's a never ending labyrinth  in this hall of smoke,
      All I want is for someone to set me free

With blackened face and fingers I search desperately.

But the fire's all I see and all I hear,

There is fire in my face and hair, there is fire in the very air.
                        Yet the fire's not the only thing I fear.

Burnt and broken I may stumble out,
                                                            ­     But dead alas.
My lungs  logged with firey smoke and falling ash.                            
  I  am blinded from my walk with death forever.
        My mind is bleeding like a beating by the lash.
                        I'm a goner, I'm a loser to life's wrath.

Ashes scatter in the trees
As I fall upon my knees.
Whispered words of muted grief
To me the sorrow's been bequethed.

From the metal can in hand
You catch the wind
Like powdered sand.
Goodbye to you
My dearest friend,
I'll see you soon,
Around the bend.

Farewell to tears
That never dry
Everytime 
I say goodbye.
Ashes fall
Spirits rise.
Life goes on
And heartache dies.

And there stood a lady with a mild-mannered eye,
Saying, "May those frost-bitten lips of other's die.
With their marred tongues of a dastardly word
Deep under influence their language is slurred."
And with a thought of imbued awe,
Beneath her pressing eyes I saw
And never again would I lay waste
To a poor fortuned tangle of delayed grace.

The wind that dances with trees
drops Summer's snowflakes, golden leaves.
And on our heads it blows the breeze.
Softly whistles, turns, and flees.

The ground where sky and soil meet,
plush and green beneath our feet,
And when you sit, the softest seat,
It stretches long below the street.

The willow, tall, he bravely stands,
Ole Rue he's called across the land.
And if you climb, and take his hand,
You'll feel his face, as smooth as sand.

From your window in the mill
You'll see the willow on the hill.
The wind, the ground, all silent, still
Until you're back to feel their thrill.

Words that warm my heart and soul
Are cut into glass as cold and clear as
the stormy skies.
Sent to me in black and white,
   -emotionless, uninviting.
Yet they heat my frozen limbs,
And send the blood racing to my fingertips;
   -white and cold as snow.
To my face which glows with blushing light,
To my toes which curl in happiness.
A coil restricts my chest, it seems.
And breaths grow shallow and daunted.
My ribs will break, my breath will go,
And I will live vicariously through you;
Your words in cloudy skies and black ink,
   -And cut glass.

A hole lay, just the size of me,
in the base of a willow tree.
A rabbit hole, no hares to see,
Where hares and rabbits ought to be.

I slip within, the darkness thick,
The floor is hard, the walls are slick.
I'm cramped inside, my breaths are quick,
My teeth make lips too ripped to lick.

I'm drawn in deep, like moth to flame,
I'd never dreamed before I came,
Cautious; things don't stay same,
The giggles shudder in this game.

My company creeps and scurries near,
we fall and crawl in puzzled fear.
There's something else that lingers here.
The bugs and rats have stopped to leer.

Crying! Squeaking! Scurry back!
Stampedes of pests stream, strong and black,
Over, under, they trample a track.
Gone, they go, escape attack.

And when I brace to feel the bite,
I grasp at sudden strands of light,
The night has broken, dawn brings light.
The willow splits to weep, contrite.

I free myself, and give a whoop,
the trail within had made a loop!
And nevermore I dare to snoop,
To peek within the willow's stoop.

When every worldly sense is severed,
When not a muscle moves,
When our consciousness relents;
                     I wonder - Who Are You?
The time which slides our every moral
And we cannot be untrue,
We have no will to restrict our strength
                     So I wonder - Who Are You?
In the time when nothing holds us back,
Just before we come to;
Is there someone else so far within-
                     That I must wonder - Who Are You?

Wide eyes
Neck bent,
Gaze, gawk, stare.
Joyous cries,
Skeptic gasps
Step, step, glare.

Shrill ring
Wise eyes
Color foreseen
Fiery wing
Spits flame
Fly, glide, careen.

Arrows fling
Fury falls
Glory for the bowmen.
Victors sing
Puff of smoke
Rise from ash again.

No angels marr my shoulder space
No horns nor wings to find
But yet there are two sides of me
That unkindly cohabit my mind.

Fighting, fighting, constant quarrel,
Both wrestling for command.
No time to take a quick breath in
For loss of reprimand.

A girl and a philosopher,
Not opposites, you see.
I'm in no condition for juxtaposition
Lest subjected to therapy.

The girl is cruel, with a capricious streak,
Unyielding, growling, beast.
Philosopher questions her every say,
Persistant in the least.

Don't cry, my son
I'm here, I'm here
I'll stay with you,
My boy, my dear.
I'll float with you
In dreams of streams
And pools of light
Knitted into your seams
Don't cry, my son
I love these clouds.
But how I hate
Black clothes, black shrouds.
On blackened earth,
Right here I am.
We'll go together,
Hand in hand.
Amidst the trees
And mountains, and breeze
Let's go meet God,
Brush off your knees.
But don't forget
My darling, my son,
I'm here, don't cry.
Our suffering's done.

Behind my eyes, colors flash
And you and I my sister dash
Across a field of stinging bees
We run beyond the frozen seas
With thoughts of sun and mossy roots
We sing  and laugh with phony coots
And by no rules, do we abide,
for in this world
we’re side by side.
And I without you, could not see
the sister you will always be
For you have been so good to me.

Everywhere I walk-everywhere I go;
the titles follow like aftershave.
They're not warm, they're not soft,
They're not enveloping,
They give a bland emotion to their matter.
       This is Big.
       These are People.
       They are Insignificant.
Titles follow everywhere.
like shadows to our frames.