It is a declaration of cowardice.
I put my pen down and
Step away slowly
[Defusing the letter bomb].
They don't always turn the
Other sheet, you know.

Sometimes the poem
Writes back.

~

If you were mine…



If you were mine…our footsteps would

dance on moonlit verandas
while candle lit flickerings enticed my smiled reflections
with your arms tightly around me

symphonies would play to the rhythm of your charm
as we swayed in the essence of forever
on cloud soft concertos of affection’s melodic whispers

eternal echoes would sing in harmony to your eyes,
hauntingly dark invitations to my endless destination,
soothing reflections comforting weathered longings

If you were mine…satin beaches would

eclipse tan line passions
beneath glistening waves of aquamarine salt water bliss
gently caressing the depth of our love

palm leaf shadows of cooling design would weave embracing patterns
of ocean fed breezes tickling our naked forms
as sea foam fingers probe pearl smooth valleys

sunset tides would tease beneath star orchid heavens
blooming of every wished for fantasy…
lasting happily ever after upon sandcastles dreams


If you were mine…my life would

be a mosaic of delirious euphoric visions
in constant creative motion delivering sincerely
every ounce of joy your heart could desire

painted in the sweet essence of everything that is your spirit
vibrant in wonders of fragrant poetic offerings
versed in accordance with your every need

believing that happiness can begin with a smile,
walk along endless streams of worshiped blessings,
remaining satisfied and forevermore yours

If you were mine…oh, if you were mine

She's having a bad day
The way only women do.
I pile all our pillows in the
Wall corner of our bed.
Carry her into it,
Cover her with both
Our duvets.
Comfort womb.

With a steady stream of
Grains in miniscule multitude
Falling from my fist
I impersonate
Time.

~

Fly Away


“Seagull, you fly across the horizon”

Parallel dreams and sifted thoughts
on an amber thread, thin as the beliefs
once found as hope, now falling
beneath sorrowed wings, gliding


“Into the misty morning sun”

Through hazy eyes and broken hearts,
tarnished memories flow within this dawn
as you fade off in the distance,
soaring ever higher, disappearing into the east


“Nobody asks you where you are going”

Silence fills the maze that is your mind, leaving you
staring at dead ends and fractured turns,
as the realization that you didn’t matter
forms on clouds of whispering truths…no one cares


“Nobody knows where you're from”

And in the end, you are not sure yourself
from where you once came, a blotted image
on empty shorelines of tangle debris
which you easily have forgotten, as you as well will be


“And you fly away…”

Cut to the quick
With bluntness

Put down several hundred pegs
Where I languished
Shredded, unravelling

Until the fabric
Of my being
Was reshaped
Resewn

As things go on in the world
All I can think about is you
And how your "imperfections"
Are my favorite parts of **you

Dear mr. Cole.
I allow myself
"Joe", with the deepest respect
For a man I barely know.
But I know...

You contain
Multitudes, no less than
Whitman. Supporting posting
Writers with the warmth
Of an all-loving Allfather; raining
And shining on seedlings sown
By poets of varying confidences.

Larger than any poet
Ever read
Is he who encourages writing.

Joe, yours is the hand that swats
The one that holds back the
Pen of the uncertain poet.

Your poetry reflects
Your garden, God's Creation,
The beauty within wild things
Growing...

And all that glory and grace
Of which you write,
My friend, our Joe.
Is all a mirror
Reflecting
Its beholder.