Kiss me asleep
with your obsidian lips.

Protect my ears
from the cacophony nights would bring.

Fill the void
between heartbeats that skip.

Take me into the lull,
and into the siren song that you sing.

Every time you'll set your pen
To begin a poetic rendezvous,
You'll see it'll never be the same as yesterday,
For your poetry will change with you

Every day is a different breath,
Every breath holds a different sigh,
Every sigh holds a different feeling,
Of infinite kinds of lows and highs

And infinite ways there are, you'll see,
Of putting to words your heart beats,
Every creation will mould itself, closer
And closer to your fluid entity

Of course, there'll be times when the words
Will appear to have forever gone away,
But don't fill yourself with doubts then,
For your heart and your mind are still at play

And when you'll least expect it to,
Your poetry will dutifully return,
With little surprises and anecdotes
It collected while on vacation

Don't be amazed then, when the ink rolls out
To find some wonders and marvels brand new,
For your poetry will change with you,
And, your poetry will change you.

I've had plenty of experiences with hands
Hands that wave
Hands that hit
Hands that help
To give hints
Hands that are kind
Hands that are mean
All the different ways we use our hands
Hands to welcome
Hands to ban
Another gift from God given to man

Sad...
A wind, without a kite
A kid, who does not play
A pond, without a fish

Unacceptable...
A circus, without a clown
A lawn, that is not green
Banks, that don’t give loans

Rare,
A bird, that is not shy
A Guy, who sheds a tear
A marriage, without a fight

Hard to believe...
A writer, who always writes
A cat, that does not scratch
Grandmas, who rarely knit

Unheard of...
A scientists, who never asks
A cook, despising spice
Lawyers, who tell the truth

Creepy...
A night, that is not dark
A bat, that loves the light
Winter, without the cold

Fake,
Flowers, that never fade
Snow, that does not melt
A waitress, who always smiles

Impossible...
A poet, who does not feel
A heart, that does not long,
A lover’s eye...
                        ...that sleeps the night.

There is a truly magical valley
Up to the north part of the Lakes District
As you pass through
Each side seems to have individual mountains
As the sun filters and dazzles
With swirling mists
That move around in ghostly fashion
Perhaps we could call it
The  valley of a thousand Hills