That great blue ocean dog
bites and snaps and roars around my feet
eyes fixed upon my grassy throat
yet resolute I stand
resilient coastal land
above the ever shifting sand
while that relentless cur
which howls and moans
chews slowly on its chalky bone

Can I be the sun ray,
that brightens in many ways,
of the day that shines through,
all natural and ever glowing.

Can I be the cuckoo song,
that sets a tune without grammar,
of the lilting music to deaf ears,
all soothing and wonder inducing.

Can I be the thought,
that worships another thought,
of the superior one that I believe in,
all powerful and hope filling.

Can I be the rocky mountain,
that stands tall without emotion,
trapping the dark clouds in its arms,
ever calm and meaningfully inspiring.

Can I be the fancy mirror,
that shows my reflection without a bias,
keeping its judgment to itself,
so, I can answer finally, “who am I?”?

She knew the world,
He knew the words,
She shaped the blue skies,
He played with the meter in fives.

She brought in the aura,
He pictured in the flora,
She glittered in the halo,
He wandered in an abyss so low.

She was well versed in art,
He talked in silence with himself in part,
She was ready to know him and walk with him toe to toe,
Walking all alone all along, he was ready to find himself too.

Walking slowly on what feels like quick sand,
cherry blossoms of a calming flair,
scented pollen rushing through the air,
yacht of memories over the horizon,
rock ‘n’ roll tides rushing without compromisin’.
I wait for the yacht to return.

Waiting on a slippery rock,
my own waiting game as my only elixir,
knew he would bring the yacht to the dock,
can’t wait to tell him enough of your trick, sir.

I weathered many a storm,
he took what blossomed as granted,
no longer do I need to be that warm,
ready to bid adieu and give him his farewell that he so wanted.

Reading some of my poetry, she said,
“Are you barking up the wrong tree?”
I knew what she meant,
for this art is not something I had learnt.

Tearing up a bark is easy,
matching words made me queasy.
I knew what she meant,
yet I was not ready to vent.

Dreaming is a daily ritual,
writing needs to flow as natural,
I knew what she meant,
yet I had a thoughtful bent.

I started to read more,
bark became paper to teach me some more,
I knew what she meant,
yes, a slight nudge from her has been god sent.