Grass, beauty, Easter and art;
the kind of grey skies that don't hurt your heart,
the kind of rain that signals a new start -
Spring is allowing your soul and your darkness to part.

Remembering childhood memories you didn't know you forgot,
Pastel coloured sweets that will make your teeth rot,
Lovers going at it like bunnies without fear of getting caught,
Spring is bringing clarity and serenity to your thoughts.

Windows that crack open just enough to leak fresh air,
with lilac blossom candles leaving a light scent that's barely there
and there's something about the way you started wearing your hair...
Spring is finally replenishing what winter left bare.

Hi there,
I see your brown eyes that dare
I see their happiness,
and unpredictable mischievousness,
Warm with crinkles on the edges and all
Promising me an irresistible fall

you there
They said, your brown eyes that dare
Telling me to be brave
and pursue these things I dare crave
Swearing to be there by my side and be
The best of friends with me

hi there
I say to your brown eyes that dare
I see your happiness,
and blatant lightheartedness,
But I see behind those madness and all
That your heart and soul are ready to fall

I'll be here
I wish your brown eyes could hear
I'm now telling you, be brave
Just let go of the darkness you crave
I swear to be by your side and be
Ready for you to lean on me

"sometimes
i just want
some time
to myself.

is that so hard.
is that so hard."

"is that so?'
he says.

and he laces his
fingers into
mine.

Over the surging tides and the mountain kingdoms,
Over the pastoral valleys and the meadows,
Over the cities with their factory darkness,
Over the lands where peace is still a power,
Over all these and all this planet carries
A power broods, invisible monarch, a stranger
To some, but by many trusted. Man's a believer
Until corrupted. This huge trusted power
Is spirit. He moves in the muscle of the world,
In continual creation. He burns the tides, he shines
From the matchless skies. He is the day's surrender.
Recognize him in the eye of the angry tiger,
In the sign of a child stepping at last into sleep,
In whatever touches, graces and confesses,
In hopes fulfilled or forgotten, in promises

Kept, in the resignation of old men -
This spirit, this power, this holder together of space
Is about, is aware, is working in your breathing.
But most he is the need that shows in hunger
And in the tears shed in the lonely fastness.
And in sorrow after anger.

maybe I'll write a poem today
I've usually got something to say,
"it's a bottle of gin"
or "it's the tip of a pin"

but maybe today
I don't have something to say
nothing to share
no forced care

I don't have something to say
maybe next tuesday