I wrote a poem about you
that I didn't want to keep
so I wrote it by the ocean
in the sand beneath my feet

I sat there by it silently
listening to the waves
just watching the tide come in
at the end of this pensive day

As the sea gently rolled in
and washed away the words
salty tears began to fall
as the ocean took away the hurt

I will never share with you
the words written in the sand
I'll never kiss those lips I long to
or feel the gentle caress of your hands

I remain seated here alone
the poem just a memory in my mind
a pain still lingers within my heart
a mixture of loss and longing combined

One day I'll retrace the words again
in the glorious golden sand
maybe you'll see them this time
and just maybe you'll understand

this little poem
                        a pilgrim of
letters and words
                         my mind
zestings and oils
                          sent forth
to add my flavour
                          to the world
and now my thoughts
                  bubbling & boiling
to mingle with yours
                    with excitement
making a new world view
              just to serve & enjoy

The tall
young monk
by the bell rope,

in the cloister,
by the refectory door,
off to Rome

the following day.
I tolled the bell
for Angelus,

rope between hands,
words between lips.
The peasant monk,

fading tonsure,
swept the cloister,
black habit dusty,

humble,
soft prayer,
inaudible mumble.

When you first met her
seemed she was for you made
your wait was now over
time had come to go ahead!

Most beautiful girl was she
for holding hand and walk
she was heavenly
was yours by good luck!

How those times flew
with her on windy sail
before you knew her well
she had grown too stale!

She wasn't all that nice
you didn't understand
what made you pay the price
to love her ask her hand!

It started with a tiff
then frequent quarrel
soon you reached the cliff
time with her was hell!

From her you grew aloof
she wasn't for you made
being under the same roof
burned fire in your head!

Soon you parted way
for you had strayed far
rued that ******* day
when you fell in love with her!

Can you tell me why
love dies we part our way
once more we don't try
to love her like first day!

I like talking with grandma.
She doesn't know my name.
She calls me Franklin Roosevelt.
I love her just the same.

I like talking with grandma
Her eyes see things quite scary.
Her long dead mom,
her childhood dog,
and even magic fairies.

Most people think I'm crazy.
They do not stop to see
that I think grandma's funny
in her senility.