Old Gary Blue made lady's shoes,
from flats and pumps to stilettos.
In every size and many hues,
with lots of closed and open-toes.

He fell for Debra Derby, true,
the smith's daughter, with crimson hair.
He wooed her til she loved him, too,
and wed her in a Spring affair.

Her father, old  and stubborn soul,
had been a smith most of his life.
He had some  issues with control,
just ask his daughter and his wife.

For Debra Derby's dowry,
He had conditions to be met.
Gary's work was too flow'ry
for his daughter.  He was upset.

"Fire up the bellows, Gary Blue!
Now you'll forge a diff'rent course!
You'll never make another shoe,
unless it fits upon a horse!"

Poor Gary was despondent, now,
though love was bound to find a way.
He had to  pull this off somehow,
with his love and his art to stay.

Then GENIUS!  Inspiration struck!
and Gary knew just what to do.
Got paint and felt off his old truck,
and set off, every horse to shoe.

Now flats and pumps, stilettos too,
in pinks and violets, clad in felt,
donned every hoof that Gary knew.
Left many fillies looking svelte!

We didn't say much that night,
but the silence loudly spoke.
We were burning moonlight
watching it go up in a puff of smoke.
We both felt the fire,
but it couldn't last long.
For one of us or the other
the heat would soon be gone.
There was no fear, just separation;
the night bore a connotation
of terminal proportions,
and an impending self-condemnation.
Awash there in the silence,
watching the night hang overhead,
we sat, as though watching kin
slowly slipping away in their deathbed.
Like, we know that it's coming,
there's no impending sense of dread.
We'll say a prayer and throw some flowers
Then both sleep in our own separate bed.
We almost force a smile
when our eyes meet.
It takes a while of trying
Before we both look back at our feet.
Still, she leans into me,
Closes her eyes against my shoulder.
The only warmth left between us
So I wrap her up and hold her
and we sit there,
cloaked in the waning night.
The clouds have blanketed the stars
and we've burned up all the moonlight.

She has a luminescence about her
A way of outshining the neon and fluorescent
That cling to her curves as she dances beneath them
I stood there, in my second-hand persona,
wearing a mask of bravado, now whimsical with
its mouth agape, staring as she made love to the music.
I recollected myself,
remembered to breathe,
swallowed my heart,
and dared to move closer.

The rhythmic pulse of the music
threatened to crush me as my feet touched the floor-
my head still in the cloud generated by her heat,
that permeated every molecule of my body.
The closer I got, the harder it was to keep
from succumbing to the lack of air.
"Remember to breathe.
You're sweating.
Abort. NO.
Play it cool. You're cool."

I could have pieced together
A thousand words, pulled from the ether
and crafted into exactly-what-she-wanted-to-hear,
But she had taken my air.
My tongue wouldn't move with my lips
To form a simple hello.
I just stood there in my mask.
No longer whimsical.
Nearly desperate
and certain that I would die right there.

Then, in a move that writes love songs,
that creates sunsets and shifts paradigms,
SHE, this caramel-skinned goddess
Wove her warm, illuminated fingers into mine
And pulled me into that dance
That she was sharing only with the music.
Not breathing again.
Keep moving.
Stop thinking.
Just be. Right now, just be.

So, I was. Dead to time and space,
alive to the moment and the music,
Her touch, the light and the curves.
She held to me as if she read my mind;
perhaps I wear my heart in my eyes.
Eyes that she seemed to pull my soul out of
To drown it in hers, as she danced
With me.
To me. Through me.
Beyond me.
But with me, as though I were the light and the music,
and she wasn't done making love.

To me, you are a paradise
Stretched far beyond the mind's frail grasp
What glory found on simple sands
Could elicit such awestruck gasp?

None other, love, but you alone,
Could promise such without a word,
But with a look, a simple touch,
Make silent sentiment so heard.

Endless summer, boundless heaven,
Far from the path I thought to trod;
You've echoed hymns they've never sung
Words written by the hand of God.

Okay, Cupid, tell me true-
The hell'd I ever do to you?
You flap about, your bowstring drawn
Aiming just to lead me on.

"Oh, she's the one!" You always say,
And with a 'thwip', arrows away!
And when it hits, right in my heart,
Proceeds to tear the world apart.

And then you just flutter away,
No doubt thinking "good job, today!"
But Cupid, sir, you fail to tell
That my poor heart is in for hell.

Now, love is grand, don't get me wrong,
But never seems to last for long.
Those arrows you're so fond to fire
Are sometimes too quick to expire.

So, Cupid, mate, step up your game,
Or redirect your blasted aim.
If love is such a complex trick,
Don't shoot at me you little *****!

Today I cried, my heart is rent
For somebody I didn't know.
And for the fact that, nowadays,
They say "that's just the way things go".

A man was slain without just cause,
An officer behind the gun;
And instantly, divided we
Debate justice, where there is none.

Regardless of public record,
The man was slain for not one sin-
He died because of ignorance.
He died because of his dark skin.

The officer might go to trial,
And just as likely, he'll go free.
And we'll be told "respect the cops,
They're here for their community."

You've got a glow
like a star.
From afar,
I wished on you,
and now, there you are.
Looking at me
from behind those
eyelashes,
smashing
my inhibitions
like broken prose.

Pretty you,
whom I have yet to meet,
I greet you,
sweetly,
and ask you this:
would you miss
the moonlight
if I stole it from your eyes?
The mirrored glow
they show
is more bright,
and not to my surprise-
how could
even the moon
not swoon,
lost in your gaze?
Moonbeams and
starlight, both
seem to have
lost their ways.

Could you tell me,
pretty you-
did the wind put you there?
You have taken
my breath,
and shaken
the air
around your face.
Such grace must
surely fly-
so how is it
that you pass me by
here on the ground?
Don't misunderstand,
I'm glad you've
come around,
pretty you.

Pretty you,
I hope I'm not
too fresh,
but my mind is
a bit of a mesh,
and you're pouring
through it.
The sound of
nature stopping
to admire,
like moths to a fire,
myself closest to
the flame.
Tell me,
pretty you,
do you have a name?
What word could be
crafted, such a beauty to frame?
Surely, anything plain
would only defame.

I'll be honest,
pretty miss,
my heart tells me to
chance a kiss,
but I know I shouldn't
rush, but take it slow.
Instead, I have another plan
to sit here, and maybe
hold your hand,
and under moonlight,
your voice, get to know.
But should the passion overtake,
don't be shy, make no mistake-
I won't be put off should you choose to,
lean in close,
just
like
this...
and like so,
steal a little kiss...

That would be just fine, pretty you