Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I sit on a beach
the sea is rough
a pair seagulls hurtle by
a mere foot above the waves
I try to imagine what it's like
to be them
moving through the air at that speed
looking down
wild ocean frothing foaming
surging below me
so close
that when a wave breaks
it reaches up to pull me under
feeling the cold spray splattering my chest

Red is too fire,
Orange too bright,
Yellow too dire,
Green is too light.

Blue is too tame,
Indigo's silly,
Violet's a name,
Pink is too frilly.

Those are the reasons
(I've been keeping track)
It changes like seasons,
Now black's the new black.

Scratched against the back of my eyelids,
Every night when I close my eyes.
I can avoid it
when
I'm
awake.

But he's there
Smiling
In his soccer jacket
With his name on the back
When I try to dream.

I like to think that
He's up
With the angels.

But I know that he's just hiding,
Tattooed forever
Behind my eyes.

I walk along the path of you and me
And find what once we carved'n mahogany
So small and deep that only I can see
What's ours among the lies an'disloyalty.
The tree he stands, weathered, washed up, and strong;
A testament to love so young n'impure -
Each dent is proof of lust declared for long
By youth enamored far err they grow, mature.
Ours too, is there, cut deep into the bark.
The 'L . plus J.' hidden among the many,
whose hopeless love required assurance - that mark
to keep their ferv'r from fall to worth a-penny
       But hark, my dear, I hope our mark does fade
       For ours, in heart, trumps any a-tree has made.