Our map seems stained
with the ink of Shakespeare's pen
dripping into our future,
Time plays with the plot
And we all must journey apart,
until we are together.

We wrestle time,
knocking out the days with patience
and mighty yawning.
Between us the fields of grass spread out
wider than fifty days on a calendar.

But at dusk, you are the star of my silver screen,
We unpack our minds like suitcases and
Move into the future together,
While apart.
Vanishing with a click,
Your goodnights soak the wind

In November
Time holds us apart,
Weary, but for the fullness of
December’s side-by-side mornings,
with toast crumbs and coffee breath
and kisses, anyway.

With hands full of promise,
you hold onto me and
we grow deeper and deeper
together despite a dreary
part of November.

Promise me adventures.
Promise me we'll be okay.
I need that promise, the kind
the fisherman tells to the sea,
the kind you'll tell to me.

And when the wind blows
the shingles off our tiny, little house,
promise we'll take me to that sea.
I think we'll be okay
with a day by the sea,
where the wind will push us onward
and sometimes further than we imagined,
into the gray
and murky green.

Promise me with a map
and the road
and the static in the radio
Help me find the promise
in the static in the radio.
I'll see the promise and the ocean
and in the hands clasps together
at my knee.

And when we find hope inside the clouds,
promise me the rain
will cascade
diamonds
into the sea,
onto the shore,
and onto you
and even me.

What am I doing with my life?
     Looking through my past
     And all these little things
     The error of my ways
          What are you looking for?

The only one who didn't fold:

A worthy brother
Upon golden sands
The soul of a warrior
Like nobody else

In any convergence of creative-minded people there exists a massive potential for positive change. Internet platforms included. Let's make use of this energy and bring awareness to the things we feel strongly about!

I'm asking yall to write poems about change! Social, Ecological, Cultural CHANGE! Let's address specific issues! Let's stop fracking, and plastic, and war, and hunger, and child labor, and let's free Tibet! Let's bring attention to pollution and corporate crime! Let's heal our wounds and bring our ills to the light! I know we can~

I created a collection called poets for change
please post here:

~~~~~~ http://hellopoetry.com/collection/2821/poets-for-change/ ~~~~~~

Our voices united are powerful and beautiful
tell your friends! spread the word!
REPOST THIS SHIZZ!
Let's show the World~

Bring forth your
whole self.
I do not mean
pronounce your name,
show your form,
or announce the game you play,
but the being that is
without death;
the blank page that was before
the writings of mother and father
graced its white
humility.

Show me this.

It may seem a difficult task,
yet it is done without being asked,
no trifle nor trouble,
and once completed,
seems to have been done before
you even set about
to begin.

For the self is selfless
and gives its isness freely,
thus leaves no mark,
holds no home,
sits not stark,
does not roam,
from where/when/why/how it already is.

abound with fruits
are flowers;
are seeds.
black and warm,
with no need
for audio/visual,
hands-on learning techniques.

a fire is simply
burning,
yet is not itself when so.

Show me this.

the politics
of mirrors
lies out of sight
while the frogs in the pond
fashionably late
sing the swan song
of separation

no-mind-all-one

the ******* tree fruits teeth
and eats itself on impact
leaving behind no trace
of heart beat
or throbbing veins
but instead remembers itself
on the earth as a skeleton
bones made of the
finest silver set of dining wares
for to feast
on the slack remaining
weightless brain of a thing
that spins the circles is sails
like a tailor
in a fire

In summation
I am a tribute.
A sacrifice to the all-beast.
the great vibrational being
with a fractal face,
and fingers,
and feet.
with a frayed tongue
it eats me;
completely.

We are examples
of the persistence
of existence.
All of us flickering like fire,
than rising like smoke,
higher and higher,
breath from the stoke.

No joke, but still funny.
Like bees making honey.
I like my yolks runny,
liquid and lovely,
like motions in space.

It's no race to beat
the all-beast,
feasting its face with its own fingers.
nothing left to waste,
nothing left to linger.

We all have a place,
As the song and the singer.
Haven't you heard?
YOU are the word!

All that you have
give it away
all that you know
thrown into the flay
all that you've been
has been today
all of your silence
has something to say
give it away

We are gifts
to the all-beast
and all of our love,
and all our attention,
is its.
in summation,
it's all we truly have to give.
In summation,
it's all we are.

Left the ponder his mortality,
the butterfly flutters by,
and lights upon a weary flower,
wilted, waning, less than dapper,
(she must be depressed)
and starts sipping nectar,
to drown his sorrows (no doubt),
concerning the doom that is surely close at hand.

The flower,
feeling rather used,
sinks lower, looking at the earth,
and checking her stem, says
"Oh my! my stem is so wide!"
She begins to cry,
and the butterfly dies,
with five thousand lights in his eyes.

Passing by,
an Elderly Woman
stoops in silence,
collecting the wind shuddered wings,
snapping the too fat stem,
and smiling
from the sweetness of these breathless
reminders
of whatever it is that makes
Elderly Women smile.

The Sun is a fiend,
and the wind may scream,
but there is no sadness to be seen in dreams.