upside down is for Bats
and children
gymnasts too

I have lived the upside down years
straightened up
walked out my childhood

never was a gymnast
never bit by a Vampire
but there is still a first time,

for anything.

tea is so welcome a ritual
revives, refreshes, quenches
a leaf from India,
that multi-coloured frenzy
bringing a calm meditation.

unknot the knot
in my throat
with a look
a word
maybe a kiss
that will give me back
the breath you’ve stolen

Doesn't it hurt biting your tongue
and squeezing your mouth shut?
And you keep trying to change--
to be softer, less loud, less of
what the world made you to be.
So, don't keep trying to stay silent;
the wind never does; her songs
echo in the branches overhead.
The river laps and splashes
against the bank.
Someone always hears it;
someone always listens.
If birds call out to each other,
and they always answer,
surely if you speak
someone will understand.

Twisted times we live in, it is sad really;
people aspire to be just alike models
some get to live the dream and others
fall in gravestones of eating disorders.
New health crazes don't burn the hunger,
they set alight igniting the soul till nothing left
but broken bones, ashes scattered
across seas as pink as blood.
I watch the passerbys sip on poisons
contained in a bottle with promises
that this will bring in the gold,
bring in the women, bring in the fame,
but never discerning the devil
is on his stride, taking his jog just as
passerbys do. It is sad really,
to watch bones and dressed up animate
corpses walk across a stage filled with
estranged eyes. It is sad really,
so I try to spread my happiness as ashes in the wind and tell them they look good.
I don't know if I'm feeding their death
or savouring on their happiness, but
they grin back with gratitude and I
feel none the less grateful. Have I become their poison? I watch with careful eyes, and tell another;
you don't have to change the way you look,
but my words fall on deaf ears as they say, it's my choice.
Do I give them a path to walk,
or do I choose their path?
Who am I to dictate what they should do?
So I sit idle by in a little corner,
drinking my coffee, reading my book and
watching people exsanguinate themselves.
I sip on coffee and pass out happiness
where I can, and where I may not,
I sit idle by drinking coffee, reading books and watching people die.

Would you know the color of music
White, black or grey,
Would you know the melodies that air
What colors are they.

Would you know the notes that flow,
The hues that come your way
Are they a rainbow of colors
As many tunes as they play

A part of a larger symphony,
Man is music from His soul,
Music from His heart,
Music that should extol.

Hearts alive with rhythmic beats
Drum akin beneath the skins,
Not just where the rainbow ends,
But  where it all begins.

HelloPoetry Blessed us all , no matter where we live.
I am truly Blessed by each and everyone alike here.
There are so many here on this here site that I am thankful for.
Sally Bayan, Mike Hauser, Iamdaisie, Olivia Kent, Wendy Ronshausen,Brandon Nagley, Earl Jane, Rachel Sia Jane Lloyd, Lydia Monet,Neil Aranda, Mark Cleavenger, Ann Marie Johnson, Melanie Wilson-Herring, Mike Essig,  **** Paz Its Gonna Make Sense.
PrttyBrd, Vicki Bashor, Kripi Mehra, Willyam Pax, Poetess Bhumi, Kelly Rose.
Elizabeth Burnettge, Toni Pugh, Paul Champman, David Lewis Paget.
Ryn, Sean Scibbles, Aurelia, Kim Johanna Baker,Yasaman Johari.
Lady RF,Crazy Diamond Kristy, Weeping Willow, Alyssa Underwood.
MydstopiA,adhi das, South by southwest, Petal, soulsurvivor.
reformdancerecover,Ashly Kocher, Mack, Travler, Randolph Wilson.
Plus many more whom are very special indeed whom did not make this poem love you all in Christ.

Of course it was the wedding
Bringing us together
With Fabian and Karen
The best wedding ever!

Historic and surprising
In the old Lloyd Hotel
Pre-wedding preparations
For a boat ride so swell

Such patterns and colors
Bricks and concrete so define
The old Lloyd Hotel with
A more modern Dutch design

Our Indonesian dinner
That whirlwind tour by Tor
Through shopping streets-The Nines-while
Sharing his family lore

I stood in line for VanGogh
2 hours of rainy skies
All worth it for the time there
His story made me cry

Splendid gardens on display
Row upon row I gazed
A cacophony of TULIPS
The Keukenhof amazed!

We walked for miles & learned the trains
The week flashed by so fast
I wish that Rose and I took time
To take a yoga class

I'd like my morning coffee
Once more before we part
Finished off with Dutch detail
A great big creamy heart

Loving those calming canals
I might go on the lam
Escape from America
I think "I Amsterdam"

Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.

Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.

Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.