Under cozy cover,
Windows frosted opaque.
Only for my lover,
I venture out to coffee make.

But alas in bed I tarried,
For this poetic diversion.
She asked "did the man i married
have  a bohemian conversion?"

"What happened to my capitalist?
Defender of the cave.
So engaged in literary bliss,
T'is an odd way to behave."

"Sing-songing your words,
In verse and clever rhyme.
Like delicate spice and subtle herbs.
Or the sages throughout thyme

But I warn thee, be not delayed,
My coffee for to make.
For those vows we once relayed,
Covered-not this grave mistake!

In mid-verse to pause I must,
This poetic treasure trove.  
And with greatest haste, raise dust,
For coffee* and for love.


*Technically for cappuccino, but still for love

I started writing poems years ago.
Someone said i even missed my calling,
which is kinda flattering but may also have meant i was pretty lame at my real job.
I get distracted by the Likes
Verse and vice,
Prose and price,
On the site.
Statistics and counting,
not lofty fodder for wit and imagination and love and bleeding.
But, I get distracted by the likes,
And I want them.
Natalie said they don't count twice.
Ooh, once I was even trending.  But I suspect that's a ploy to bait me.
Still, a time in the sun, even if just a coding device.
No real poet would find that proper.
Perhaps I'm just not a poet, or even poetic.
I suspect there's other evidence to indict me.
Please don't be too harsh, or worse, click away.
I want to write a verse that strikes a chord,
But I get stuck on just which ones to play.
Because I'm looking for the lightening bolt to turn yellow.
I have IRBD envy.  But not of verse but of what, or who follows.
For Likes.
I know thats lame and not what a real poet would do.
A poet of noble and lofty thoughts, of obtuse meaning and lyric wordsmithing.
With a cult-like following and others just trying to figure out what it means,
But they know the poets name, and that counts for something.
I'm impure and unworthy, or perhaps not talented
A poetic imposter, a fraud.
I've got the likes to prove that anyway,
If, that's what they prove.

My understanding of things, important things, has left me.
It doesn't make sense, to make sense of this
How can it be, how can this follow a plan?
There is no plan, no divine decree or meant to be.
There is no reason, not for this, not for this.
Can we ask, or dare we, who hurts more, who hurts most
It doesn't matter.  Heartbreak has no calculus
Apparently hurt, fear, isolation, loneliness, desperation, anger, and retribution don't either
I wonder if that's the the lethal parade,
and what's missing?
Abuse, neglect, weakness, genetics, propensities... Or just evil
Evil makes it simpler.  Evil makes sense.
I need someone to blame, i want someone to blame,
because I'm angry...
And I want to make sense of it
No wait,
I'm sad and heartbroken and bewildered,
     at the senselessness.
This just won't make sense.
But, I will awake tomorrow, my life, my wife and son and daughter, in tact.
What's left then,
     when there's no moral,
          no lesson,
               no purpose to it?
Just to love and mourn and feel, and cry...  For a while
It's hard to know, when there is no sense.

It came upon us in a quiet still night
With stealthy calm and pure delight
Though familiar window a novel sight
For all that was dark is radiant light

treacherous, but soft and smooth
boisterous, kids in snowball feud
lustrous, a landscape dressed in ****
joyous, for a holiday mood

wonderful, these piles of snow
bountiful, or seems it so
youthful, away we go
mindful,  sledding hill we know

If only for a bit of time
The snow it makes the world sublime
Covers scars and dirt and grime
If only for a bit of time

In shadowed light
Through filtered lens
I saw a glimpse
of fathers end.

Of daughters rise
Emerging glory
Stepping boldly
Into her own story

Not yet written
But past a draft
A lovley story,
Fore and aft

Only in audience
I watched her depart
Finding her own way
Directing her own  heart

A nostalgic sadness
For ego's caress
Not letting go
Of old address

But applaud I did
And ever will do
To honor what's past
And embrace what's  new

Her story's my story
If lesser role
Tis the way of things
To salve the old

I saw a glimpse
Of her hopes and dreams
Laid bare to all
Yet to all esteem

And now 'tis me
Who will find my place
With joyful heart
For her embrace