I wish I were prettier
I wish I were younger
I wish I were smarter
I wish I was skinnier
I wish I did not have to love with all my heart
I wish someone would love me back
I wish that person would want to keep me and not just use me
I wish I could mean so much to someone
I wish I wasn't alone so **** much

Depart, sweet rose -
inform her that hast her hours and me, that somehow she knows, when I compare her to thee, how lovely and darling she seems to be.

Inform her that is young, and shy's to have her sweets espied, that hadst thou sprung in lands where no men abide, thou must have unsung died.

Little is the worth of graces from the sun retired: allow her come forth, allow herself to be desired, and not rise so to be admired.

Then fade - that she the known destiny of all that's rare may see in thee; how tiny a grain of time they share that are so vastly dear and fair!

Had we but experience, honor, and time; this diffidence Dear is no crime. We could rest and ponder which way to stroll and waste our everlasting day. Thou by the mountains sides old, should gemstones find in fortunes told. I by a tide of slumber did complain. I loved you long before the flood, the falling rain; and you still refuse until the spreading of the news.

My rose heart shouldst grow larger than empires, and you know a millenium should go to praise your fires, and in thine eyes do gaze, and stoke. Three centuries to admire your rising chest, but eternity to the rest; an eon at last to each part, and the final age to cast your heart. For Darling you've earned this state, and I love not spurned at a lower rate.

It's not of consequence who you are, you live: fly quickly... amidst the fields by my gentle vault: trample not the daisies where I consult, hearing the climbing vine and ivy.

I watched you stay. The singing dove did moan. Yet don't chase it from my tomb. To bid me well, save its freedom. Life is great: oh let it fly oh darling one.

It was under the mistletoe at the door, on the cusp of love you died, a maiden right-so dear-already far from thee I did love tonight.

So my lids closed out the good light. And here I stay alas for evermore -with angels beings deaf to dreams- in the remembrance of Night.

It's available on Amazon for $3. Kindle edition only. 79 color pics of my Digital and traditional Art. Lots of Abstract and Nature works.

is the title of my latest book. It is a compilation of strictly English poets dating back to the 1800's. My favorite writer William Shakespeare is not included because I wanted a theme of writers living around the same time as one another. It includes the works of brilliant English writers such as William Wordsworth, his dear friend Percy Bysshe Shelley, Samuel Taylor Coleridge,  Alfred Lord Tennyson, and John Keats. It is written in the original true English fashion, back when the word proved rhymed with loved and wasn't just a sight ryhme. I plan on compiling another book of strictly my favorite poetesses such as Emily Dickinson, Plath, and the like. The Kindle edition is priced at $7, but like my other books I'll probably run it for free for a few days for promotional purposes. The paperback is priced at $6.25 and is not eligible for free promotional offers.

Allow it in -aye, 'till when?
All at such cost, none are lost
Lo! then, what is foretold men,
Fiery talks or the coldest frost,
And breath & word alike swept
Away again, swept away in vain
A breadth as wide as death, except
We sustain all humanity, the refrain;
Yet forlorn we are in an age torn -
Such a number high of tongues cry
For mourn dost they must the morn,
Nary a ryhme of these words be lie.
The world can sever, and whosoever
Is taught to pass or stay brave & fast
Shall be learnéd & it prove no effort
If it be times as is the last that's cast.
Victory is what the sword can afford
Yet a poets pen can lord their sword.

Available on Amazon.com for $15 for paperback and  $6 for the Kindle version.

The caterpillar walks alongside groovy stems; so what do you mean?
    the banjo plays on to rusty hymns; what is that supposed to mean?  the plainsong of those birds of a feather upends: excuse me, come again please?
   but nobody, no one;  ever… told you you had
to comprehend. Oh fam, you’re soo mean!
So you can take your suit just in case,
and I can take in the
rain and coat  my little dream. What, why? You don’t mind.  and I don’t mind metaphors
to explain lyrics across…  the bard. You’re speaking in riddles, Man! So what is Poetry
to me, if I can’t take
it’s license and play with my words, words you would discard, I call  deuces wild, yeah my friend. Nah, it’s not like that at all child. Yes it is. No it’s not. Yes it is. No it’s not! And that’s the way I feel y’all. I just think a thought and jot.

Jot it all down. Jot it all down. Jot alllllll DoWn… when I think a thought.