washed out flailing
in the border lands
sights minds eyes
I cannot reach
what I reach for
and die more
die much much more
than anyone should
washed time and tide
too soon soon
again and again again

Take eyes off cybersphere
give your notebook a rest
the night sky today is so clear
the moon shines at her best!

Outside the night sparkles bright
the sky holds no dark scars
***** on the dreamy moonlight
dance to the tune of the stars!

Rain your skin in the dew
feel her kiss on fingertip
let not the night go past you
with your eyes rested on sleep!

The moon if returns would be sad
pined all the while for your glance
you were sinking in notebook ipad
losing a once lifetime chance!

To love a rose
You must respect it
It's head, rich in colors
Reds, light to deep
A blossomed beauty
It's graceful neck
Sensual in form
Leads to the thorns
Green and sharp
A testament of life
It's stem, holds scars of growth
But it's mind, something to beholden
Taken as a whole
It is gentle in its morning wake
Reaching for the sun
Warm, loving and needful
A peaceful existence
Seeking only love
Taste, drink with tongue
Tease it's water of life
Run your fingers down its stem
Slide between the thorns
Hold the neck
Place it's head
To protect, groom
Lightly passion it's spine
Give it's deepest reds
Color it's head
Be it's support
And it's place to grow
Pamper it's always time
Long legs divide
Kisses deliver time
It's nectar, true
I love you

five walk hand in hand down the road;
now its up to the rest of us

well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just cut a cutie.

she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, it's all she's got
but just like garbage turns to rot  
the road untrodden
she'll long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
it's time we're ridin'!

We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay
our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
poetic bramble.

Those things these hands have held
gently -textured care-
tactile curiosities
life's measure

A small, blue bird's egg
broken -sadly-
mocking nature's symmetry

Ice
cold -cold-
water making shape

A stone arrow point
sharp still -old-
black as death

My mother's hand
warm -caring-
now long gone

A small dog
wiggling -happy-
nipping, licking fingers

A woman
smooth -soft-
curving heat

My son
my son, my son -my son-
now grown, love unmeasurable

A coin
gold -only-
worth little

Those things these hands have held
measured -treasured-
memorized
lifelines.

r ~ 8/12/14