Once upon a time, on a site far far away, I would post and not a soul would comment, let alone read...

  
  
  
  
  
Minor poet,  
I am not even, but odd.  
  
A truth that slaps me unto tears.  
  
I seek your admiration,  
admonish your failure to
admonish me, fail me
unto tears.
  
Your academic hyper-pretensions
gods of overlording silence,
sentence condemnations of the
meagerness of mine deaf,
weary-worn entreaties.
  
Your ignorance and the  
vanity of my weaknesses,
pencil point punctuate my brain,  
holes filling up with the  
approbation of silence.

Tender unto me  
the Onomatopoeia of a concerto of boos,
barrels of bitter alliteratives
regretful rainwater,
send me curses of future inspiration.
immoderate me re my mediocrity!
  
Try try again, to charm thine eyes,  
populate your face with grimaced tears,
penetrate our mutuality  
with uncommon verse,
pricking the winter frosted windows
of a enmity and a common enemy.
  
Another day of self-persauding,
un-succeeding to accept that
successive minor failures,
are undeniably,
a success of sorts,
in a minor way.
  
A play on words,
as y'all play me.
  
Mr. Adminstrator, answer me!
Are we not all prisoners of Poetry?

(i want love in these woods)

while walking in
the quiet woods
        humidity causing
  blonde hair to stick
            to my neck
on wooden path
my footsteps move
and on highest railing
a squirrel beckons
      i smile */a real smile/
she stops
       as if listening for my footsteps
       then scampers forward
       a few more feet
       stops...tilts her head
       eyes gleaming
       listening for me again

i think she is the squirrel queen
bidding me to follow her
to my lover
waiting in the woods
i want love in these quiet woods
in the quiet night
under the moon
oh what a night
that would be
with you
the smell of the leaves
the sound of the crickets
eyes twinkling
soft blankets
this* night
   you should whisk me away
   to a place in the woods

but, alas
the squirrel queen
scampered into the woods
and i'm sitting
at a picnic table
in filtering sunlight
sticky
transfixed
heart pounding
dreaming of
love in the woods
with you.

When I embrace you,
                                                       my right hand caressing your cheek,
                             running the length of your face to reach the nape of your neck…

                                                   I will stare into your eyes,
                                                           ­    smile,
                                                          ­           then kiss you longingly.

Imagine Self
       excited in the dream
            abeam , aglow
   Companions in this space
        igniting with their own
              reflected fire
     All expanding creation

Beyond the mountains, the mountains,
beyond over their bumps and hills and small pocket
paths tucked into the seam,
you're sleeping still,
still sleeping;
glass of water on the desk sat upright and uptight
next to a gathering of white sugar, they-will-work pills
that you've taken one of.

Before you woke the window watched
the street below, I joined in and saw
smoke and busses, taxi cab film rushes
uncut and newly coloured for the silver screen
that's too expensive to see.

That morning I tided your clothes in
neat piles and mountain tops
where the summit was socks ready
for you to wear again until you leave me lonely and go home.