3d CA Guilfoyle
Love, I've forgotten
how to spell your name,
forgotten the taste,
the smell, the feelings,
all those things you
used to bring to mind;
no, not you, not her,
nor lovers now blurred
I've known in my life,
but you, Love, the meaning
and joy, the sweet pain
of one simple word that
I've not heard in so long
a time I can't remember.
 3d CA Guilfoyle
Most nights
I reach inside
my mind
trying to unwind
those thoughts
like twist-ties
that bind
to keep the loaves
of bread
free of mold
and fresh;
un-plan the long
planned plan
of mine
to choose the time
of my demise;
and sometimes
I try to listen
closely to
the constant ringing
in my ears,
the rhythmic singing
whine and changing
tones that turn
the sadness
churning, the waves
of emotions raging
in my ocean,
blue as the bottle
kept by my bed,
sleep my quest; sleep
eternal, the rest
of death I beg, leave
me alone, leave
me one more night
of breath to breathe.
In my garden
I have seen the rain
turn the leaves
to lustrous emeralds and jade

I have seen
a Hummingbird bathe
in the freshly watered leaves
of a Buddleia
moving leaf to leaf
in delighted fluttering

I have seen
juvenile, yet nearly grown
Blue Jays, beaks open,
throats quivering
demanding to be served
by their weary, patient parents

I have seen
a vivid Green Snake pose
as a Zinnia stem
eyeing me cautiously
as I pass by
startled, yet captivated

I have seen
a Box Turtle leisurely
floating in the pond
his bowed back
the color of rich soil
dabbed in sun spots
by an artist's brush

while Frogs,
slick and bug-eyed
peek mischievously
through the water's surface
and disappear as if
playing a game
of hide-and-seek

In my garden
I have seen
a Moonflower unfold
its pure white soul
and inviting fragrance

as dark begins
opening itself slowly,

virgin bride to the night
Happy Pi day
have a piece for me

transcendental number
digits that go on infinitely

Celebrate 314
any way you want
make a splash
or party
just don't be nonchalant

Count some numbers
do some math
enjoy and live it up...

perhaps a bubble bath

go outside, climb a tree
any diameter will do
go ahead...I promise

I won't run circles around you
The boxes
which keep my blood clean
are stacked as tall as I,
a monument
in the spare room
to past battles.
Too many words,
too many thoughts
tied up in the
hand-to-hand combat
with mortality.

No more.

What life I have
will not be defined
by an indeterminate end.

I live to write poems;
I will no longer die in them.
Camus knows.
Reaching out
from the darkened recesses.
With calloused fingers
and rough bit nails.


At any semblance of order...
And balance.

Make these theirs.
Let these be within reach.

For they,
those digits...
Worn, scraggly and desperate.

They belong to one.
They answer to one,
martyred heart.
Tell me a story.
Tell me a story of victory
and triumph.

Remind me of possibilities.
Remind me of reasons
to make change.

Convince me again.
Convince me that for a time,
I believed in the stars
and the full blown moon.

Assure me...
Assure me that the universe
hasn’t left.

And that I’m still in it.
This thing...

but potent.
Erratic even.

Yet I hold it close.
I clench it fast within my grasp.

I care not
for its volatile nature.
I care not
if it’ll sway me.
I care not
if it’ll explode.

Because at the end of the day,
it’s all I have.
Let no eyes
see the hidden flame

Let no skin
feel the flutters within

Let no palms
grab with no aim

Let no legs
falter before I even begin
Another love poem? I ask myself.

She's a red streak
where the waves froth her feet white
a girl scouring the sands for shells
in the ageless haze the sea spews
bending and rising like the doubt
if time by some quirk has stopped
and the slanting beach is that warped space
where for long has homed
all the free souls of the world
love being their only name.

I walk up to her richer
by another love poem.
Sagar Island, Nov 19, 2017, 4 pm.
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