Mistakes, one then another,
And again and again.
Each and all textured the same,
And for so long
Unable to be tame.
This encore of pain,
Salt on the open wounds,
All due to that everlasting, consuming fear
Of living the truth.
This encore of mistakes,
Crawling,
Gnawing.

Jeans rolled past my knees
Sleeves cut short to a v
Hair tied with elastic rubber band.
Already from shifting position
Three splinters and one rusty needle have pricked my soles.
Here on the bleachers at Pioneer Park,
That's what you become.
A splinter of wood amidst a haystack of action.
There's that group of thirty plus playing frisbee on the grassy flats, and
That group of acro yogi's you were supposed to join.
I'd rather sit here on these prickly bleachers and
Be a splinter of wood, with the sun shining and the cloudy sky drizzling,
Then go down below and be a social butterfly.
I've been that all day, now all I need is to get rained on, feel the wet,
Be a splinter of wood on the bleachers.

Sand dust paper memory,
Magnet promises that loose
Their stickiness.
Eyes so deep and empty
Like lonely water wells.
This is the man that holds
An umbrella over his head,
Even if it's not raining,
And just stands and stares
Out over the horizon sea.

Sun stained eyes
Salt textured skin
Mouth breathes in the ocean air
Nose tastes the sea-gulls shrieks
He seeks
Ocean speaks
One gives
The other takes
And both make
A balanced happiness

Sea-gull's wings glide
Mirrored by the ocean's tides
Through the folds of wind
That causes ripples and constant change
Here, there, and everywhere

Salt liquid waves
Blue stained waters
Always moving
Always changing face
Detaching shells from the sand floor
And deforming the crusted and colorful reefs

If you really love someone,
You can let them go.

Snow is falling outside
And the night wind is blowing.
Three little sisters run in the white fields,
Wearing gloves and coats.
They throw snow ***** at each other, filling the
Wind with laughter. They move away now,
And begin making a snowman.
Once his body is completed,
The girls run to fetch a blue snow-hat,
A green scarf, a carrot for the snowman’s,
And two pebbles for his eyes.
Now they have a snowy friend to keep them company.
Bells are ringing! It is time to decorate the tree!
A box is brought outside and from
It the girls pick their ornaments.
With smiles that reach their ears and gentle hands,
The sisters hang the different colored *****,
And behold a twinkling Christmas tree.

*The third poem that I wrote for my friend's three granddaughters

A small pond sits quiet in a meadow,
Circling it are three majestic willows.
The long green branches reach down
And the leaves brush the water’s surface,
Creating tiny ripples that grow and spread.
It is quiet here, in this meadow.
The breeze that lifts the
Willow branches is calm,
And the animals that occupy
The little corners are at peace.
Here, in this quiet meadow,
Stand three majestic willows,
Each one casting a reflection in the water.

*Another poem of three that I wrote for my friend's granddaughters