Still your head
Steady it
Give yourself some time to react

Clear your eyes
And take a breath
Before you plunge back underneath
And immerse yourself
Within the mess

Envision how it has to be
And plan it out
Picture the objectivity

Would you see the future you’ll create
Just in front of you
A moment before it has to be

And then be fast
Like a lightning bolt
Let your hands and eyes simply react

And meet the ball most suddenly
To elicit the lightning
And make it crack

Picture this an you will be
All at once
Lightning fast

Thin like the willow
Grey as the dove

Quiet as the wind beneath which pesters the cat floats the wings and sweeps the city streets clean of debris

Dark as the asphalt
Soft as the paws

Lean like meat
Old like soil
And slick like oil as it drips from beneath

Shaking like the bedrock
The running water whips

Damp as the corners
And dry as your eyes
It slips

And where asphalt meets the mossgrown bricks
Corners are placed and worlds collide

And the man within is locked away
Within the metaphorical city street

Would the Central Park I know and love, return to me?
In all such glory

The Willow trees

Reach into the nothingness
With an outstretched arm Inquisitorial
And pull a star down from the sky
A scar from the skin
Or the sight from within a strangers eye
Look and see
All the potential within that unique life
The marring and falling
The look of a life lived once alive

Forget not
That at the lowest part of the humble path
Resides the divot
Which concurs and divides
Not passing feet
But yearns to keep the honest truth
Which is bestowed upon the earth
By means of rain
Teeming with life and oxygen
How it tries to keep itself within
Both without fail, and with inevitability
Because the water will certainly soak or sway
But the divot itself will forever stay
Embedded in the earthly clay
Beneath our walking feet
So forget not to tread lightly, ever so
On this, the placid soil underneath

If they would dedicate a bench to me, I'd have them lay some fresh concrete, not much, just about four feet.

I'd have them place a pad and rusted seat, between the adult framing trees and paint it green.

And henceforth, it would be known as the writers bench, dedicated to all of the sights left unseen, from that particular spot to be.

But I doubt they'd waste a bench on me.

And perhaps, that spot's better left to the grass and trees.

To the living me.

A quiet, well framed, subtle spot where a man can breathe.

Just let me sit neath the wild blue yonder
Brooding like coffee on a quiet thought
With eyes full of horizons
I’m found in the lost

I want to want her like a glass of wine
With an endless taste, and a deep draft
Waiting for me at the end of each day

Bitter and sweet like the summer tea  
With a hint of dandelions, and her hair brushed gently away   

Although this is me...you need not see, or want her in a similar way
But it's best if you could acquire the taste.

Because when you hold an endless glass
You can sit and sip your life away
Without care or concern for those moments past

Slowly like a semisweet
A Merlot or Chardonnay

How I want to want her like a glass of win
So that I can drink her in
And be drunk on her at the end of each day

Some days are the sun
Some days are the moon
And some days are the stars which burn out in-between

Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat

To breathe steam clouds onto cold windows
To feel the distant sunlight rise into Peachtree skies

The sound, the hum
Of you a lone
Tunes my ears to hear
My thoughts to song

With its quiet corridors and cushioned chest
Rising like the waves of a coastal long

Soughing whispers in the subtle trees
Midst the waiving of the Auburn leaves

Our hopes a final parting leaf
On this, the last day of October joy

Know this

Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat

From now until at last
Our distance is no more
We meet

I used to run across the Moherian cliffs
And jump to catch the first sunlight nether wisps
As they twinkled like dawning fireflies shone
In the jar of a hopeful wish
For as just as in your hand there mine own exists
Con·tent·edly

This sound is like volins more gentle than snow
Like starlight twinkling, streaking and cold
Like hair strung strings on the breezy frame of a chello
Like the earth axe tapping at copper and coal
Like the most beautiful rain on the blind boys face
Like the artist envisioning the most timeless of place
Like the linger puddle with a glimmering sheen
I find this song goes beyond all that once was serene

Rain
Lofi

Careless
Timeless

Hopeful
Remembrance

Midst
Splashing Sounds

I
love
The way
You shuffle me

The way
You fall

On me
And all around

Think of what you want the most
To share with another human being
And if you can’t envision your lover there
Simply being
It will never be so

When did I let this vocation of mine?
Which I've worked so hard for
Become the main reason and meaning of me?

When exactly did it happen
That my passion slipped and fell to the ground
Like the seasons passing on an endless tree?

I said I wouldn't forget once I had
I said many things of myself back then
Be it most confident or most arrogantly

A vow is a vow to those who uphold
But what are the words to the man within?
Who forgets himself in his own externalties

It's a cocktail in which memory mixes with sensation and sound. To become even moreso drunk on you. In the remind of those moments once shared, in that certain, southern, American town.

When the newness wears off
And the distraction is no longer distracting enough
Where will you go?
In order to be reminded
That you are not alone?

Tear the idea limb from limb, until the acorn of truth falls.
And then, rend the earth and begin again.
Until another, and another
And another thought begins.
Growing slowly with every Fall.

When all my battles are won and done
I will not fear the fight that was
So why worry about the swing of the sword
Before the sun of that day is even in my eyes
Why worry indeed

Gawd...
Frost is so good.

Gawd...
Cummings is so good.

Gawd...
Dunbar is so good.

Gawd...
Field is so good.

God, am I
Any good?

Gawd...

If this would unlock and unwind
Would you turn inward with me?
Just to ignore the world and all the people in it

Just for a moment
Could you forget about all that you’ve built alone?
And seemingly, be nothing with me?

And when you look and see not the front of me
Would you take it as a complement?
Not a slight

Because alone together in the silence
And within the moment that will not last
Is exactly where I always hoped we could be

Unified and most alive in the nothingness
Mirroring the moonlight back
As if we were not passive

At peace with each the other
And the un-world we create
Would you turn, unlock and look inward with me?

So many poets attack with words,
With the intent to hit you on the first line.
Like a clunky sword or strand of steel,
Which couldn't so much as break through twine.

To which I would say,
That you must first name and know yourself,
Or at least your opponent,
Before you try and sway or slay them with a single line.

Such poetry would mean to me,
Little more than a stick,
In a sword fight with a gigantic tree.

Try not to aim for the heart immediately,
But approach the chest,
And hum your bladed words through the air most rhythmically.
Until an opening you do see for such an acute verse as me.

Deliver then a heavy blow,
A fatal strike.
Which will leave the readers lying in the streets,
Bleeding out of relief and not out of agony and disbelief.

To the side
With mindful eyes, lax
Like the smile which always wide
Comes back

Sitting beneath the old mailbox by the railroad tracks

Trying so hard not to forget
The words inscribed
Which you promised me
In the letter that never came

Shocked*
By the passing’s of perfume on a winters day
Wow, not why
Because you used to wear that scent

I'm so full right now so very warm
Like a coffee cup overflowing with ideas
I cannot wait to be off this road
I cannot wait to be onward with this journey
To create again and to let my words flow
Outward and into the microphone
How I cannot help but overflow
When the questions stored up inside my mind
May be answered so I might finally know
That is why I actually wish to overflow
So that in time I might just know

Remeber when we were young?
When we thought we could light the world on fire with our tongues?
When we could lose ourselves in one another and we didn't care?
About anything...
So young
So dumb

She tasted like the atmosphere
Deep, dark, and blue as the moon
Distant as the fading star in the northern most hemisphere
And yet each time I tasted her
I was reminded that there was no oxygen to be had in her

Cloud and water
Is a way of thinking
Of presumptive of being

Which calms the minds
Of those who see shadows
In every corner

And demons in every shadow alike
Cloud and water
And perfectly shapen sky

When I work I work
What I say I say
What I do I do
And unlike you
When I must work
I work ahead at what I said I would do

Stare, but don't stop
You are unlike any living screen
Tune out your mind from the memory of self
In a mirror that this you will never be seen
Why is it so, that we hate ourselves
So much so that we must look away
And into the nothingness of ironic things
That we spend our time starting at screens away

After writing like this for many years
As a poet-try
You cannot help but grow a good bit
Like a poet-tree

I pick you up,
Ever so gently.
And lift you onto a chair in front of me.

Taller than me now you are,
And on my toes I have to reach,
To greet your face.

Most quietly,
With enchanted eyes,
And steady passion,
I kiss your cheek.

Not once but twice,
So that you might know,
The boy I’ve been,
And the man I’ll always be.

The present standing in front of you,
The past surrounding most of me.

No one to witness,
Or tell the tale.

Or even explain,
Why I love your cheeks.

When the sea calms after a storm, it is easier then to see.

But you should never forget what the sea is, what it's meant to be.

A beautiful notion isn't it?
Ironic even
The thought of waiting here like this
As if the act is somehow blessed with ease
When all around you is in motion
And you are as unstirring as the trees
Rooted deep within the mind
Looking at the other side
And seeing the blissful, beautiful ignorance
How often I wish it could be mine
That I had no such standards as this
And that I could swallow such a feeble line
Just like a fish
Nibbling on a willow wisp
In an ocean seemingly full of fish

Believe me…

I respect such idealism as this
Because I live with it
But to “just wait” and stay like this
At present holds little hope for me
Both to and from this someone else
There is no transfer, or passage of peace

Because these few years feel like an eternity

And so the term…
“The right one?”
Makes want to say...
“Oh please.”

When it stirs its like a volcano
When like a geyser it does hiss
Like an atomic bomb
It tears apart the molecules of bitterness within my cup
That's where the replacements happen and meet
Dulcet and stirringly sweet
The mushroom cloud encased in liquid
Pours forth steam and radiates
The internal heat
Of coffee

It's been too long** since I had sap on my fingertips, beneath my nails

It's been too long since I've passed by the turkey blind which I built for myself, almost a lifetime ago

It's been too long to know exactly how a clearing fades but never grows

But it's never been too late to walk there again, to ***** my feet in the spring of Earth, and to speak out loud in the cool breeze until I can no longer feel my nose

No, it's never been too long, or too late, for walks like those

Run from yourself long enough,
And you'll circle the globe and find your old self.
Probably just standing still,
Waiting for you.
Because a wise man once said,
*"It's alright to do what you want to do,
Until it's time to start doing what you're meant to do."

One day words will buy me a steak dinner.
Instead of me buying them another glass of wine.

I love the Stars
Cold and distant burning warm on approaching day
Darker than the lover's heart once torn apart until the newfound comes
And ways present themselves

And in falling
Streaks across the sky proclaiming love of our atmosphere
With a tale of residue tagging along and just behind it's former way of life

And in our eyes seeing
A sparkle alive in this familiar, love found, way

A star entering loves atmosphere
Is what I see in the dawn of this new day

My favorites are named like Midnight Rain, with Marshmallow toffee in the Skye.

Beneath Weeping Willow dreams a dream, of Elizabeth and her Squires.

Midst the Rose's Kelly is always found, neath the Sun and Princess shine.

Untill the Star's BG in the background be, glow these favoring words of mine

On a dime it turns
Vertical and sharper than any knife
Falling to one side
Suddenly
And the next thing you know
You’re not there anymore
In life

Stomach full of stream and sand, sometimes I sift gold.
Passing through to understand,
that fingers never hold.

Everytime I write, I write to prove something to myself. To reassure me and my kind that not all of thoughts are meant to stay inside of this head, this house, this old heart of mine.

Which is not to say that my thoughts could not be better expressed in some other way. As a matter of fact in the past they have. Which is why for years they did decline and always prefered to stay inside, to enjoy the corridors of a more well known mind.

And yet every day somehow I pull my thoughts and have them placed here now. Having warned them many years ago, that one day they would have to be more... Sociable, and honest with the world about where they would like to go.

Because if you only keep your thoughts to yourself, how can those around you be expected to help? As you press and press for something else, and somehow try and prove to yourself, that you can flip your own mind inside out and share about all that you create anew.  

It is the head within the house of my heart which knows these sentiments to be true.