a gift for the poet
a sky full of stars,
whose poetry, when well read,
brings, leads,
souls to their knees
satisfying with quiet desperation,
satisfying with noisy aspiration,
unto the best places poetry,
can airlift the human soul,
to a sky full of stars
~~~
so many pleasures to pick from:

the summer's first awakening taste of
comforting cold vanilla in sugar cone
upon the lips,
reading Whitman and Poe,
in my sheltered poet's nookery,
watching my woman chop
summer fruits, cranberries, berries, mango,
into the salad of our lives

but one pleasure olden,
yet evergreen new,
rare,
but never aged,
like the occasional
pink potpourri sunset of  gold bluesy hues,
this ancien accidental tourist stumbling
smack dab
into a new poet whose excellence
force~asks you to say,
while he breathes intake/expels
noisy airy,
how~wow?

I don't read the words of
this solitary kayaker,
no, I drink till drunk
on mine own tears,
angry that I'm late to the party,
once again

nine poems glorious,
this poets meagerly provides,
reminding me,
a few master treasures,
oft outweigh the many

me, a thousand and more,
yet struggling to hone
my dulled verbal skills
to take true flight,
most o'mine, suffocate stillborn
in the torrential waterfalls of
never ending misleading
gold plated
trite

nine (!)
poems only,
bring this old soul
to his worn out knees,
in humbling fresh-face humility,
he thanks the muses for
gift-granting knowledge of a
blackened velveteen night sky new poet star,
to his eyesight keening,
sad in the knowing that so many more,
shine
but remain undiscovered

this new poet

"writes a little,
just soul scribbles mostly
not wanting to be anybody special,
an evanescent dark star; season's change"

give me more,
this old man demands,
for each of the nine is a

"single delicate petal cast off,  
like a party dress fallen
in a beautiful mess
upon the puddled wooden floor"

her invitation, I accept, I accept
on bent knee eagerly to

"Come swim within this restless silence
the raging river inside beckons

the cadences we hear
are the heart's untamed waters overflowing ,
eroding this heart's shorelines ,
leaving the thrummed edges wild
swim within this restless silence
the raging river inside beckons

the cadences we hear
are the heart's untamed waters overflowing ,
eroding this heart's shorelines ,
leaving the thrummed edges wild"

as always,
I wax too simp,
too long,
while the new poet waxes
simply eloquent,
hard knocking down his old soul
to the ground
with memories
of days when with first morn blush,
two three poems,
he provided
to greet the honorable dawn,
after searching the night skies,
for new and
Undiscovered Poems

She
(for must be a woman, I just know)

"colours this heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's candy taste"