I have ideas that never seem to stick
Like a spark that falters on a half-lit wick
I think “Eureka! Wow, I've done it again!”
But when I mold my thought-child that’s exactly when
I get booted off for no ticket on this train of thought
And the project derails into an old vacant lot
That lot is a notebook at the foot of my bed
It’s labeled “ideas” but it should read “drop dead”
My ideas are all just orphaned on paper
Their father held interest, but started to taper
“I’ll get to it sometime!” but no clock reads “some”
I just like the feeling of ideas under thumb
Is it arrogance? I hope not, just a stream of dumb luck
Or maybe I’m just afraid of being told that I ****

Sometimes
I think of our love
As a cloud.

Our cloud can be painted across the sky
In gentle wisps.
Warm bright sunlight shining through.

Our cloud can be bold and bright
Like the pale blue sky that
Surrounds them.

Our cloud can be a blanket
Which allows no sunshine in
Yet I still feel warm and safe.

Our cloud can be cold
Dark
Angry
Filling with rain; rage.
Filling and filling
Until it can't hold anymore.
Then...

A furious storm bursts from our cloud
And rain pours from the livid sky
Then sudden bolts of lightning
Are followed by roaring thunder

...The last raindrop falls...

The skies slowly clear
And our cloud
Starts its journey
                                   *again

I love you
The way your eyes meet mine.
Their vibrant blue
With patches of green.
They remind me of the earth.
And sometimes
I think that if you look at me
You will give me the world
In one simple glance.

I hate you
The way your eyes meet mine.
The way you look at me.
It is not sincere.
Not loving like it should be.
How can I know
If you will give me the world.
Or turn around
And give it to someone else.