Saturday, in the dark
Just another day alone with my art
Paint brushes turned all red
As my heart bled onto the canvas said
I painted my life in blood
As I fainted
The brush in my hand fell
Pointing to a poem
My last written word
Called
No more Sundays

In a motel room
With a bottle of whiskey
The Perfume of my ex lover in the air
Her negligees all wrapped around my neck
Hung by love
As I fall
All my poems scatter
Rigamortis sets in
One day
Will my love of poetry matter?

Having a whiskey
With left over dreams
Walked through the park
Empty bottles kissing my feet
Snow flakes falling on dead trees
Dancing in the moonlight
Me and my whiskey
When the full moon fades
Far away in the dawn sky
On this cold winter night
Shall be my turn to lye down and die

Some say the glass is half full
Some say the glass in half empty
They all focus on the job of the glass
No matter the contents
The glass is there
In sadness or happiness
Toiling with duty and abuse
Next time you see a glass
Wrap your hand around it
In comfort
For there is nothing in this whole universe
That is not joined and one
Feeling both pain and love
Remember these simple words
Then you shall carry humility like a medicine gun
Curing all that ails mankind
As one, the universe is never blind
Do not be the fool, instead be kind

Like a shock in the night
I woke up with a fright
I am seven
Not even eleven

I am a child
Wearing a three piece suit in cheese
I got older you see
Mind stayed young even though my first love stung

She was seven
She was smelled like candy heaven
I dreamed to kiss her
So shy, I always missed her

How can it be?
So old in the knee
Yet those in control report back to me
I am seven, no more and no lessen!

I was sure I was eleven
Or maybe even forty seven
Yet here I am on earth
Not even in heaven

Beauty has faded
In the likes of me
Yet Stella is a pretty as ever can be
She was the one, even at seven

That sent my heart straight to the heavens!

Into a poem
Feel the wetness of streaming prose
Wonder
If love shall be the towel
To dry away your tears
As one goes from here to over there
Young to old and old to wise and wise to demise
When the wine bottle tumbles from the table
Jump!
Catch the wine
If there are two hands entwined
Even a poet knows
Lay down the pen
And share that one glass of wine
Touch
The romance of time