Our beautiful, rosy,Texas dawn
wakes up as only Texas can

One thousand birds in joyous song
proclaim the day is here

The fragrance of the trees and grass and life is all around us
The vastness and the open air never ceases to astound us

Wake up!  Wake up and seize the day
The grand and glorious Texas way

I've come to realize in this massively dissociative city  that I'm lonely and unhappy. Much in the same way magazine covers don't seem to reflect the image I'd really like to see in myself. I'm chasing the tail of a dream that died long before I had the time to develop an admiration for pets. I would like to take care of something, and in turn, something to take care of me. But I have created a life bent on self-efficiency and cold realism-- a life without dependency. I don't know whether this is due to nature, nurture, or belief… but it is my blunt and isolated reality. What am I doing? Who am I proving life to? I came out here to experience a dream beyond my imagination, but all I found was ****. The same **** I find everywhere else. The only constant is people like you. Those who understand and care for my well-being. My family and friends. I want so badly to feel at home again-- to be close to another person. Until then I am stringing myself up by my shoelaces and finding work where I can. Because the world I've found is one bent on financial security over passion, and the only passion I've felt is for those who care enough to see. But people here are blind to me.

Sometimes,
when the world is just a bit too much,
I crawl
to the technology around me.
Hoping
to find another life to live.
A life
that is unfamiliar,
A story
that is fun to tell,
Something
other than being
myself.

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.

dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
You, yourself will make more dust.

- Rose Milligan

The London buses rush past in scarlet bustle
I lay here watching them crash into the air.
Noises from all corners attack and gnaw the calm
And I simply listen as silence struggles to be heard.
Sirenes, shouts, calls and construction
Drill and hammer any natural remnant
But I do nothing to stop this urban colonization
I lie and look as the world rushes past.

It screams, it laughs, it invites, it betrays.
At once my nasty friend and loyal enemy,
I smile through the window at its bleak legacy
And simply observe the animal that is the City.

Don't you know your beautiful
Just dry your tears
Look at you
Have you not smiled for years
You seem so broken
But I know that your strong
Stop blaming yourself for the people who did you wrong
You are beautiful and don't you forget it
It doesn't matter what people say or do
Keep holding on, you'll get through this

I'm an avid reader of books,  many different books
Tolstoys War And Peace took me seven days to read
Lord Of The Rings Trylogy just 3 days
One of those books I've read just once
The other I could almost quote
word
for
word
I read some truly great works of poetry here
Some simple with a message loud and clear
easily understood
Some long but with a rhythmic flow
the sort of poem where you cant let go
Then there is the long drawn out dirge
full of metaphors and unusual words that I don't even understand
I might read it once,  try to understand then file it under done
I just write the simple stuff,  that's what I do best
But, no matter how or what you write its all good.

                           After all, poetry is not a test ~
                      it is an expression of our humanity.

I have some followers who have never posted a poem
Perhaps they're just people who enjoy reading poetry
But maybe they are just nervous about showing their work
Anyway here's how I view it
An artist makes a charcoal or pencil sketch
Once it looks right they start adding color
A photographer frames the subject and once its right
Takes the photograph
So start by writing a short stanza and then play with the words
You just might surprise yourselves