I could not accept you—star
incarnate, carved and swollen
in the trunk of a fustic—

*****-yellowed and preened—risen
and alive I strap my
saddle to your back. My heels
dig to the dark side of

a price yet to be paid—an eye
of a coursing, being scrubbed
into the spots of grain—heat
eaten by earth. Star set.
Star rise.
Star be

livid and leaven

whispers the cowboy
sitting in a lawn chair on the
front porch—his hat falling
off from crowning, bald-headed

tilt. space and all its wonders.

I remember the noble days
When the poems I wrote were more
Than just half-disguised attempts to save myself
Too often now, I forget
To remind you that you're beautiful

You are beautiful
You are what makes life worth living

Too often now, I forget that words are meant to be
Out and spoken
And even though each stands alone in its meaning
Like the language that binds them all together,

Not one of us is alone.

These are some beautiful things:
A baby's first smile,
A bird in the wild,
A bride on the aisle,
A love that's worthwhile,

Warm wind in the trees,
The salt in the seas,
The buzz of spring bees,
Winter's first freeze,

A loved one's laugh,
A child's handmade craft,
An actor's autograph,
A newborn calf,

The sunrise in the sky,
And the sunset alike,
And kind passersby,
The stars in the night,

The wind in one's hair,
Sweet spring on the air,
A mother's care,
A child's prayer

The color of skin,
True feelings within,
The sound of violins,
And feeling sheepskin,

A book in my hands,
My feet in the sand,
Stories of another land,
And the promised land,

The leaves in the fall,
Mountains like walls,
Sounds of a waterfall,
The smell of rainfall,

Peace after war,
And petrichor,
And sand on the shore,
And a winning score,

Peace at night,
And perfect light,
And a first sight,
And a flying kite,

A smile so dear,
A kiss so clear,
A loved one near,
And a new come year,

And hope that everything will be okay

These are the beautiful things

Promises should be set in stone
Not whispered in the wind to be blown
.... to a place where they cannot be reached

Sleep sings a sweet lullaby,
whispering tender words
cushioning the erratic thoughts within my head.

Sleep sings a sweet lullaby,
resting a gentle hand on my thundering heart.
Be still my love.

Sleep sings a soft tune,
that coils itself around my fingertips
Gracing them with a numbing pain.

Sleep sings a soft tune,
that stills my heart until the beat becomes a
thud of the past.

Sleep is gentle and welcomes me to
The life thereafter.

Sleep is sweet, soft and gentle -
Waking up is not an option.

my heart hurts*

and i'm afraid that
that would be the last thing it does