“Poetry is better when your write about yourself”
They say this to me
Repeatedly
But what they don't understand is no one cares about me
people read poetry for healing
So how is me telling people my pain helping?

I think poetry is better
When I talk about beauty
When I describe the sun taking over the sky
And the waves licking the shore

I think poetry is more creative
When I convey someone else's life
When I try to write from their perspective
And see what they are dealing with

Poetry is better
When the words mean something other
Than just depressing life stories
And healing for yourself

Because when you write for others
Your words mean something
Your ideas come to life in someone's mind
And can free them from themselves

Poetry is more than just self therapy
It's using words to heal things
To help people
And to show them they aren't alone

Poetry isn't better when I write about myself
My readers need help with what they go through
Poetry is better when you write about things that matter
Not just things that matter to you

Grandsons, yes, I'll hug you.
Hug you and hug you and hug you
until you say
"Grandpa let go!"
But I won't, not ever.
Never, never, never.
I watch you boys sleep.
I watch you boys play.
I watch you fight,
Cry, yell and scream.
I watch you laugh and giggle,
and run like the demons are chasing you.
But even if they are,
they'll never catch you,
because Grandpa is here.

I listen to your chatter and reply in kind.
Hear your tales of invention flood
from your little minds.
Stories and adventures,
A little boy's world.
Grandsons, dear Grandsons,
You fill the hours of the day.
Grandsons, yes, I'll hug you.
Hug you and hug you and hug you
until you say
"Grandpa let go!"
But I won't, not ever.
Never, never, never.

I'd befriend the obsidian sky...
   I'd shower it with a bounty of praises.
  So that it'll welcome my nightly gaze,
     without threats from overbearing clouds.

     I'd impress the twinkling stars
       by serenading them with songs unheard by most.
     So that when the time comes,
  they'd cast their votes in my favour.

I'd whisper to the nighttime breeze.
   I'd cavort and giggle at its slightest touch.
      So that when I fly my flag,
   it'll catch it in full billows for her to see.

Then finally...
  I'd woo the twilight moon...
     For she is the prize
   my heart had sought to pursue.
    I'd court her
      with the fiercest blaze that burns within...
     In hopes that she'd forever
   remember me as the suitor that had
fallen helplessly.

She likes to blow up balloons
Matching the colors
to fit her mood
From envious greens
to the saddest of blues
Sits in a corner
blowing  balloons

From runaway yellows
to angry reds
All of the colors
leaving little left said
Blowing balloons
to the thoughts in her head
Till there are no feelings left

Warm days
Make me think of your little feet, little one
Your little toes
Wiggle, giggle
Warm days
Make me think of your laugh, little one
The little bubbles in your throat
funny, tummy
Warm days
Make me think of your name little one
Your little love letter
*Keasbey, Keasbey

I've never seen so many people.
So many people to let down, so many people to make proud.