Busy little bee, you've got yourself some honey
You trap yourself in sweet desire
Sticky situation you've got yourself in.
Flower to flower, hour to hour
Bumbling about your days.
Stacking that sugar to the ceiling
Drone yourself a home.
Stuck in a husk, an empty hive.
A queen throned
Alone.

You busy, busy little bee.

-r0

For Joshua Haines

Thanks for the invite kid,
but I am bulky enough
and don't need your weight
to carry

**** good writer
you are,
not a concede,
not an aiming to please,
"just the facts, ma'am"

not even twenty one
commander of the ship from
a mooring slipped,
a poetic trip well-begun

but

     *Follow for Follow?

no babe,
passing dude,
passed that point
of no purposed-return,
trading points and
placing my self worth
on a scale of followers,
or ranted counts of page views

I  may read you
cause write quite nicely,
but I don't inflate
nobody's ego,
for their own fake sake

counting false gods
got my people forty years
of desert wandering,
after 400 years of penal servitude,
so I have done my hard time,
for that exact crime

Whew!
That felt good!

you must of got me confused
with another whew

I was young once
till very recently,
even tho I am
four decades plus
you senior

so here is my story,

don't swap spit or follows,

or likes for show,
those who have my heart,
have my words freely

my audience is the sun,
my numerology glorious,
the blades of green beneath
my rabbits happy bunny dancing,
for every verse pleasured

those I count on,
ask not,
for they like me for the who in my poetry,
knowing fullness and well,
mine is theirs,
no need to trade favors

I will read your words,
but not for you,
but for them,
the best part
of the best of you

Let us together,
think about that...
and if ever there were a blade upon to fall,
this notion is both sharp,
and the map to freedom

good luck to us both...

I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice, no strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the sinking sun in hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such things though I grow grey and old
The first gleam of the evening star appears in the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace, tranquillity and calm