A poem on writing
for that’s what I do
I write out a poem
to share it with you

I write about love
and I write about wishes
Cool summer nights
and warm tender kisses

I write about things
that are close to my heart
Just like my last poem
“I’m ready to start”
(Shameless plug)

I write about tears
and heart broken sorrow
A sunset tonight
and the sunrise tomorrow

Sometimes they are funny,
sometimes they are sad
And sometimes I lean
very close to the bad

I write about flowers
and gardens and trees
Hummingbirds, butterflies,
a soft flowing breeze

I write about stars
and the moon in the sky
The sun and the clouds
every day passing by

I write about snow
and I write about rain
A couple of times
I have written of pain

I write about oceans,
the waves and the shore
Sandcastles, seashells,
footprints and more

I write about music
on violin strings
Guitars and pianos
and melodic things

I write about hope
and I write about dreams
Walks out in nature
near slow moving streams

Won’t write about hate,
don’t like to cause trouble
I run from the subject
real fast, on the double

At times I am goofy
and act like a fool
But never use cuss words
to make me look cool

I don’t write in anger
or feature religion
Well, maybe sometimes,
perhaps just a smidgeon

But mostly I write
as thoughts do occur
And always those thoughts
seem to linger on her

I write so she smiles,
I write so she knows
That I’ll always love her
no matter what goes

I write my affection
so she has to see
That there is no other,
no other for me

I write from the heart
in hopes she will feel
This love that I send
and know it is real

For she is my angel,
my every desire
All I’d ever want
and all I require

So there now you have it
the things that I write
I hope you enjoy what
I’ve shared here tonight

And one final thing,
just a little note
Real soon I'll stop by
and read what you wrote

it's only nine,
where the night barely shows its deep secrets
yet i already am sharing mine with it.
in between the pandemonium
and the faint sounds of television
in the dim light of living room,
i tell the night of how i crave for your skin.
how every little touch of yours would wake the butterflies inside my stomach,
how soft your milky face would feel like,
and how i want to connect the constellation of moles and imperfections in your perfect face.

it's only nine,
the time i want to breathe you in as i hold your tiny hands,
that i'm convinced would feel warm in the midst of howling wind.
i want to hold you and tell you my restlessness of not having you by my side.
it's the first time i want to see your face instead of the gleaming stars above,
because your eyes hold more than millions stars and constellations in the sky.
but don't tell the night, for it would be jealous of you.