In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
These ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require:
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men:
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain:
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Gimme a bottle
of your cheapest red,
and sit with me awhile.
Let's spin tales
to rival the fairies,
while old hands
spin more than time.

She said,
Stand still
Young soul
and be here now,
While we stared from her bed
and waited
for the flies to come out
so we could catch them
and let them
turn the roofs of our mouths
yellow,
and i would hum Yellow.
Staring
******
I sit my turn
She said lessons,
lessons are repeated
til learned
and we would laugh
and waste away
the days we had earned
and fade to yellow.
And I would hum Yellow

i can force the ink
but it lies
the patterned scratches
frame your eyes

skin the moment
make it feel
take it in
pretend it's real

dismissed sun
the red and grey
wasted eyes
once kissed the day

flying in
to save a rose
tea and silver
skin exposed

headway fail
go back to bed
white out words
that weren't said

The Web


Beads of dew capture the light
on a thread so fine.
True silk spun with delicate detail
the web so strong in creation.
The web a design built to hold fast its catch.
Sparkles with morning dew in spirals of beauty.
This web built with intended design
is a thing of strength and purpose.
Winds blown from the north, winds blown from the south
have destroyed this fragile wonder.
I’ve seen this web before at its best.
Busy little spider repair your work
or lose your next catch.
Your never ending duty you must not shirk.