I found the calm in the
Storm, when My wife
Held me. I felt the
Warmth of the
Morn.

There was a girl
quite beautiful
who drowned herself
drinking they say
without blinking
like an infant suffocating
while sleeping without care
out where a lifebuoy
floats like a soggy rose
marking the spot
they last heard her
singing while sinking.

At the collision of timothy and zoysia , where Crape Myrtles reveal their late morning luster , where luminosity and cloud continually sketch , color and reinvent open pastures , individuality forever fading , leaving sadness at the afternoon approach then gone
Hours without occupation , warmth and windsong  
Tethered , embittered and hidden*...

Can a blind man
Become a poet
How can one write
about the things
they have never seen

Could a deaf man
Write poetry
How could he express
the sounds of things
He has never heard

Would a dolt even think
About writing poetry
and if he COULD put down
on paper what he feels
Who on Earth would ever listen

There's a professor at Harvard
Who teaches poetry
left, write, upside down, and sideways
but, she was never
Write for me

The influx of emotions
        and their ebb
                      and flow
swirl like a cyclone within me
I stand upon the cliffs,
                      hair blowing
                                mind rolling
into nuances
and languages
existing beyond words
 as each feeling whirls
                         and melts
into the other
     until they rise like birds
Around me,                      
each one takes the stance
                     of a miniature kite
attached to my limbs
pulling me this way
                                 and that
Yes, I know that our emotions
 are as rivers,    
                        rushing through
our banks
           soaking the essence
                                of our beings
              with fresh coolness
and alternately,
where it meets sea,
brine in searing tears                  
I know the stillness of my
               own soul, placid as a
                             rock in a typoon    
     yet sometimes
          unable to shake off
the heaviness of algae
it can almost suffocate
and to get through its
            dank seaweed density
          I shall just envision lightness
in the aviary form
              of hummingbirds
or kingfishers…yes, even soaring eagles
tugging on my heartstrings
lifting me up and away
into the proverbial clouds
so I can just
                curl up
         into fetal position
and let myself be
                      gently rocked
                             until the storm
                       blows over

he held up a dead coyote
like he had just won first prize
smiling from ear to ear
a look of pride in his eyes

the caption said "predator control"
which brought a question to my mind
if we call survival being a predator
then what do we call our kind?