The smell of her hair
is not lavender or perfume.
It is chlorine summers
and cigarette smoke at a party,
a good party.
Her skin is not velvet.
It is fresh, white linen
that feels like home
the second it is smoothed over the mattress.
Her voice is not a whispering mother.
It is the ocean against the shore
seeping deep into the sand,
wishing it could stay longer.

An ant before God.
I am a humble soul within
Humble flesh,
Yet at times ignorant, like a
Baby kissed by a president.

Sometimes you are the most
Womanly woman I have
Ever felt.
Pure feminine.
Venus mirrored.

I am snake to your swan.
Turtle to your cheetah.
When you ask me to hold you,
My arms embrace the
Universe.

From the countless footsteps
I could feel hers
when summer sun was slanting
the day was losing glares.

Oh her lotus feet
how they cooled the burning dust
soothed my spirit
now I tell the story must!

She would wait beneath a tree
to catch a passing song
that breathed her lullaby
stayed with her for long.

When wind hushed the passing note
the darkness chilled her bone
upon her eyes starlight wrote
you are so alone.

She turned the way she came
trod me her lotus feet
hadn’t seen her known her name
but felt her in heartbeat.

One evening she waited long
till the last crow found its nest
she was dying to hear his song
but silence rent her breast.

As she walked my laden stone
weighed in load of pain
I could feel her anguished moan
that fell on me like rain.

She hasn’t come back to this day
hadn’t seen her known her name
only know it’s truth they say
once lit never dies love’s flame!

Seven Continents,
Too much humans,
     Too much humanity.*

We're misinformed.

© 2015 J.S.P.

I NEVER BELONGED HERE
ALOT OF US NEVER DID
OUR FACES AREN'T REAL
THEY'RE WALLS WE HIDE BEHIND
WE DON'T BELONG HERE
WE JUST WATCH THE REST
OBSERVE TO SEE HOW TO ACT
WE DON'T BELONG HERE
BUT YOU WOULD NEVER GUESS
HOW MANY OF US WALK AMONG YOU

i used to want to be the hero

now I just wish to be saved

from myself, like some helpless

princess in a tower

My poems attest
That I lived
     As I
          For them.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Explore the outer space,
Like poets
     Are not yet there.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

We're in the middle of nowhere
Except trash bags are our tumble weeds
And the ash is our wind
The broken trees the children
And the fire our kin
The ash moves beneath the dry leaves
The fire plays within the broken trees
And the children die from choking on ashes