A father is a tree.
He is sappy at times,
And once distilled,
He's sweet.
He radiates limbs
To provide shade
And shelter from harm;
His roots are deep
And nourishing.
He is oak and willow,
Fruitful and sharing.
But most of all,
He hugs like bark.

X-ing
X-ref
Luxury
Generation X
X-ray
Xmas
exam
fax
xenophobia
Xerox
Faux
X Rated
X's and O's
Xian
X is the unknown
Xmit
X-files
Malcom X
3 x 2
X, IX, VIII

But if you've lost something you treasure,
Then X marks the spot.

I have tasted human flesh
From the oven of
Lips and tongue;
Dripping well-dressed
In savory sauce,
To stir me to feast on.

We fell all the time.
It was a matter of balance.
Our inner ears and eyes
Struggled with gravity; and
Being upright is our gravest concern.
So, we always stood again,
Revolving around equilibriums:
Bikes, ledges and feet;
Everything was a test. Everything needed balance:
Wheelbarrows, roof peaks and checking accounts.

I've learned balance for adults
Is even more precarious.
Our words are heavily weighted,
And some more disproportionately than others,
With see-saw issues and teeter-totter opinions.

Isn't it easier to get back on the bike
Than walk back unbalanced arguments.

She's posted a picture of her son,
Sitting on a swing I assume is moving.
I wonder how this Spring day moves him.
The sun stretching
From his head to his toes,
As he arcs to and fro.
I'll never know.
It's a picture of her son.
Does he read, write, paint, build?
I'd like to see his photography.
Perhaps a picture of his mother
Sitting on a swing;
But it's him, sitting there, still.

You don't love me any more.
I don't love you any less.
More or less?
Which is best.

Hello poetry is not happy
Hello poetry is not well
Hello poetry is not healthy
Hello poetry's gone to hell

I see these thoughts and sentiments echoed
In different forms upon my wall
I feel it too as I click and stumble
As I watch and wait for the wheel crawl

I've only been here a little while
I like the format, I like the style
The thoughts, the words,
The shares, the smiles
But why is loading
Such an arduous trail?

Hello poetry's not so bad
I've got plenty of patience
Hello poetry doesn't make me mad
It offers me contemplation

I click, I stumble
I wait, I mumble
"502, the gatekeepers in trouble..."