A poet who is truly respected
may not be the most brilliant cited
nor number one in the recent survey
yet someone whose mind best convey.

A poet who is a creative critic
may not be someone who is prolific
neither gives comment that is stupor
yet the one who inspires as a mentor.

A poet who has a heart
may not be the most beloved
or the most decorated with accolade
yet the one who touches others life.

Yes a poet who expresses passion
may not be the most romantic
or the most adorable writer
yet gain respect...a poet!

The sky glides through peach
settles in
to the gray...
I look away

Night

A boulder on your shoulder/
A pebble in your shoe

Withdrawal thy toe
From the deep end an see
Just how much
You've abandoned me

Thy hours are eternity
Without a drop to drink
Quite a lonely life for me
Watching dead men sink

A shame
Our love
Is not enough
To withdrawal
These Dependencies

A conflict in progression
My apologies
Done with regression
In harmfull times as these
Feeling worthless
And worth less
Than a drop of vile drink

Like new summer wine
We were green in our time
And the yellow rose
never smelled better

But like the weeds in the road
Armadillos , horned toads
The truth was spelled out in the letter

You know some days are just fine
Others will find that your lying
But most of the time
you're barbed wiring

Well the rains came on down
Washed away most of the town
I found you boarding the bus to Dallas

You said you gave it a go
It's time to go with the flow
Then I watched the bus
dissappear with sadness

Well the high plain's never tame
Life's not long there for the lame
And one can drown in the dust
of your sorrow

You can ride on and mend
But you will never be able
to bend
The land or the will that's known as Texas

So goodbye my dear friend
You can write but I'll never send
I'll be waiting for you
at the nexus

You look at me and shake your head saying without a sound , everything is to be implied

I return the effort made while digging up a shallow grave ,"So what if it's in the middle of the night ?"

And the Sundays fled and the eagle flew off with the cat

So don't tell me up and down that everything is going ginger right

Now if rain could change a name , make the letters wash away

Or if you could choose your place in time , do it now so you don't have to stay

But what it really boils down to is does it really matter if it's in the middle of the night

After all having nine lives didn't work out so well for the cat