In a state of confusion,
Staring at the sky.
Seeking seclusion,
Never knew why.
It's all  illusion,
It's all lies.

yet another odd mysterious penmanship by a soul brother, to me,
he, will remain nameless, and me, as well, though my nomenclature,
my nome, my home, tells so much but not all...though writing and living only love poetry, is my chief preoccupation, it comes most times, too easily and too frequently, or not at all…

When one redraws daily the intersecting diagrams,  one of poetry,
one of Love, (which my tablet capitalizes without my asking,)
The overlap is either zero or one, 0 or1, of everything or nothing

this is a puzzlement to me, for I do not fall in love every day, or even twice a week (monthly under discussion), periodically inevitably, they are days of composition, imposition, self – inquisition, when everything is questioned and answers are oft, crazy long, driving everybody crazed, myself, included…

love is splendiferous, and there are believe or not, insufficient
adjectives to capture, captivate, every shade, type, unique or not,
and so the love songs, poems, keep on keepin' on, an onslaught
making  tidal tsunami tiny, all the billions of earthlings, gets one of
their very own, or sad~daily dies a little each day by the worst
of never getting a lick, a whimper, a sideways glance, a touch
even quick and subtle of that "I'm still here,'' quality...

all these musings, amusings, tragedies, as it nears 8:00 am and the early day can be crowned an-end-of summer bathing-beauty-winner,
me, in my special place, where nature reteaches me newly, what is now addressed as mindfulness where of course, is 100% wrong,
for the silence of my surroundings engulfs me, and my mind is emptied, the words spilling, nearly finishing, and the sweet hunger for
nothing more than this in perpetuity, eternally, but alas, midst this
perfected moment that is solely mine, solely minded
by me, is the lurking
incontrovertible knowing, silenced but real,
that this too shall pass
away from when I am gone,
yet, we enjoy it while we can,

can

a three letter word of great power,
my library, is  small but well tended,
mostly cats & dawgs,
mostly dawgs,
exclusively
perhaps

When you laugh

It is waking at night
Beneath a waterfall

Seeing clear through
The veil

To a multitude of stars

No matter what your station in life
always do your best every day
Pick up socks, lend a helping hand
call a friend, ... go for a walk

No matter how you hurt inside
smiling will help you heal
Find a nature spot you love, sit  
trust in God, have faith in you

No matter what they tell you
own your own truth, don't settle
Give love a chance, spend wisely
be good to others and to yourself.

Teachers are like stars
who light up dark minds,
like the sky on a moonless night.

Their light doesn’t burn,
but soothes young, innocent minds,
guiding them on their path
towards their destination.

Many teachers touch our lives
along the way—
each bringing new wisdom.
Some shine softly,
while others stand out
like brilliant stars.

But just like every star
gives away its light
to brighten the night sky,
every teacher plays a part
in making our life
a success story.

Your love is like a frozen bird, a
feathered stone falling from the sky.
I wish it didn't die.
It should be flying, and soring, and
healing, against the warm blaze of
the afternoon sun--weaving and
diving through the coolness of the clouds.
But it's gone, and all it can do is
plummet and take a few more
birds out, on its way down.