Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

You said let's not make it personal
And immediately after your bank into me and became a part of my arsenal
To make sure that when you didn't call back it would make me miserable

People forget to enjoy trees.

I like to pass the time
on car rides
watching the stray branches
bending in variations
whooshing in the breeze.

Sadly in between these emerald giants
are wires
black and distracting
the pattern spanning

I watch for the eye catching greens
and suttle browns
waving at me as I pass.

I always wave back.

Waitress (waiter)

You don’t need good grades to be a waitress
But you do need a heart of gold
Correct grammar is certainly not necessary
But you must love the young to the old

You’ll require a smile that’s genuine
Even if your heart is blue
And a passion to make the whole world feel special
with a soul that’s honest and true

They are days you won’t feel like smiling
and times you’ll just want to cry
But the people pleasing side of your nature
Leads to stories that you glorify

You’ll tell stories that make people happy
And stories that make children smile
You’ll tell so many jokes and so many tales
But their reaction makes your efforts worthwhile

Sometimes your days will be funny
And others days maybe quite rough
But knowing you made someone’s day special
outweighs the days that are tough

So next time your served by a waitress
And you think she didn’t listen in school
Remember she has skills that you would find hard
If you don’t see this then you’re clearly the fool!

I am alone, beginning to realize
truth and death
are preferred, than living in
between the spaces

My mother calls me "Lucky"
I'd call myself lonely,
lost in my longing for more.

Left handed and lippy, my Latin roots grab hold
short with little limbs, my bark is sharp
but my love soft.

Lumps lodged in my chest
loaded little rockets
launch when winter lands

Logic eludes my language
I speak, lucid lies loudly
laced with truths,
liquor tends to loosen, the lips

My Mother calls me "Lucky"
a shining lucky star,
I'd call myself Lady of the Lake
watery, and rippling

I'm too shy
to say my thoughts.
I'm too shy
to speak up.

I'm too isolated
to make many friends.
I'm too isolated
to defend.

When you find me some paper,
or a gentle screen,
I'll speak up,
and I will say what I please.

I will rant,
I will rage.
I will create a war,
though it doesn't seem me.

The thoughts in my head,
kept quiet until now.
I have found some paper
to make my crown.

Don't put me in public,
don't put me on stage.
I will only blush
and stammer away.

I am an introvert,
so quiet, you see.
But I am the loudest
of the three.

I may be silent
but my heart will
deafen you