Words won't die,
But worders do;
The turned phrase stays
Young as you.

Where do these pangs go?
Dying elephants don't know.
Old Hollywood shows,
Brigadoon and El Dorado.
At the bottom of a *** of gold,
Beneath double rainbows.

I read Chaucer
When he was young,
And Emily too,
And Rev. John Donne.
Batter my heart...
Yet feeds
Mine
As I read it once again.

Desire Disgusts Even The Likes of Me

The moon, shrouded in a veil of clouds,
Cast a pallid glow upon the scene,
As they, haunted by their own yearnings,
Found themselves entangled in its embrace.

But lo, as the shadows lengthened,
And the air grew thick with unease,
They recoiled at the touch of desire,
For it was a foul and wretched thing.

It was a night of eerie whispers,
When desire, with its tainted allure,
Crept into the hearts of those
Who feared no sin, no darkness.

Even those who knew no fear
Were repelled by its twisted form,
And thus they turned away,
Leaving behind the stench of their own loathing.

See me as a man not as the monster you came to know

I’m not crazy just a little unwell
My mind is not for rent, but it sure the **** is for sale
Make me an offer
One I can’t refuse
My mind is for sale
Gently abused
It comes with bipolar, schizophrenia too
It’s got a history,
Forever Feeling blue
how many times can I google The words
Ways to tie a noose
You could say I'm suicidal
Mental
Crazy as glue
I’ve got so many problems
Come on
I’ll sale it to you
It comes with roommates
And some ****** up points of view
I’ve got issues and voices too
There telling me it’s over
I’m as worthless as poo
Absolute Mush
My mind is nothing but goo
I’ll sell it cheap
Sale it to you
.I’ll make you an offer
Throw in my dignity too
I lost my mind
It’s for sale

“It occurs to me that I really can't remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress, that I still see.”
And I can’t say it much better than that. Except it wasn’t a dress but, in fact, a cotton tee. Not the tables but the way the streetlight bounced off your jaw. I don’t remember your voice anymore or even the words you gave me. I can only dig my fingers deeply into the body of your laugh.

The eye of the hurricaine is still and lonely.
The sands on the beach are left untouched.
The church pews sit empty.
The store shelves are scant.
The pitches are quiet,
The playgrounds are empty.
The fields are burnt.
The waters are grey.
The air about is thick and acrid.
The windows are shuttered, doors are barred.
There are no moving bodies on the streets.
Cars sit idly parked.
Schools are childless.
Does this sound like the dawn of the apocolypse,
Or another four years.

Carousel of clouds,
Tufts of white in a blue sky,
Merrily go round,
Up — down—up celebrating,
The carnival of morning.

Life beyond the poetic realm.
Sinking into silence, an emotional free fall.
Ebbing away the final sigh of poetry.

No ode for you, periwinkles
No exalted verse or prose
No lover's gift you will be
Unlike the regal rose
Not placed in summer bouquets
In vases - never seen
Nor gracing dark tresses
Nor found in floats of dreams
Yet sweet you are to me
Happy in blue and white
With your merry little faces
Like fairies and lithe sprites.

She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.

Grateful for the blue skies
For the warmth of a day 
For soft drops of rain

For lilac buds and trees 
Dancing leaves 
For ocean waves on sandy grains. 

Grateful for what is seen 
Touched, felt 
In whispers heard

The moment that soaks in 
The little joys of life 
Midst the spinning of the world.

Grateful for wine and water
Fruit of orchards
Seasons that shed

For hands that help 
Eyes that speak 
With words unsaid.

Grateful for those who love 
For the wind behind
Feathered wings

For angels that twinkle 
Through the stars 
And the light they bring.

Grateful for kindness 
Tenderness 
Hugs in gentle embrace

Grateful for smiles 
That come my way 
That my fingers love to trace.

Grateful for rays of hope 
That fill a cup 
Then glimmer on the rip

Grateful for you 
And the quiet presences 
For the gift of life and Him.