I recall from some time ago
a pink plastic tea set
a white plastic rocking chair
and a yellow plastic pony
with blue plastic hair,
     which
was impossible to untangle
except for with the green plastic brush
that belonged to my blonde barbie doll
out of her plastic vanity cabinet
beneath her plastic vanity mirror,
     which
she checked her makeup in
before meeting her plastic boyfriend
in his plastic van
to go to a plastic diner
that served plastic pizza,
     which
was really just a sticker
on a tiny plastic plate
that would get lost in the bottom
of my plastic toybox,
     which
had a plastic lid
that was also my sailboat
that brought me to a plastic castle
with a plastic princess
who had the prettiest plastic eyes
and the most elaborate plastic dress
and the shiniest plastic crown,
     which
was the envy of all the plastic women
in the entire plastic kingdom,
     which
was really just a plastic castle
surrounded by an enchanted plastic forest
filled with furry plastic creatures
all atop a clear plastic box,
     which
held the plastic dishes
and plastic glasses
and plastic food
in case a feast should be thrown
for an unexpected plastic guest
from a plastic kingdom in the far east,
     which
was really just a plastic plate
placed on the plastic-coated windowsill,
     from which
I would peer into the blue sky
through broken plastic binoculars
while standing on a yellow and green plastic step stool,
     which
when turned upside down
became not simply a make-shift plastic sailboat,
but a glorious, luxury plastic cruise liner
for my pretty plastic dolls

     and I would board my toybox lid
     and we would sail into a perfect plastic horizon

     which
was really just a white plastic baby gate
that kept me from tumbling
into the world downstairs
where things are wooden
and glass
and cloth
but not plastic

for plastic is synthetic
and plastic is superficial
and plastic looks bad
against gilded wallpaper

but plastic is cheaper
and plastic is safer
and plastic is durable
and childhood is plastic

I've been alone,
but, in the silence,
I have found a friend.

It listens, with
quiet understanding,
and its patience never ends.

Sometimes it speaks,
I know it does;
The voice fills up my head.

It comforts me
with words that flow
from some celestial end:

"I'm here, I'm here!
Cry to me;
I'll always hold your hand.

Life can be cruel,
but I promise you,
I'm with you, even to the end."

All my sorrows,
I have poured out
to this listening ear unseen,

And the darkness
does not seem so black
as once, I thought it'd been.

Times of trouble
do still abound,
but I need not pretend,

That I'm alone,
for, in the silence,
I have found a friend.

A poem is a thought-
A thought that becomes an insight-
An insight that becomes an art-
An art that is cherished.

A poem is a lasting value-
A value recognized by its author-
An author who had an experience-
An experience that needed to be shared.

A poem is attractive to thinkers-
Thinkers seeking stimulation-
Stimulation of the intellect
And stimulation of soul.

A poem is the method-
The method of communication
Used to communicate desires-
The desires of the heart.

A poem is the product-
The product of a passion-
A passion rooted in love-
A love that sparked a thought.

Roses are the most beautiful flower;
The sight of one turns my thoughts into prose.
Yet I’ve done ev’rything in my power,
But still, I shall ne’er be fair as the rose.
The rose stands dignified and elegant
With the most graceful composure I’ve seen,
And white, with purity and innocence,
It is more guiltless than e’er have I been.
In flawless form, its tender buds burgeon,
But I doth lack a perfect symmetry.
In ideal balance, each flow’r emerges,
Unlike my imperfect anatomy.
     Yet, despite all of this, thy love remains,
     And grateful I shall be for all my days.

An older couple,
still just as deeply in love
as the day they met.

Young children dancing-
Someday they will disagree,
but no, not today.