The same sweeping rhythm
A cold winter fades
Quick as the summer settles
And the spring walks in like a dear friend

A bird on a solitary tree sings
Every morning in springtime
The flower flutter in a sprightly dance
In utter delight

While the rain drains the skies
The rhythm lives on
And I, in hopes of spring
But I too am like the rain

Take my love in bundles of flowers
I carry it on my shoulder
It is springtime
The blossoms have fallen asleep

Wield your words like running streams,
To conjure truth from fractured dreams.
Let language bend, let silence speak,
With power tender, fierce, and sleek.

Trace the edges of what's unsaid,
Where longing lingers, soft or red.
Let vowels tremble, consonants bite,
Unmasking shame in morning light.

Speak in spirals, chant in flame,
Name the ache that has no name.
Your verses ripple, raw and wide,
A tide of pride we will not hide.

So wield your words, your sacred art,
To mend the cracks in every heart.
Let rhythm rise, let meaning swell,
And cast your spell where silence fell.

~
Hear me, and heed my woe,

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
              how thy smileth reaches
                            thy eyen and
                                    crinkles the c'rn'rs
                                                  immensely.
Thy confidence, a flame
          yond burneth with f'rvent might,
   intimidating, yet draweth me in,
                            as moth to candle's lighteth.
Thy passion is contagious,
                 thy excitement a thrill,
    i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                                    but mem'ries ling'r still

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
          as thee gazeth into mine own eyen
                                        bef're our lips meeteth
    our intimate moments,
                                 a sensual rapture,
           thy corse, a w'rk of art,
                           sculpt'd p'rfectly in all its
                                                   muscular stature

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
             the way we w're,
                     young with a future,
                                         we couldst not seeth.
      What ifs and maybes,
               a maze, i tryeth to escapeth,
                      longing f'r what couldst've been,
           a heart yond acheth.

Ev'ry fare thee well,
                             a pang in mine own chest,
         feareth of nev'r seeing thee again,
                                      and all yond is repress'd
Thy absence, a weight
              yond i doth striveth to shaketh,
     wond'ring wh're thou art,
                                       what thou dost maketh.
   Art thou joyous, art thou free from careth?
i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                     yet some days, 'tis hard to beareth.

In sooth,
    i am not depress'd,
           n'r doth i feeleth the blues, wh'reupon
i f'rce myself to not bethink on Thee …
                            by mineth owneth shall, anon.
~

The day was long and greedily waited,
in near unspoken secret - like a thing
delightfully and enchantingly wicked.

We are reunited - simpatico - my love, lover and I.
We ravish each other and lavish each other
with flattery, endearments and entire pleasure.

We live sweet centuries in those tight hours.

Happiness changes the tenor of things.
Rains of feeling combine in torrents,
like the tinkling notes of a harp make symphony.

Our minutest nerves are instruments of joy.

Mornings start with exquisite excitement and
the dense reel and stagger of intoxication -
because we’re drunk with the fullness of life.

Leaves on trees called chestnut, linden and hazel, stir
gently in the breeze - those faint shoos and rustles, times
nature’s fractal design - blare, in effect, like terrific trumpets.

At night, as we walk together under cooling summer skies,
the stars in the far-flung firmaments, seem to huddle together
and whisper, like sisters, of life and the mysteries of earthy love.

We are the dust of those constellations - are we but spies?
.
.
Songs for this:
Thank You My Angel by Over the Rhine
Perfect Day by Povo
Goodbye Sunday by Everything But the Girl

Rounded by salt and
Water rolling from
Tide to tide

Inviolate cipher of
All time
Fallen from molten skies

At the beginning

Holding all
Within your elliptical
Mystical mound
Of stone

Taken. I feel like I was taken from me
And took away from others too
Most people didn't care to see past
The vague smile of productivity
Until it wasn't there either
But others knew right from the start
And it crushed them like I am

Crushed by the weight of others
That they place on themselves
Or don't even recognize are there
Just so I can feel it too- all alone.
Deeper than they ever felt
The weight of their emotions

So why is it that people think
I don't feel anything normal
And by that assertion to mean nothing
Rather than the flooding
Weight of emotions felt more
Than any one of them could imagine

Well except for you, if only
There was trust in our mutual burden
Shared in ability but not scope
Makes for uncertainties

In a field of landmines eager
To go off on me or on you
It's all the same to them

The scars that left you wanting
But unable to accept, in whole

Let me help us heal

Changing gear,
     my mind is on cruise,
becoming clear,
     as I start to muse,
about love and lust, *** and sinning,
     I'm starting to grin
          and I'm settling in
for a show that is just beginning.

Changing gear,
     her dress on the floor,
becoming clear,
     her skin shows more,
of lust and love, sinning and ***,
     She starts to smile,
          and looking a while
at the poet who is lustfully hexed.

We stepped into teens, side by side,
Into adulthood, still the same stride.
Through every hardship, storm, and weather,
I still wish we see success together.

Not as a couple, not as a sibling,
A bond too rare, beyond all limiting.
I don’t know what to call this part,
But you’ll always be my idiot at heart.