Love songs number one.

I am so madly
in love with you
it's evident and it's true.
Tomorrow is shining through for me and you
my darling.

Ting a ling
my heart is tingling
I want to sing my love out loud
for you
my darling.

And
my life was in such a mess
until you brought me this happiness.
Oh
I can see that it had to be
a wonderful future for you and me,
it's such a wonderful chemistry
with you
my darling.

I’ll read you poetry,
even if you don’t want to listen.
I’ll bring you flowers,
even when you say you don’t want them.
I’ll collect all the pieces you dropped
on your way from the front door
to the bedroom,
even though you told me
to leave them where they were.
I will bring you tea in bed,
and extra blankets on soft Winter nights
when snow gently covers foggy streetlights.
I will love you on days
when the Sun is too lazy to show its face
and I will love you on days
when you are too weak to show yours too.
I will love you on days
when your ears are ringing
and your fingers are numb.
I will love you on days
that start with the letter “M”,
or “T” or “W” or “F” or “S”
or any other letter that has or will ever exist,
and I will love you on days
even when you feel I shouldn’t be able to.
I will fill your cracks with grace
and stitch your wounds with everything
that I have left.
Please trust me,
I promise my hands will be steady,
even though they shake
when you reach for them.

What poem will you wear, when first we meet?

How will I recognition-you,
when you transverse my land?
Unknown our faces, our voices,
Only silent words electronic exchanged

Will lantern, it be: one, if by land, two, if by sea?
Will your ID badge, passport stamped and state,
Your chest bear a witness-sign?

The Arrivals Board flashes:
                    une poétesse est arrivé
                    eine Dichterin ist angekomme
                    a poetess has arrived
                    una poetisa ha llegado

Will there be a haiku in your hair,
A limerick exposed by raucous grin,
Or just ten words
allotted for your entire visit?

Desperate to locate
Urgent to sensate
Matters I take
Into two cupped hands,
On the shoeshine stand
Climb and recite-shout

Know me by my words,
Know me by the lilt lyrical
Of my American accented,
Canadian Tongue of my mother

Know me by my words,
Carved by time on my forehead,
Poetry is the blood of this fool's soul,
Hear me, find me, look upon me slamming

Poems are the thorns in my palms,
See me crucified, bleeding stanzas
Upon my shoeshine stand cross
Recitation resuscitation welcoming:

Benedicting Gloria, Gloria, Gloria

But if this should fail your attention to secure,
Or the TSA unappreciate my second coming,
Look for the crowd gathered round,
A man of moderate height, in a tall hat,
Beard scraggly, looking sorrowful
Reciting the Gettysburg Address

Either way,
Should be easy peasy to find me,
Grab your bag, off to short-term parking

This is how an Americana poet meets n' greets
Arriving poetess from a foreign land

Is there any other way?
------------------------------
Postscipt
Alas, five years on and I know in my heart
that you are not coming...

There's a madness in the human race
people see you but won't look at your face,
they prefer hurtling e-mails warbling into cyber space
and it makes me feel, so
slight-ly in-sane.
it's not a game, I know but
I like to show just what is going on inside
while those others want to hide away.
Why can't we start the day again ,
it looks so plain and boring but then it always seems so long

What the hell is wrong,
won't somebody tell me
what the hell is going on
are we becoming another dis-located race?
won't you tell me
face to my face.

I really don't why I worry
it's not so very good
but knock on wood
I hope, I start to understand
just what is happening here and instead of my anxiety
I can be a one non entity
and then I'll chop myself a home and just be me,see
it doesn't really matter if you worry or you don't,
if you hurry you won't
get a golden medal, just a place upon the treadmill and the only will you'll have is the will to have a tea break,then it's back to walking,round and round we go it's just a ****** circle show and
It's making me insane again,it's just the blasted same again,why can't the piper play a different tune or I'll soon be carted off to some quiet  restful place,
and the only face to face I'll get, is when the therapist sets the clock right, back to zero.

I'm not a hero,superman,just someone who, that does and can, see what is being dumbed down and it makes me angry.
The plumb line isn't hanging straight
it's crooked and it's that I hate
there's nothing that is true and I really hate that too
but what can I do?

I think I might go slightly mad
it doesn't really look that bad
three meals a day and
locked away
in my own private
world.

A catfish laughs.
It thinks of other catfishes
In other ponds.