Satin-textured shamrock flower,
whose eyes chrome the seas
of the faded cushioned theatre seats,
with their sparkling, piercing power--
You,
saunter sprightly up and down,
lyrical laughter over-bounds,
in quick-timing
to the taste
of your Irish school-girl ways.

We take time enough to see,
those livid, lush-red cheeks,
(ripe, rose-blushed every time
as you savour sweet the wine)
that sanctifies
your softly senses,
sans pretenses,
whereon your wings of
wonder float and fly.

Scented, tactile spirit-showers,
all the joy we need,
as the stage-light's haunting beam,
Sheers the magic of this hour--
You,
lightly lift us off the ground,
set us oh, so softly down
upon those rhyming wisps of air
that caress your auburn hair.

Now, I, a poor poet,
upon this paper
play
pleasing poetics of your praise,
whilst the ink upon these lines,
dries far faster than the tears
falling
from my wistful, yearning eyes
in exaltation of
your Wings of Wonder Ways.

i
want to cry,
when i think about
your eyes,
i
want to touch you
and wish
for just a single,
endless
kiss,
a kiss upon your
eyelids
and lips...
just one?

If you were a dream
          let me be the eternal sleeper
If you were a song
           let me never take off the headphones
If you were darkness
          let there never be light

If I were a boy living the dream
          of listening to that song in the dark

Let you be you.

The billboards advertise it;
The mental pollution
That's obtained in a New York minute
Is mind-blowing.

A fast-paced world bustles by
Outside a taxi cab window.
It's rush hour,
And the car horns scream pleas of chaos.

Busy bodies litter the streets.
As they dissipate, they are soon replaced
Like the car exhaust
That's always lingering in the air.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
    Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
    That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
    Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.