It ends
when your workplace becomes a place for
friends of old friends
and the old guard is discarded.
but hidden behind the veneer
we are still here
watching the sun and
the **** going down.

They have shot away the enamel
with their lies and their
flannel
and think it's plain sailing,
I
think
that they're failing in their duty,
responsibility
is not on their menu.

But it ends as all things tend to do
I wonder who'll they try to do next.

Cook up another **** up?

Supper comes at five o’clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o’clock —
But eight o’clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring
Eight o’clock to me.

Winter brings the bitter chill,
I shiver standing in the cold;
We warm ourselves near the fire,
We bring a tree into our home.  

A blizzard wraps the wood around us, 
A glistening blanket - snowy white;
Our forest is so silent now;
Stars shine like diamonds in the night.  

In spring, the birds join in a choir,
Hundreds of songs in harmony, 
I look around and hear them sing;
Flowers bloom so gloriously.

I smell the scent of fragrant rain;
Showers drench the fertile ground.
I see the trees begin to leaf,
Rustling rain comes pouring down.

In summer the sun radiates,
Filling the forest with all that's green.
Oak and pine fill my nose,
I walk beside the crystal stream.

The grass it grows higher, higher,
I feel it soft between my toes;
From time to time a storm arrives,
Clapping thunder, wind that blows.

Autumn brings a change in palette;
Squirrels hide their treasured 'corns;
The taste of nutmeg - pumpkin pie,
Jack-o'-lanterns at our doors.

Mouths are filled with apple cider;
Leaves piled upon the ground;
Children jump into them laughing, 
Hidden in orange, maroon, and brown.

A thousand faces of the forest.
Winter; spring; summer; fall - 
And yet the face of my beloved
Is more beautiful than them all.

Scratching scribbles across the page:
Meaningless if rearranged.

Meaningless scribbles scratched,
Until meaning we attach.

Scribbled meaning scratched in stone;
Whatever it means, culture will erode.

I've never liked Valentines Day
Don't think I ever will
Never received a single flower
No bouquet to put on a window sill
No heart box full of chocolates
No card with a cute, witty note
No red balloon or small stuffed animal
No tiny gift wrapped with rope
Single, all alone, that's how its always been
No one to be romantic with
Just me, myself, no men
Some people say it's for the better
Don't have to deal with heartbreaks
Never understood why this is
always assuming I've made too many mistakes
I blame this all on me
Don't try to ask me why
I guess you could say i'm scared of being hurt
So to myself I have to lie
I've never liked Valentines Day
Don't think I ever will
Never received a single flower
No bouquet to put on a window sill.

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!
The cold black fear is clutching me to-night
As long ago when they would take the light
And leave the little child who would have prayed,
Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.
My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;
I shall not know if it be night or noon,—
Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?
Will no one fight the Terror for my sake,
The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?
How can they leave me in that dark alone,
Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much,
And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch,—
How can they shut me underneath a stone?