Press your fiber through my soul,
As thread to needle be,
Know that that there is more besides,
Just what the eye can see.

Arm yourself, quite rightly,
As thimble is to thumb.
Save repeated pinpricks,
Make thy mender numb.

A puzzle with just one missing piece, though incomplete can still be fine.
And a sky with one less star tonight, makes brighter those that shine.
Just one or two unripened grapes, surely won't spoil the wine.
So, why is it, that "one drop shy," can't fill this soul of mine?

Oh! Northward wind, born in thy womb,
Lo! Thy soul be wrought and fixed,
Encased within my captors tomb,
Of head and foot betwixt.

Diffusing as vapor through the pores,
When the keeper dulls her eyes,
Soaring to hover over yonder shores,
Reduced, yet swollen it so flies.

Nightly northward, where passion lives,
Where hope of itself be found,
Ah! The glimpse of freedom that it gives,
Less the state of which I'm bound.

Until the morn comes yet again,
And the watchful eye doth wake,
Unaware where thy soul has been,
Or of a yearn no bond can break.

Oh! What strength of thy desire,
Will set thy shackles free?
And if no earthly pow'r transpire,
Soul ..make haste...eternity!

A phrase once given me,
By a friend of poetry,
When I asked ....if he too,
Talked in his head just like I do.
He made me feel much better because,
He replied, "Yeah. Sure. Everyone does."
And so I deemed myself not so insane.
For the "internal dialogue" spoke in my brain.

Nothing can or ever will outshine it,
No novel account, or theatre display,
Not even these words to do justice,
To your perfect passing day.

The stage was set, the actors there,
The director in full control,
Not a single thing was missing,
And each one knew their role.

The backward breathing clock,
Counted down as time stood still,
Alarming at the ticking hands,
Then stopped-by Gods own will.

All hands clasped; all prayers said,
And answered before thy call,
You peacefully slipped away from us,
And mortality took the fall.

The holy spirit - he lingered.
And massaged our hearts in hand.
To ease the pain of a perfect passing,
That was too perfect to understand.

On choosing the right perspective,
Of those that were mine alone,
Your heart became irrelevant,
Mine mirrored what I'd shown.
I fostered hope without a home,
And acceptance replaced doubt.
Then I bore myself a revelation,
One of life and of life without.
And whether you were fairydust,
Or of a constellation unknown,
At the end it never mattered,
I still reaped what I had sown.
"Thank you" is just not in order,
In fact, it'd be quite absurd,
To offer you any gratitude,
For the echoes I have heard.

Oh! to have wasted so many long years,
Bargaining pleasure for pain,
Finding ill solace from evil-made tears,
With nothing to shield the rain.
Begging the world for a peace I so needed,
Only to find it a lie.
Failing to follow; the good book unheeded,
Year after year went by.
Why struggle did I? to accept the truth,
That patiently waited for me,
That Faith, alone, (belief before proof),
Would easily set me free.

When the pale moon recedes; no sun to take it's place,
And darkness hides all tears, now frozen on thy face,
And no cries can be uttered, they only echo in the head,
When all joy turns to sorrow, and hope right into dread,
And light not even remaineth, not even within the soul,
And the wind makes no chime; the bells no longer toll,
When ghosts no longer taunt me, with words I should've said,
Tis' the day I'll admit, my dear, our love is surely dead.

I still feel..... you.
You are still here.
Absence, even prolonged, doesn't remove you.
You have become visceral.
Attached to the inner parts of me.
The vital parts of me.
I still see..... you.
In my peripheral.
Throughout different moments of the day.
When I see something I also want you to see.
And on my inward eye every time I shut my eyes.
You are my vision.
I still hear..... you.
I hear that voice.
When I read, your voice narrates all the words.
I can even hear you smile.
It's as clear as if you were next to me.
It whispers everything I need to hear.
I still dream..... you.
We do it together.
Sharing a narrow path in a wide world.
Believing destiny and faith will guide us right.
To our imagined paradise.
Beneath a tree.
Where our pens, passion, and souls converge.
Where everything will be made clear.

   Spirit.
   Truth.
              Inspiration.
Life.
  Love.

Why worry?
Trouble leaves more in it's wake.
Why grieve?
For death just will another make.
Why rage?
Justice will never be fully paid.
Why fear?
Just a lie your own mind made.
Why surrender?
Tomorrow requires it again.
Why cry?
There's more where those have been.
Why gasp?
To expect is no surprise.
Why ponder?
It only conditions eyes.
Why regret?
It's all but left in tatters.
Why love?
Because it's all that matters.

I will love in full surrender,
And in nakedness be clad,
Expose the all, of all of me,
And in doing so, be glad.
Comprise it all together,
Wholly give and wholly take,
And have not even one regret,
If my heart should break.

Though my love is over,
And fall could cling no more,
I shall enter into winter,
Much warmer than before.
Fire hoarding elements,
Closely in it's store,
Burns beneath the ashes,
Hidden in it's core.

And though my love is over,
And waits on distant shore,
And winter yet again returns,
And likewise, for a score,
And seasons, ever-changing,
And change they do implore,
My heart remains much warmer,
And will forevermore.

Might my words be enlightening, pure of purpose; clean of soil,
May they offer some solace for a pain, or rest from endless toil.
Might they beckon a long hoarded tear, from a long pent up soul,
Or a smile from a widowed heart, who longs to just feel whole.
May they bring peace to the restless one, who wanders all around,
Or gravity to the flighty ones, and gift them with solid ground.
Comfort to an aching core, words like fingers, stroke their hair,
A promise that all things do pass, when today is too much to bear.
A hope shining into the darkness, when all of the lights are out,
Faith, sweet faith, that comes to rescue, one who's full of doubt.
May my words be a lighthouse, for those who've lost their way,
And a reminder that all is possible, if they would only sit and pray,
May my words strike an inner voice, as is now, and always the plan,
To make GOD known and hear his praise, on the lips of every man.

What has escaped you, my dear friend?
Has your passion left you dry?
Or just discovered the next phase of life,
With so many new things to try?

Do you no longer feel the poet's tug,
Of words you can't ignore?
Or have you lost your inspiration,
That was so grand before?

Have you found yourself a happiness,
In a far more peaceful state?
Or has your life become so very busy,
There's no room on your plate?

Was the interval of you (then and now),
Nurtured by your prose?
No matter if you write more or less,
The you inside still grows.

When my heart ceases to beat,
So that I have not lived in vain,
While my whole's no longer here,
I pray some pieces will remain.
In the smile of my daughter,
When she sees a rustic swing,
And the humor of my only son,
And the hope that it can bring.
In laughter of shared memories,
Of all those who really knew,
Just what I truly believed in,
And just what faith can do.
In all the lessons, even hard-learned,
The reward of giving, and of love,
The peace of daffodils I so admire,
The healing power from above.
In tears that are cried , shameless,
With a courage to endure it all,
In the books which I so cherished,
In old photos on the wall.
In the honor of a priceless ring,
And a renewing field of green,
The fruits of a long ago planted tree,
That yields the sweetest tangerine.
In the promise things can always change,
And the possibility to start again,
In every new dawn that now is counted,
As a new story that may begin.
In the hearts, minds, and souls of those,
With the beauty of passion delayed,
The taming of needless restlessness,
And forgiveness of those who betrayed.
In an old and tattered bible,
That was neglected for too long,
That always held the only way,
To make right of any wrong.
In every dream held with iron grip,
And each October's healing wind,
Knowing that things don't have to break,
But that they must, and always,.... bend.
Oh, yes! I hope to leave behind,
Some truth's, that life, to me, has shown,
For those I never had the chance to meet,
And to those I've called my own.

Go ahead... curse me for your failure,
I've heard this all before.
I give and give and give and give,
But you take a little more.
And then you negate all of the effort,
I exhausted in your name,
When you win, you take the credit,
When you lose, I take the blame.
I have never understood just why,
Some "men" stay little boys,
And believe that they are owed,
All kinds of fancy toys.
Without ever having earned them,
Not ever having paid,
And sleep like babies every night,
In beds their mothers made.
Always something for nothing,
Ain't that a pile of ****.
Come on ladies, I think it's time,
To wean them off the ***.

Feel free to run away my pet,
You will return, that I will bet.
Once you're missing the way that I,
Wipe the snot out of your eye,
And pick the fleas off your back,
Wash your paws when they are black,
Rub your belly, kiss your nose,
Allow you to always lick my toes.
I have helped you grow and grow,
What this poem means I only know.
You see my pet, your awful dumb,
And when I called, you didn't come.
So enjoy your freedom for the night,
Don't look here, you'll see no light,
I've turned them off, and have no doubt,
That I'm not here , and you're locked out!!!

Oh! Childhood days, so bright and fair,
When thought did flit without a care,
Every heart I loved , just as my own,
Long before any ill was known.
Spent so reckless, so did enthrall,
Innocence, ignorance, defeated all.
When the spirit knew no atmosphere,
No fence, no range;  and conscience clear.
Fulfilled alone by effort spent,
And outcome was it's own content.
Unaware that time would slow the pace,
Of the hastened soul to present place.
Or that the path of life, and circumstance,
Would steal away the certain chance.
But sometimes, when the rush is done,
And nature and I - we sit as one,
Memory, on haunches, will return,
Of passion's youth for which I yearn.
Whether wind, a glimpse, or forgotten scent,
I feel again the stir of days that went.

There within my prison cell,
Your words found their way to me.
Bringing with them inspiration,
Of how incredible life could be.
I wonder if when you wrote them,
You knew they held the key,
That would unlock this soul of mine,
And somehow set me free.

Will my final act be finished,
Or interrupted premature?
Will my soul ever reach fruition,
And just how can I be sure?

That all my tasks will be completed,
Before death claims my last?,
That every action's been performed,
Before my time has passed?

That every lesson has been learned,
That every due tear's been shed?
That every purpose that I hold,
Has been done before I'm dead?

That every seed has been planted,
And every harvest has been sown?
That every "thank you" has been spoken,
To the inspiring souls I've known?

That every word has been written,
That every wrong has been made right?
That I've become all I was meant to be,
Before I lose this mortal fight?

Will my final act be finished,
Or interrupted premature?
Will my soul ever reach fruition,
Just how can I be sure?

We always bargain death,
Assume tomorrow before dawn.
Believing in another moment,
Right until that moment's gone.
Another day, another hour,
More time to get to know,
Yet another incredible soul,
Before it's time to go.
But one unexpected dawn,
A kindred soul departs,
Leaving traces of himself,
As words within our hearts.
And the whole world is weeping,
Unaware though they may grieve,
They suffered a magnificent loss,
On the day he had to leave.

If the wind blew me to your door,
Would you open it fast or slow?
Would my heart swell with a joy,
Of a love that I think I know?
Would it be like coming home again,
Would you invite me to stay,
To sit and share and pass the hours,
Until we've lost the day.
Would your eyes mirror everything,
That mine are sure to show,
If the wind blew me to your door,
Would you open it fast or slow?

Perhaps happily ever-after will come,
After I breathe my last,
Because I surely don't have it now,
Nor have I in the past.
Perhaps they are just words made up,
A fallacy so it seems,
From the pens of those who still believe,
In unobtainable dreams.
Or perhaps it is merely a silly idea,
That took quite a hold,
In the hearts of so many little girls,
A million copies sold.
And I don't think I'll ever find it,
No matter how hard I look,
Except of course on lonely nights,
When I open up a book.

If I ever lose my love of poetry,
Please read me a little Pope,
He had a way of inspiring me,
Out of boredom bringing hope.
Or dig out some old Whitman,
So I can see nature new again,
Or Shakespeare for an illusion,
Of how things were back then.
If none of these can bring it back,
And no thrill swells in my chest,
Break out my Canadian poet,
Because I loved him the best.

The fire is beginning to smolder
other than few small pieces of transparent orange.
No need to put it out
it will take care of that itself.
There is no fuel left to burn.
And even with all the air in the world,
You must have substance
...to have fire.
I will move out of the way of the lazy smoke.
It causes my eyes to tear.

In the middle of a love affair,
That is broken at each end,
Where I did not find a soulmate,
But I sure did lose a friend.
It was a chance worth taking,
And I knew from the start,
Just what would be sacrificed,
Being greedy with my heart.
Why? when things are going great,
Do we push for something more,
I should've just been satisfied,
With the way we were before.
Because now I find, I have less,
Than I had on even Day One,
And I feel even more empty now,
And this is not much fun,
Being....
In the middle of a love affair,
That is broken at each end,
Where I did not find a soulmate,
But I sure did lose a friend.

The glare of the monitor is a bit much tonight.
I turn it a shade down, though the button is hard to find in the dark.
I left my lap tray with the book light in the dining room and it's too dark to go looking for it now.
I shouldn't even be on here.
It's way late and I am way tired.
Unfortunately, loneliness causes awesome insomnia.
So I got on here to maybe find some company, but so far that hasn't happened.
So I am writing in the dark, struggling to find the keys, and writing this scribble, which is taking twice as long as it should.
You would think the screen lights would illuminate the keyboard a bit but somehow it doesn't work like that.
I can't understand why I feel like I could use a pair of Ray-bans right now but I can't see a **** thing.
Anyway going to shut her down now and lie awake in the dark some more.
I really hate being alone.

Well, it appears he is not coming,
Even a smile can't hide the hurt,
People are staring, and  I feel so silly,
In my "Looking for Trouble?" shirt.

The Arrival's Lounge is empty,
Which caused another pang in my chest,
I really believed that he was different.
But he is just like all the rest.

And I really needed to be alone,
So I found the nearest hiding place,
And in a stall in the ladies bathroom,
Silent tears rolled down my face.

And after a time my eyes went dry,
Though the pain remained inside,
How could the sun be shining bright,
When all my dreams had died?

And as if, in a fog, I ambled outside,
Feet moving without even a care,
For some reason towards a shade tree,
Which had somebody resting there.

And I stopped to sit for just a while,
On the opposite side of that tree,
Wishing the one I'd been waiting on,
Was sitting right next to me.

Oh! Dear Sun! Dear friend of mine,
With your infinite healing powers,
You've warmed my whole,
Relaxed my soul,
Through the endless trying hours.

Granted strength within a promise,
And enlightened all visions seen,
Helped me cope,
Brought me hope,
Of a life like you....serene.

And you are there, despite the storm,
To gift a lesser shade of black,
With just a hint,
When I am spent,
You can bring my spirit back.

Under your pardon, I've often laid,
Surrendered, naked, and new.
I dare to dream,
With every beam,
Of a love that's just like you.

I guess I'll just wait in baggage claim forever,
But you know what? That's okay.
I've been guessing which bag belongs to who,
For the better part of the day.
And I am matching them most effortlessly,
Most people are easily read,
"The khaki bag with the khaki pants",
Goes the dialogue in my head.
It's a game I have found, helps pass the time,
Makes my mood a bit more light,
While I stand with my thumb, you know where,
Expecting a cancelled flight.

From here I spy the baggage claim,
And my eyes dart frantically,
Nerves are twisted, stomach tied,
As I fidget quite anxiously.
There's a khaki bag there all alone,
Circling yet again once more,
And I am certain it must belong to,
The one that I'm waiting for.
Will he appear the way I imagined,
And will he even recognize,
Just who I am and all my hopes,
When he looks into my eyes.
Now I've begun to wring my hands,
My hives are starting to show.
Where's the one I'm searching for?
The flight landed so long ago.
All at once, I feel a hint of breath,
And a chill runs down my spine,
I turn, and I finally meet the one,
Whose soul is merged with mine.

The air is getting heavier,
With each shallow breath I take,
Struggle gives way to stridor,
And leaves pure panic in it's wake.
And just as any drowning victim would,
I desperately flail around,
Upwards seeking outstretched hand,
Below for solid ground.
Yet still I find no glimpse of you,
There isn't a single calming hint,
And now I am floating aimlessly,
For I know not where you went.
No purpose left to follow,
No vision still to seek,
Without my soul's life jacket,
My future looks quite bleak.