Oh, how the fools fell
for the sweet tender
Izabell.

Where once
they would have guarded
themselves,
like steel locks
designed to block
rare intruders
who dare go
anywhere
near there.

Now they open doors
gleefully hoping
she will see
and enter gingerly
for love's gentle reprieve.

Those young men
come bumbling in
ready to submit
to whatever role
she wishes them
to fit in.

I watch each young gun
become a heartbroken ***.

I have my fun
but run before
she sees me
because she could break me
just as easily.

I was there
when you
came home
for the first time,
little preemie
wonderful baby
brother of mine.

You were the cutest
thing I’d ever seen
growing up
too quickly.

There were late
game nights
with pizza delights
and silly sleep overs

But as we got older
I got a little colder
and for a while
I kept my heart
and my smiles
several miles
apart.

With the years
that went whizzing on
I look back now
and cry
for all that lost time.

I may have been gone
for a long stretch
walking a path
and trying to find
something better
then the bitter
past I left behind.

The roads may rumble
with lightning
that becomes thunder
and the earth may quake
as I recall the old days
when we would stay up late
to laugh and play.

The lines I write
may be very cliché
but this is just something
I have to say.

Man, little brother
I still really love ya.

Poor poetic friend
wasn’t self-respecting
kept on doubting
what she was doing
so, I told her,

You do quite alright.
As far as the amount I write.
Well, I do not have much of a social life,
because I like the quiet nights.
Plus, my job provides more free time
to create free rhymes
then most nine to fives.

I adore your art form.
Each line is like rainbow paint
upon a rose petal canvass,
Each word a wonder
above and under.
Concealing whilst revealing
eloquent metaphors
With sweet allusions to
The illusions of life we
dance through
in poetry.

All-encompassing spring blooms
that blossom
bright flowers
letting little silk dancers
rise with the wind
and descend again
to the soft soil
of my mind.

I tried to tell him
but he wouldn’t listen,
keeps on missing
the common sense
we were all given.

He’s got a big mouth
and thick fists
matched by his dim wits,
so, pretty boy ***** is
too big for his lacey britches.

Ruffled some rough feathers
now the big birds are chirping
ready to put a hurt on
this **** that keeps skirting
certain responsibilities.

He can talk a big game,
float lazily on a name,
but when the gang
comes back around again;

He won’t be taking a swim
with his shimmering
salmon friends,
or be fitted for
the new cement style
on the ocean floor.

In fact, he will be lucky if
those redwood chips
aren’t made red with
crimson drips,

and I might try to save him
but I am seriously starting
to prefer avoiding
the whole human herd.

I wake up
with a cup
of caffeine,
and I’m greeted
by a beautiful
boot up screen.

There is a message online
from the one that I find
has stimulated my mind.

We talk for the day.
What a wonderful way
to create a new
relationship.

I move out to move in
as we become
more than just friends.

Time marches on
as old friends pass on,
but the hope that
I hold is not gone.

She becomes my wife ‘
at this late stage in life.
And though I am shocked
the new gift that I get
is a baby girl.

Later in life
my wife dies,
and my little girl goes
and grows up
to moves away.

She makes a family
of her own,
gets her own home,
and visits me
a couple times a year.

But then I wake up
and realize
that my wonderful life
was a bunch of lies.

It was just a dream.

There is a recurring
and intensifying
awkward tension
in my chest.

I do not mention
it to any one,
only clench
and cringe
in a minor state
of anxiousness.

It seems to be followed
by a shoulder to neck
ache
that flows along
a bone I broke
a very long,
long time ago.

There is cluster of warm discomfort
that expands from my chest,
in relation to the stress
from car issues,
a flare up forced
by the sound of something
making crunching noises.

It passes quickly
as I realize
that my car is fine.

Is the tension
a product of
my exhausted mind,
cause I am totally fine
in the morning to come?

I get my daily
workout fun in
and everything
seems cool.

Until, I feel that
familiar ache.

Maybe, I should take
a couple day’s break
from the gym.

But I hate to waste
a good workout day.

So, despite the stress
and inconsistent pain
I still workout,
and that night
it comes back again.

I will not write
this poem’s end
and I hope
reality does not
take note
and finish it for me.

I will not always love myself
I do not, and cannot
In a world like this
With a body like mine
That dips and rises like a mountain range
With its too-dark veins
A stark and unflattering contrast
To my moonrise skin
The rivers and tributaries that swim
It is not always as beautiful
As an awakening earth
This hair like mud
Eyes like mud
Barren soil that cannot always
Yield great harvest
I will not always bear fruit
This body, small and easily crushed underfoot
Do we always love the bug?
That breaks beneath our heel?
Body of mine that does not sing for me
Voice of mine that cracks and breaks
I will not always crave to hear the echo
But ...
But.
I know that though I will weep
On mornings where I do not glow inside the sun
In all the ways I am so desperate to
On mornings where his palm on my stomach
Is the soft tether that keeps me dreaming
On mornings where his kisses
Are the only warmth I want to bask in
I know that he loves me
That he loves this body
Moreso the battlefield beneath
And sometimes, mostly, always,
That is enough.