Alone,
I write poetry and perform on my own
honing my skills and if it kills me,
let it.

What use to me the audience?
the polite applause is an
inconvenience.

I need the solitude to magnify
the things that flit through
my minds eye.

But the readers feed me
as I bleed into them
ink from the tip of the
ball point pen.

Curse me then and
if you dare
perform
for the audience
you seek out there.

I need none
I perform
alone on the stage
I call my home
honing​ my skill
until
it kills me.

If I think it will be
and the thought is
worthy of me
will it be so?

A question to slow Sunday down when the world's spinning too fast, a crust cast on the rippling brook, a hook.

Reel me in I am caught,
the answer is not what I fear, but the riot of questions which rise on the incoming tide brings to me dread,
better to be living,
much quiter dead.

What I think's not the question or the reason to be
alone on the storm line watching the sea as the sea watches me waiting for the answer, but what will the question be?

Stare at my feet--
Bite my tongue;
Habits learned when I was young.

Smile more--
Sit up taller;
Lessons taught when I was smaller.

Calm down--
Don't be so wild;
Words used to tame the child.

You thought he'd listen,
But he won't.
You thought you'd care,
But you don't.

In a story never ending
little upsets aren't upending

You thought it was forever,
But it wasn't.
You thought it mattered,
But it doesn't.

A Rose by any other name is said to still retain its scent:
A sweet perfume that fills the room to all of our content.
And though this little musing contains poetic form,
When truth is told, I am not sold, for I know there to be thorns.
And if known instead for these pricking fiends
--and not its aromatic petals--
Then perhaps the rose would not be love's flowered vessel.
And the fragrant sweetness we attribute to its structure
Would cease to be a welcomed whiff and the Rose would lose its luster.

when you wallow in the past, the past is your future
dark days behind become dark days ahead
when those ghosts become your rulers
join them, because you're already dead