Was Wordsworth worth his words
When first I read the Ode To Immortality,
Heard from his inner being?
I, whose custom is to call a ***** a *****,
Dare say the word ‘mortality’
For it is death I sense, come closer daily.
Yet we have a bond, Wordsworth and I,
For hopeful of a kernel die
That cannot die,
But timeless, never was
And is always,
I wish to look on heart that’s inner,
Atoms of the saint and sinner
Coming back re-formed and re-acquiring
Shape and name:
A game of soul rebirth eternal,
Hints of strange foreverness –
Its paradox forever mortal,
Yet immortal.

.
Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here

Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced

Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,  
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                            

A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose

Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs

Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace

A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume

For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste

What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold

These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,  
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose  

The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart

Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose



Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩

"You look so tired"
I mean I guess
I've been drinking enough caffeine
To fuel a crack head or three
But I'm fine I'm really fine
Minus the breakdowns on the busrides
But I'm fine I'm really fine
I mean my dead dad talks to me now so I guess
Maybe I'm not alright in the head a little
But it's ok right now I swear
It's okay right now I swear

I sat watching 3 girls,
couldn’t be any older than 12,
wearing shorts cut by
expectations and
            taking pictures
with coffee cups and
wearing make up
stronger          than
perfume clouds
following like
hitchhikers
and
a slow car.
**** magazines          and enraptured
by the           irrelevant famous,
exposing the youth’s lack
of interest in literature,
callow   and murderous,
glasses filled and cocksure,
the world in front of them
and yet they’re taking
steps backwards

MJB

What it'd be
to be the same cup of tea
and poured so thoroughly
for all the world to see

What it'd be
to be sought and enjoyed
rather than looked
through tainted and destroyed
colored glasses,
decidedly annoyed
people fix me irritated glances
I'm not a crowd pleaser
and alone viewed as bitter
I'm sorry I'm not your cup of tea
if you see a quiter
then a bitter quiter has to be me

What it'd be
to not even be me
maybe instead
from a mint brewery
then my demeanor
would appear brighter,
cleaner
but not to you
achu achu
appearances never
faze to blue
until that brew adieus

What it'd be
for my recipe
to have been escriben
so graciously
near my name
Instead drank ostensibly
spit contemptuously
and given tired out pleasantries
failed to taste great piquancy
no red, yellow, or blue cup's
compatible dripping amenity

And oh what it'd be
for you to see
that with the alliance with a honey bee
everyone's cup of tea