"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." - John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989)

*As a child I loved you Mork, as an adult you taught me the fine line between laughter and despair.

(Never underestimate the power
Of the gift of giving a flower)

You can't fail her 
with a bright dahlia
With it's perfect symmetry
Caress her nose
With the scent of a rose
And a cup of Earl grey tea

Make a daisy chain
For her flowing mane
And rub her tired  toes
Treat your filly
To a glorious lily
And a day of sweet repose

Surprise her at the station
With a bunch of carnations 
And hold her hand for a while 
Make things swell
In a field of bluebells
That'll surely bring a smile 

Get down on one knee
With some lovely peonies
And look deeply into her eyes
The sight of an iris
Could fill her with such bliss
If you take her by surprise 

You could please her 
With some pink freesias  
And a well planted kiss
If the romance slips
Choose some bright tulips
The thought won't go amiss!

I had a lover in Calgary
who used to paint the mountains.
She was all words
and no ***, and so I was bound
to hurt her eventually.

I had a lover in Monteverde.
We would take the sky walk to the clouds
and lighten heads with wine.
I could never stand out from the beauty
that surrounded us.

I had a lover in Chernobyl
who used to collect children's shoes.
She was all memory
and no life, living in the fallout
of love and love's decay.

I had a lover in Alice Springs.
We would **** and drink in her shanty house
and argue through till morn.
I could never stand the sight of sorrow
and aboriginal rust.

I had a lover in every country.
They kept me from the sports news with gifts
of poets and good music.
For all the kindness they had offered,
I never had a speck to give in return.

As I close my eyes
my senses know no bounds
my body becomes weightless
and my joyful song resounds

I try to find my bearings, and
I hold on to myself.
I've never put someone so close;
My *self upon a shelf.

Every fiber of my being
has room to stretch and grow
my steps spring forward lightly
and my smile is wide, aglow!

So come unto me, siren.
Give me room to grow and fall.
Sing for me a beacon; silly boat
Is sinking slow.

I swim to you in haste
my hair flowing wild and free
and water courses around my limbs
as minnows accompany me.

And so we're freed by water,
Unalone and unafraid.
Need no more one breath to take,
Nor single blessing said.

These oceans are named Between.
Yes, I know them all.
They've separated me before
By water's solid wall.

But I imagine when I
Jump and make a splash
At my local Brighton beach
That ripple travels
To your shore so
You're never out of reach!

And at these rugged shores
That ripple reaches land.
As good as any letter penned,
A wave; an outstretched hand.

Like a message in a bottle
I hope it reaches you
Every nuance of my love and care
Dripped in oceans blue

Much more comfort in that
Bottle, than the one before
Me now. Its insides shared
With me; still I am emptier
...somehow.

Well you can't run on empty
So let me fill your cup
With seashells whispers
Wisdom pearls
And jellied joy to
Fill you up

A whispered wish
An uttered prayer.
That space that pushes
Here from there to
Disappear; give room for
Place to share as lair,
There's places everywhere...