I am learning to sleep with the window open
And let crickets crawl into my ears
The cars passing by are a lullaby
And star after star appears

Sometimes one streaks across the sky
Leaving space dust in its wake
I think of the the wishes that I've missed
On the nights I was not awake

I don't care anymore
About long held childhood dreams
Just give me my fields and my forests
Or a rocky perch o'er looking the sea
It's in such places that I can gather my thoughts
And write the words in my mind
Its in such places that I can get lost
Forget the rest of mankind
Here in the solitude away from turmoil
Here my mind is at rest
The smell of the pine trees or the sound of the waves
Tis in such a place you can lay down and rest

not sure if it’s a song

my ear gathers or a

story gently murmured

out of the blue water

sailing between ridges

innumerable notes

I listen to these secret

codes I lightly stare

at the creases an

opening on the

improvising

Your name fits so well in my mouth,
I can roll it around,
Like a ball,
Fling it across,
Catch it.

The pursing of swollen lips,
Just to whisper your name in agony
And yearning,
It feels so
right.
Like it's meant to be said.
To be heard.
To be known.

i dont usually write from the heart,
its too dangerous down there,
so i write from my head.
ill try to write from my heart today though,
Try.
For you.

There was a movie i once watched.
Taken 2, i think it was.
In the movie, the woman had her throat slit,
And she herself was hung upside down
To let all the blood flow out of her neck.
She soon lost conciousness,
A pool of blood by her head on the ground.
I imagine what i feel right now is this.
This hurt and aching of sanity leaking out onto the floor
All because im missing you.
It hurts... And its a deep aching that can only be replenished with you.

Now, back to real time and reality...
Yesterday i went to the temple to pray for new years.
For the first time,
I didnt pray for myself.
I prayed hard and long for you.
I want you to be happy and well,
Which will make me happy,
Which begins a complicated cycle of joy.

I dont know why i began this **** poem thing this way,
But id like you to know
That you are much more than enough.
Your strong arms and words-my home.
Your voice-music to soothe me, get my heart thumping again.
You-my everything.
You have helped me when i thought nothing was worth it anymore,
That caring will only lead to hurt,
When it was dark in the night and in my mind,
No one was there.
But u came,
My knight in shining armor.
You rode in with a BANG
Knocked down all my doors.
Showed me the light outside of my dark ashen house.

And with that,
I let you drag me out.
Remind me how to love, to live.
Thank you for that.
Ill try to shove you away,
Lie to you,
Fight u,
But you still stuck by me.
Thanks... It means more than you know.
And...
I love you more than anything.
Nothing i say will show u how much i love you or how much u mean to me... For that i am sorry.... I can only do this in actions.

mercy

mercy

merci

tonight i can't write poetry,
a star is just a star.

dancer of the clouds,
ink of dream,
as if the sky, hushed
and utterly forlorn,
turned a pirouette.

~~♥~~

I used to think men
should be more like books
Both you cannot
judge by looks...

If I didn't want to finish reading
I put it down... no heart was bleeding

A book will never fuss or fight
It will stay with you
through the night...

It doesn't smoke. It doesn't drink.
It won't leave toothpaste
in the sink!

It doesn't binge... it don't eat...
It won't leave up the toilet seat!

It don't forget. It doesn't mope.
It won't hog the TV remote!

It doesn't have to have
The last say...
It doesn't have legs

to walk away.

But it's not soft. It isn't warm.
It doesn't keep you
safe from harm.

Even though it makes no fuss
It can't think. It can't discuss.

Even though it has its charms
it can't hold you in its arms.

It doesn't pine. It doesn't miss.
It can't hug and it can't kiss.

So now I think on it again...
... I think BOOKS should be
             more like MEN!!!


SoulSurvivor
2/20/2015

The firmest handshake
I've ever felt
Was that of a woman with

Only three fingers left
On her
Hand.

The biggest person I know
Is about the same hight as
His wheelchair.

His life is a richer one
Than mine will ever be.
Because he makes it so.

What worries do I have?
Yet some days are heavy.
I suppose being born

Unimpaired and staying so
Is an impairment at times
In itself.

It is the emptiness; vastness of
Space between materials, that
Defines the size of a place,
Even within thin walls.

A half-long walk from my house stand
The ruins of a medieval church
Struck by lightning so many times
Over the last nine hundred years

-As if the Lord Himself kept saying
Stop building me this **** and
Just LIVE- that they finally let
Its 1100s stone walls remain

Open to the weathers of the skies.
Some Norwegian churches are so
Old, they still carry runes and
Engravings to honour Odin, Tor

And Balder. It's a difficult thing to
Let go. To just bless the tree and
Surrender it to the rains and suns
Of time.

She came back on Christmas
to don the polyester white tree
and fleece lined blankets hung over edges of chairs.
But she always forgot to say goodbye,
as the hinges creaked upon her betrayal.

To fill the gaps between solstice seasons,
I stood in place
While party balloons hung plastered
to our shallow walls for months.
Other days a bath house for aching joints.
But never for the woman in question,
because she only came for Christmas.

The hours grew into days which encroached into weeks.
The dog-walkers passed,
The mail man caressed my farthest reach each noontime,
The daughter and son toiled with the mower,
The rake, my lungs (the dehumidifier).
The mother checked my fever on Thursdays.
But my rooms were empty all year,
Until the week of rushed decorations
And mass tear-down. All within four nights.

I guess the vacant tree gave me comfort.
The fibered needles and flame retardant tree stems.
I pictured each dollar store ornament as an entity of you,
Pulsing with life and beating of blood,
Vibrating in sync with the refrigerator and furnace.
But the fever-checking mother caught me mid-April
Molesting your Christmas tree, draining every ounce of humanness left.

And I knew when fever checker shoved it upstairs
You'd never come back to me again.

I was right.