When summer came in 98'
And the eyes of the momentary
Eternal swam into the Canyon Lake,
It was then the sway of skin
Took me to the place hungry eyes
And kids seeking stimulation went
To cool themselves off.

Under sky bright
I saw her with hips of light,
A second beer and I was grown
Into a man worthy of any woman.
No adults with experience
To guide my ill advised tactic.

A smack on the ***.

At first she turned in complete anger,
Her curves had stiffened her body,
Combat mode and my buddies
Giggling in the backround.
I saw her beautifully frightful hand,
Her slap before we met eyes,
It was mighty and meaningful,
But when I turned from the wallop
To my face,
We met eyes once again,
The most timid of smiles
And a soft apology from me.
She smiled and slapped me once agin,
It was then I knew....
It was then I knew.

She is the last of her
Frailty, that shadow
Of girl interrupted,

The whole of her burned
Like a great scar on a heart
She once knew.

The anamolous woman
In another world,
A woman used and left behind,

Though one cannot recognise
Her face, through her
Demeanor she tells of another life.

And she declared war
With a ravenous intention
On building great walls,
Insurmountable

And with no doors
She leaves but a window
For him to find
And glimpse what she guards.

He will fall for her
And break like water against
The rock,
The jagged rock never smoothened

And the walls will shake
At the oscillating moment,
She will see a silhouette of frail
And timid creature,

She will sedate the emotion
And the walls will grow taller,
The embodiment of independence
In a story lost to the pain,

She will walk the earth
In a stir of echoes past,
The walls shimmering dark glow,
And the woman scorned does roam.

So Im alive,
But I died a little inside.
Because I am dead
And now alive and reborn
Into a thousand words never written,
I will become no one again.
Did you metaphorically cry?
Sad as thinking how well
You truly knew me?

" But we were poets!"

And so you live and die by the
Stroke of the passionate lie
That are the words that well
Up inside like a brutal indignity,
Outraged at my shamelessness
Did I ever truly puncture your heart?
I am Ded inside,
And I dont know you,
But I just love your poetry!

So we sever the ties from reality
And divorce the facts
In a hopeful serenade to the deaf,
See how I magnify the ignorance
With brazeness?
Such splendid grandoisity!
And a poem is just a word,
There is no poem without action.
I am me,
No metaphor needed,
Just who the hell do you think
You are?

Because I could not stop for death,
He kindly stopped for me,
Even behind my dying breath -
I don't think I shall ever see,
Through our midnights dreary,
A poem as lovely as he -
Collar me teary.
He is much like a summer's day,
And my eyes are nothing like its sun -
When he embraces me in May,
Near the rivers that run.
O Love, Love; wherefore art thou Love?
My crystal dove?
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone.

Oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all things
they cease to shine,
and looking up at frail moon's fade
she lost her way
she lost her way
ever toward an inner light
ever toward  a mundane night
you cannot ask for want of asking
ever toward the soils crashing

oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all your dreams
will lose their rhyme

and so on past
the child at play
and past the girl
on bridal day
an further past
the humming hag
until she reached the grave at last

oh dear, she said
there comes a time
when all things, they cease to shine
and looking up a frail moon's fade
she lost her way
she lost her way

So apparently,
The more I learn and Inquire
about my girl...my,
past me...
(others may call us 'Kindred Spirits')

Apparently, the more I see how
difficult it is
for the normal person
to read, let alone Understand
such Writing.
Her writing;
Her meaning;
Her point of view.

I don't necessarily think
that Emily wrote
to get a message out.

But rather,
I think that she knew,
that What she knew,
is what Others
will come to Know.

In Her time,
a time of simple minded men;
in that time, she knew
that she needed to stay hidden

A time when so few Knew
and Understood;
and Loved the True Love of pure Knowledge and Love

and In this time of lack of Love and Knowledge that she lived,
because she loved so dearly her love for True Love of all love,
she knew that 'now'
She must hide her words;
So she hid them.

And with a blinded hope she Saw,
that in the Future, They shall see;
She saw that in the future
her Explanation
and Understanding
of Love shall prevail.

She knew that in the future
when people are so much smarter
and know so much more
and have so much more conviction and confidence
with their 'independent' knowledge

that 'this' now,
(which happens to be my now...)
My present moment in time,
is the perfect time
for her Understanding
and Wisdom
to Be understood.

And lucky for me
I live in a time;
A time of the simple minded man;
Men who make it easy for me
to See the Light that shines through her writing;
to Understand that this is Her;
This is She,
Here for Me,
to Understand me;
for me to Understand.

But most importantly,
I wonder
did she know?
Did My girl know?
Did my past Me
Know
That I would be able to
Accept and Respect
such Knowledge and Wisdom
from someone so long ago who saw it
so lucidly as I do so?

I think I saw what I see now,
But now I know what I see.
And I guess that's what fate is for,
Isn't it?  
Thanks my dear
Emily.

Emily will take her cedar box
of hidden poems
throwing them on a Sou’ Westerly breeze
in a New England Spring —

They will be snatched and fly
daring, dainty flutter byes
across the stretching continent
the Great Plains and New Frontiers —
The Sun — rising in ribbons
Mountains dripping scarlet sunsets
vast Miles of Evening Sparks —
as the Hemispheres come home
to early Night —

they’ll be read by lonely cowboys
drinking whisky, in the sagebrush
Indian braves campfire smoking
Sung in Saloons by husky-voiced dames
can-can dressed and a whole lotta grit
and gumption.

Emily, lightened of her load
unknotted the Skein of Misery —
Universe unstitched —
in this moment of escape
Landscape will listen —
Shadows will hold their breath
until the words are spoken.

Emily’s skipping down the stairs
of that morbid, cold wintered house
with its bare Slants of Light —
rushing out the door
throwing herself on the Open day —

Telling True, but slanted.

I goad the goblin
bee into stinging

I harden my heart
to harshness

I want I love you
to be enough

almost like a ruler, these help make
this one big thing, a –––––
these rulers have no marks from men
but only ones from He
little younglings coalesce in these
rulers which forms a ––––––
as the day leaves; season changes
the colors part from thee
and when all gone another thing
coats the beautiful –––––
stuff like sugar and almost as
plentiful as the sea