I mailed you a letter because you said
the art of writing is dead but I know
how to twist words into sculptures still small
enough to fit in the post box. I hope
you read what I wrote. I opened my heart
and sent you a poem. Someday when you’re old
you will show your grand kids the written art
some hopeless romantic girl undersold,
prefaced with ‘it isn't anything great but
maybe it will lead you to understand.’
I never claimed to be the best but my
head is full of cosmos and volcanoes
begging to explode black holes on paper as
relics pressed between pages like a dried rose.

So what if I'm outspoken
My hearts been broken
I'm not jokin,
           my mind is awoken
Soul is stolen,
               must be an omen
Words unspoken,
       open and golden
Not what I would have chosen

***** the heartache,
      now I'm awake
Looks so opaque,
           you were fake
It was a mistake just to partake
Do a double take,
       no more heartbreak
Time to remake and fix the break
Give and take,
        now I'm awake

Was so miserable,
     unforgivable
It's criminal,
      be an individual
So predictable,
           you're an imbecile
It's unthinkable,
         not unconditional
Unintentional,
      you're unemotional
Not original,
        be considerable
It's so pitiful,
          not traditional
I'm rational and very visual

You ought to not get too distraught
You got caught tied in a knot
Like an afterthought,
            you fought
And brought the plot,
         overwrought
Maybe you forgot what you taught
But I'm not distraught
Over what you brought
Just
     some
         food
     for
  thought...

My orbs sought yours
Amidst the same old crowd
Waiting to connect
To create a sound so loud
An instant glee
This soul thirsts for
Just one look at me
I won't need more.

I spy a twinkle in your eye
you will be my soulmate
till the day I die!

What is pink? a rose is pink
By the fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? why, an orange,
Just an orange!

Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.

She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.

Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.

How many seconds in a minute?
Sixty, and no more in it.

How many minutes in an hour?
Sixty for sun and shower.

How many hours in a day?
Twenty-four for work and play.

How many days in a week?
Seven both to hear and speak.

How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runn'th.

How many months in a year?
Twelve the almanack makes clear.

How many years in an age?
One hundred says the sage.

How many ages in time?
No one knows the rhyme.

What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow:
What are brief? today and tomorrow:
What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth:
What are deep ? the ocean and truth.