tides change, a perceivable measure from my skewed vision anyways. soft shudders, wings from birds of flight- there is something in the air tonight. the earth trembles beneath me, the sky rises above- something in the moon my dear entrances me in love.
             there is no wind upon my legs, or my arms, across my face. there is no breeze to catch my hair, no cold sparks or humid drench in the air. So, I start on my summer-side way, the paths we used to take- while we were too young to understand the beauty of just being able to walk for a day. in the fields we'd run, the trees we'd climb, in the grass where we spun, and we spun;
                            until mum called us home for supper-time.
            my love? when did we decide to grow up?
for now, we are left enjoying the moments in the past, we were too busy looking into the future, to enjoy what we had.


                                                                   *but I suppose, we always are..

I don't remember when the **** my poetry became about pleasing people or getting votes or views.
I don't remember when my writings were only created to be approved by a friend.
I don't know when things became about success or money.
I don't know why it turned into pleasing a lover.
But as soon as it did become about those things, I lost my spark, and suddenly writing was a chore.
I'm done with burning in my small spotlight with nothing flowing on paper,
I just want to be free.
It's time I get back to writing the way I used to.
For my emotion. For my passions. For myself.

We wander,
beneath the dotted sky,
  the moon illuminates the forest
   of grandfather trees
    beneath our bare feet;
     soft, dewy grass
      and various dampened, scattered leaves.
      
        The still holds, warming spring moisture
          with a faint reminder of this brutal past winter
            with hungry eyes, streets with old, ashy faces pry
              the fog floods all gutters and highways tonight
                it's like navigating through a black hole
                  you have given forth no light
                     &
                       tell
                          me
                          how
                           ­       am I
                                        supposed
                                                  to see
                                                      without­
                                                                ­ any
                                                             ­          insight?

Speckling drops, of bathwater- lovely evening rain.
Patter melodically against
my open window frame.
The  water touches me not,
for my roof with gutters and onings.
But the dewy breeze saturates my room
like my face to an ocean breeze.
Mother Waters, send her daughters
to my window this spring night singing.
Distant puddle patterning ploops,
diameters mass expanses on the suburban streets.
The trees, the smile as they absorb the
moisture their brittle bones need.
Oh how I pitied the trees,
when the cold stripped and broke their branches
my heart grew sorrowful & weak.
The deserve to be enveloped, by this
unplanned storm.
All in the world, would agree when I say
that we are blessed
with this warm April rain

I remember your face, like it was yesterday
when the sea spirits & wood nymph's played
early sunsets, long resting days
the grass blown in a newly sewn bouquet

You were such a lovely soul to me
I knew in you, I could be free
Through your saccharine-blossoming songs to me
in a simply speaking voice, or poetry

Let a rainbow trail your wings,
when you take off and fly
Through mountains, and waterfalls
the center of the earth, or the moon so high

the Mourning Dove's, sweet
morning lullabies

maybe if we try,
we can travel this earth forever,

you and i

150 down a main road
Ditched the 5'O
*******, angry
Him running his mouth's
the only music playing

Different dealers on hold
Oh baby, please don't lose control

I've gambled makin money (in not so good ways) lots in my time,
& each time I did it, made myself a pretty dime
But this round fella's
This games gettin old
Drop my cards to the table
I'm out
I fold.