Through a narrow tributary flowing down
Flanked by rustling reeds on either side
The small boat made its lonesome way
Carrying two souls from all distractions

The current was dotted here and there  
With floating masses of water hyacinths
With lavender blossoms peeping through the green
That drifted to and fro as the boat made its way

Pleating gentle curls in the water’s swell
The boat moved, carrying him and her
Gliding away unhurried and unrushed
Over the heaving crest of pure delight

As it entered the river’s wider mouth
Waves began lapping on the boat
And jets of water splashing neck high
With their cool embrace, raising the spirits

Bobbing over waves, they quietly watched
The cobalt sky hugging the mountains far
Hills looming large, with clumps of trees
And their foliage swaying in summer breeze

Before them, the river gallantly stretched along
As a flood of fluid crystal, a current of liquid light
Expressing in turn, the silent meditation of a sage
And the noisy ebullience of a naughty kid

Leaving all cares behind, on the sullen shores
Hearing the lovely chanting of songbirds
Enjoying the river’s shifting loveliness
The two entered into the river’s inner heart

As the magic moments mesmerized their senses
They knew they had found a new love
A flower suddenly blooming in the wild
Drifting them to a world sans any fences !

Take away something real, fiction
Hold it in your arms, metaphysical
Friction, Oh, hyper-monitor diction to
Take hold of nonexistent, nonsensical
Non-fiction; How it slips from fingers
Ever distant, moving yet arthritic; much so,
This life fades, Drowning in indifference
In the future not far; Traces fill the spaces
That hold your heart back as if paralytic.
Become resistant, To feel alive in life here.
If only to replay the best yesterdays;
When tomorrow is clean-slated fate,
Today is an oil smudged rainy sidewalk,
There is a Specter, an owl on a high pole;
In the light of fluorescence a ****** there,
Eyes glow; what does the wise one know?

sometimes you just have to write
a super ****** poem
just to make the words
get out of your head
and sometimes your words
flow so effortlessly that
the poem brings tears to your eyes
either way, keep writing
writing trash
writing amazing poetry
do it because it’s a necessity
do it because that’s just how it has to be
flow or don’t
rhyme or don’t
use stanzas or don’t
do whatever feels the best to you in that moment
friend, just write so that
those of us who can’t voice
the pain or the joy
have somewhere to find those words
we need you to write it for us
we have to relate to you
please
I beg of you
write for us,
your fellow poets

Perhaps I am an evil man,
Perhaps I am; I cannot tell;
I try to do the best I can,
But know I do not do it well.

Perhaps there is a space for me
In some unknown corner of hell,
Where hope reigns for eternity,
And nothing ever breaks its spell.

For hope is, when all's said and done,
The worst of things a man can suffer;
It keeps us traipsing, one by one,
From one disaster to another.

Perhaps it's best to just give up;
Immerse myself in a life of sin,
Drink good wine, and raise a cup
To my worst enemy- Nigel Finn.