I am master of words.
I command, and they march forth
To do my bidding.
When the battle drums sound,
They arm themselves with slender swords,
Delicate and deadly,
Designed to slip through every hole
In an opponent's defenses
And leave wicked wounds.
When they come to the bargaining table,
They don their smoothest silver
And enter into the intricate steps
Of a dance that leads them in circles,
Drawing slowly closer
To their true purpose.
When they must be kept at bay
They find themselves facing walls
Tall and strong
Behind which they can find no exit.
I am master of words,
Until I fall into those endless chasms
Set in twin blue-green seas
Framed by milk.
The swift and deadly swords
Become sticks in the hands of children.
The dancers stumble and stutter
Over once-graceful steps.
Walls crumble, and every errant thought
Now seizes on the rich supply
And flings the words forth,
A hairsbreadth out of reach
Of my grasping hands,
Now just too slow to ****** them back.
With a single glance, the tables turn
In a heartbeat
And the words
Become master of me.

Don't move.
The air is rich with magic.
The words that so recently dropped from the poet's lips
Now hold you transfixed, as if they were
The words to a spell of binding
Freezing you to your seat and reminding you
That the pen is still mightier than the sword.
You sit, unwilling to stir, because you know all too well
That the minute you move, you'll break the spell
And the shell constructed from the lines of verse
Will shatter like someone touched the magic with a curse
And the world will come rushing back in.
A single rustle is all it takes for the world to reawaken
And the spell to break. But as the mystic moment fades away,
You pray that some of the magic will stay
And cling to you like stray cobwebs,
Trailing the beauty of the words that were spoken
So that others might be touched by the magic that awoke
In the few moments you took to step away from the world.
But whether or not the magic leaves a trail for others,
It will not fail to nestle itself inside your head
And every night you spend tossing sleepless in bed
The words will be turning over and over--
They will dissociate and scramble and regenerate
Until at last they precipitate into a new brand of magic.
Then the day will come when you, too, will stand
In that sacred space before a crowd of eager young faces--
Or perhaps just sit and spend some time with a single friend--
And you will hold in your hand a paper
Filled with the dots, lines, and squiggles
That are the visual representation
Of this creation of yours, this poetic summation
Of the beauty that has invaded your soul
And forced its way out again.
As you draw your first breath, you begin weaving the net
That will set the stage for you to upset their status quo
And transport them to a place from which you know
They will return wanting more.
Then you will speak the words
And pass the magic on.

What secrets hide behind that sunny smile?
Your sparkling eyes
Hold more than just innocence
What else lies beneath those infinite pools?
Little flashes of light from deep within
Reveal a maze of sandbars
And the wrecks of proud ships
The only remnants of many brave attempts
To navigate waters
Far more dangerous than they appear
I have seen beneath the sugar coating
And glimpsed the steel it covers
And now curiosity drives me on
I take the helm
And enter the maze

When the smile falters
Be sure to have a mask ready
To hide behind
To show to the world
And keep it there
Until you are smiling again
However long it takes
No matter how much it hurts
Because if it slips
The world will see
The broken wreck
That is
You

Little problem, tiny flame.
Thoughts running wild
Around and around
Stir the little flame
Into a fiery maelstrom.
Let the cool breath of reason
Set thoughts to rest!
How quickly the flame returns
To its proper size.

Storms inside my head
Rage without an end.
The wind attacks from all directions--
Attempts to strip from me
The little covering to which I cling.
Vicious, stinging raindrops
Are driven sideways by the wind
And assault my naked face.
Rumbling drumbeats of thunder
Creep ominously closer,
Heralds to the storm's mightiest weapon.
FLASH.
A brilliant spear of light is flung
From an unseen hand within the clouds
And strikes the earth.
My eyes are stricken also
And I stumble,
Robbed of precious sight.
Soaked, battered, and blinded,
I seek to uncork this storm--
Allow its wild fury to spread and disperse.
But its only outlet
Is a tiny pinhole of an opening,
And through this aperture
All that can fit--
Two simple words:
Miss you.

Life-giving rain.
Seeping through the soil,
Awaking a sleeping seed.
Roots spread,
A slender shoot stretches to the sky.

Thieving rain.
Cutting canyons in the earth,
Carrying away precious soil
With each drop.
Roots reach in vain,
Grasping nothing.

Murderous rain.
Stripping the seedling bare.
Where once was life and warmth,
Now silent
And cold.

The white cable-knit sweater
Does not hang on a mannequin
But drapes from a much more graceful frame.
The words "Dr. and Dr."
Are not lines on a page
But inflections of a rich, warm voice.
The piano keys move
Not under the influence of my fingers
But of ones much smaller and fairer.
You are everywhere--
In all the little things.
I cannot escape you.

Your gentle hand, it fits so well in mine
Though, by comparison, it is so small--
And when our fingers meet and intertwine
You take me as your prisoner, bound, enthralled.
Your smile, although its purest form so few
Will ever see, shines forth in blinding light--
And when it turns on me, I hope anew,
And for your heart once more renew my fight.
Your lips, they brush my skin like fairies' wings
And cause my racing heart to skip a beat--
They give me faith to trust in all the things
That your eyes say to mine, each time they meet.
Alas that cruel fate from me would ban
All three of these: your lips, your smile, your hand.

You can't make me:
Words heard oft from a child's lips.
How odd, then, that they would be
Rising from the depths
Of my core, my inner being.
In defiance they rise
To challenge what I understand
All too well, but flashing from my eyes
Is a refusal to be banned
Once more to wander outside your walls.
Think you that a simple command
Can cool the trails of heat left behind,
Marking every touch of your hand?
Although my protection may be your design,
Still my concern lingers on.
So do your best to make me disappear--
Use your tricks, every last one.
In the end you'll find I'm still here
Because I refuse to run,
And you can't make me.

Sprawled on the floor, patient.
It smells so good!
Cold nose on warm leg--
Nudge. Nudge. Nudge.
No response.
Rising up to bring face closer to face,
Eyes turned upward in full power.
At last, a morsel tossed down!
Snatched in midair,
Gone before it hits the floor.
So much work for one tiny bite!
Sink to the floor once more
And repeat.

It won't work, we said.
Just walk away, we said.
Life is stacked against us.
The odds just aren't in our favor.
Somewhere along the line,
My heart missed that memo.
It still turns over
Every time I see
You smile.

Blademasters are we:
Circling each other, wary.
Two masters of our craft,
Skilled not in the art of cut and slash
But rather the parry and ******--
Leaving delicate but deadly wounds
Wherever we strike.
Circling closer,
Weapons sheathed, but ever wary.
From their homes at our hips
Our blades have sprung, just once,
And in the brief but furious interchange
Each dealt a wicked wound
Before returning to rest.
And yet, despite the pain,
Still we circle closer--
Weapons sheathed, but ever wary.
The circle closes until
Hands connect,
Feet move as one:
A graceful dance begins.
At such close range, any ******
Heralds grim death,
But we acknowledge danger--
Acknowledge, and disregard.
Blades silent at our sides,
Taking step after delicate step.
Weapons sheathed,
And slowly trusting.

Your touch is fire.
Trails of heat that mark
Each place where skin brushed skin.
Sinking, spreading into a rich, warm glow.

Your touch is ice.
Frosty tendrils entwining
The delicate nervous network they find.
Cool shivers radiating from every fiber.

Your touch is lightning.
A buildup of charge
As distance closes.
On contact, a surge, a tingling rush.

Fire, ice, lightning:
Touched by three,
And by three bound;
And all three bound within a single touch.