Does an artist have a responsibility
to steer their audience in a positive direction
or is honesty and self expression all that is required?

In a vast canvas, outside the spread of doubt
the feathers from my brush start to settle.
As my pupils stare through, I reach within my thoughts.
Every movement and every breath...
slowly desiccating through motionless actions of uncertainty and question...
Have I seen her before?
The harmonious sigh extracting a simple, no.
The spread of wonder inside and around me
start to grow
marching up and down the peering eyes
I tell myself that I know.
Density and silence
embracing the frames around her face.
Then I remembered something else and slowly smiled
inside
the awe of skepticism peering through me
I paused for a moment...
just to wonder.
Again, I wonder

Love is given to anyone born
Later on, it starts to prickle like a thorn
Between one's business and so on
The heart gets too crusty for love to grow on
But I swear I love you
My love is unswerving and true
Bigger than that dreamed by a romantic poet
Artistic than that painted with a great palette
I know you don't love me
Though, I couldn't stop loving thee.

Today is a day to celebrate, not to be taken as a given
 Nor take for granted the gift of this our mortal life
  To praise which is to pass from here onto life eternal
   Don’t you know? It’s a mother who forms the endless circle
    Where the circle begins and the circle should end
     She opens a door with a key held only by her hands
      Calling upon angels of heaven to grant her a soul
       She has known me from before the first kingdom
        When the Father brought light to our existence
         Even then, she knew my flaws to their very essence
          She welcomed me without an ounce fear or reservation
           In humility, in obedience to the Father, in loving kindness
            By our Creator’s love, by mother’s choosing, her bravery
Today is her day
                                                                ­                         My mother’s day

Same, same, same, same,
Same, same, same;
Words, words, words, words, words;
Something about love,
Something about life;

Copy // paste broken feelings;
Attempts at a deeper meaning;
Trapped with the same words,
Said differently;
Seven hundred plus posted poems,
Seven hundred more I scrapped;
But every one I write,
Feels like I'm on page one...

Steady thumping, thumping.
The boat travels downstream.
The water is brown, from silt.
The current is swift but calm.
Trees line the edges of the river.
Green foliage, thick on both sides.
The sky is blue with white clouds.
A bridge passes overhead, with cars.
Downriver, a large load is being pushed,
to the locks in the dam up ahead.
The water is deep now and dark.
An eagle cries out, and lets fly.
I bring the small vessel to a stop,
and watch all around me.
A train on the side of the water,
the barge moving away,
trucks on a freeway above,
the hum of shipping goods,
and the beauty of nature in one.
Tranquility, and constant motion.
I slowly begin to turn around,
and begin the steady trek,
upriver to where I began.

A quiet snow lined roadway.
A bird singing on a telephone line.
Footprints in the snow.
A path I’ve not walked.
Around another bend.
The song drifts off,
and a rabbit bounces its way.
The trees have icicles.
Now the world is cloaked in quiet,
but for the crunch of my boots,
and breathing.
Heavy breathing from the cold.
A few more bends.
Back to what I know.
Just a little longer,
till fire welcomes me.