It was just an online romance-
e-mail murmurings of love;
imaginary musings,
from somewhere up above.

It was feelings spoke with hope,
the ramblings of a poet;
searching one's own heart,
we're the only ones that know it.

When did poetry erupt,
into poems now laced with pleasure;
when did the words one said,
exceed one's own true measure?

When did friendship turn to love?
when did it escalate?
is it predictability,
or a random act of fate?

It was just an online romance -
with poetry, its base;
until  it changed to something else,
and now, we have to face.

The dawn is filled with warmth and promise,
I awake to Jax, bounding on the bed;
better than the dream that I was having,
that I was drowning in my car instead.
How strange the nightmares that we have,
they seem so real....uncomprehending;
we wake, relieved to find ourselves alive,
relieved to realize the dream was ending.
Thank goodness, the dreams are not so bad,
most of my dreams are of a better kind;
they don't disturb or rattle me,
they help me,  in actuality,  to unwind.
Have you ever dreamt that you were floating?
astral projection, I believe the saying goes;
out of the body, connected to a silver cord,
you are there above, but no one knows.
Maybe I am thinking of a death encounter,
they think your gone, but you are not;
either way, you've left the physical realm,
you feel you must go back, before your caught.
I hope I never have that stupid dream again,
the one where I suspected I was drowning;
it was too real-life like for little me,
it's quite enough for me to wake up frowning.

You must remember,
just how much I loved you -
when first our love took shape;
before the curtain fell on our parade,
and covered us in one big drape.
After that,  we lost the way,
we tried to fix things on the mend;
we recalled our times together,
but it was useless in the end.
You must remember,
the way that I once held you -
and laughter, far outweighed the tears;
before the final act was finished,
we had the whole of all the years.
But now we cannot find an answer,
to questions that surround the mind;
it's best to leave them all unanswered,
I'm too afraid of things that we might find.
Just remember how I loved you,
before the truth,  became deceit;
before the angry words were spoken,
and you walked away on angry feet.

With the wind chill factor,
the temperature is thirteen;
I was out for twenty minutes,
it felt angry, bitter, mean.
I had to walk the dog,
he don't stay still for long;
he stares at me and waits,
like he's right and I am wrong.
I cave in to his wishes,
and don my winter gear;
a slave to canine wants,
and the cold air that I fear.
At first it's not so bad,
but then the wind starts up;
and I resent his pit stops,
I'm freezing; he interrupts.
It's testing my impatience,
I tug his leash,  to say,
Please hurry up and finish,
we haven't got all day.
To be ruled by one's own pet,
can be viewed as giving in;
but he makes it all worthwhile,
with his goofy, silly, grin.

The dew is glistening
on the tepid waters,
dawn is breaking through
the morning's haze;
I stroll on narrow paths,
and catch a heron - in
my scanning gaze.
The sun is soft on
the far horizon,
and warms my limbs,
from head to toe;
I relish early morning air,
and every passing scene,
where my feet -
bade me to go.
Solitude, it's often
hard to find -
we sometimes get,
the harried other kind;
and so I gladly walk this trail,
to know that quiet will prevail.
Early morning breezes,
fan my furrowed brow,
and the only thing that matters,
is in the here and now.
Such days, remain a memory -
carefree days without regret;
doing what it is I want to do,
escaping from the worldly net.

I cannot fight the traffic,
the horrendous line of cars;
innumerable and endless,
like a road of metal stars.
They cut you off in passing,
you have to hit your brakes;
where did they get their license?
at Walmart for God's sake?
They're in a hurried frenzy,
buying Christmas presents;
they're terror on the highway,
by their very presence.
The holidays are here again,
it's mass transit in full force;
it's dodgeball on the road,
and close to home of course.
And so I do my shopping,
in the coldness of the morn;
avoiding sun and racing cars,
far from the driver's scorn.

The morning's shot,
I haven't done a thing;
I loaf and do nothing,
my phone, it doesn't ring.

I read and watch t.v.,
the newspaper lies dormant;
unread, too much bad news,
******, **** - a constant torment.

I eat without much relish,
it's just to feed my face;
I'm vegetating hours,
without an even pace.

Four days of beard growth,
the stubble suits me fine;
I lounge in tattered clothes,
perhaps you know the kind.

The afternoon wears on,
I haven't done a thing;
I wait with blasé feelings,
for what the night may bring.