His smirk was the stuff of legends.
When taunted with loud rude remarks 
And thoughtless offensive assumptions.
His expression a quick stark reminder.

He did not need to raise his voice 
Or wage war with fists or words
For the source of his power
Was in the curve of his brow

His refute neatly imbued
In his wry handsome semi-smile.
That made them shrink back
To feel small and absurd.

When our love for life is lost,
The joy long since departed
And all around us crumbles
Like the one who is broken hearted.

When our fears are finally found,
So much closer than we thought
We will cling to what we can
Though it is never what we sought.

When we spend our nights in darkness,
And so to with the day,
We must find ourselves a beacon,
A light to guide our way.

I'd love to be the harbor boat
That gently tugs, keeping you afloat
Or perhaps even better yet
The soft comfort of your unmade bed

I'd love to be the garden trowel
The one you use when you plant spring flowers
Or perhaps even better still
The lucky coin in your wishing well

I'd love to be the big red barn
With stacks of hay inside to keep you warm
Or perhaps even more than that
The loving purr from you favorite cat

I'd love to be your private Learjet
To take you places that you've never been
Or perhaps given half a chance
The diamond ring slipped on your left hand

I'd love to be your automobile
The comfort you feel from behind the wheel
Or perhaps to tell the truth
I'd love to be all this and more for you

It was a glorious night for a moonlit flight
On Barry my Big Berkshire Boar
Huffing and puffing like flying was nothing
Over the treetops we’d soar

Well I never knew, that other pigs flew
As Darren came circling down
Sat proud on top his Gloucester Old Spot
Wow! What a wonderful sow

I’m sure I can claim that Darren was the same
As his jaw nearly dropped to the ground
For Darren and I, had pigs that could fly
And you don’t really see that around

“Hey your pig flies!” Darren wailed with surprise
“And we only just met for a drink”
“I didn't know you, had a flying pig too
  Just what would the other guys think!?”

So we soon made a pact, with our secret intact
Everything worked out just fine
Now we’re both out at night, when the weather is right
Racing our rare flying swine!

There's a magical place in the forest
Where fairies go to cultivate
Flutter around with verses and rhyme
Sweet poetry they make

They frolic amongst the
Verbs and nouns
Plucking flowers and synonyms
Joining hands and ripe phrases
Create odes they want to sing

Cross pollinating the pieces of poetry
With different story lines
Fertilizing with a purpose
In the growing of the rhyme.

Their dainty feet
Sow similie  seeds,
And their deft little hands
Root out mispelled weeds.

Then they whisper the words to the
passing breeze
Who takes words, caresses them,
And floats with ease.

They travel and roam
Off to distant pastures new
Where they settle
And blossom into a muse.

Then implant in the mind
Of a resting poet
Enter his thoughts and views
Who upon waking
Will stretch, smile and write,
And continue to grow and enthuse.