Life holds you under water
Happiness is learning to enjoy
The brief moments of air
Before it you pulls you back under

I’m a merchant vagabond
Selling more of myself each day
To people who don’t respect me
For trying

Drape me in kerosene
Strike me to set a blaze
The sun began humiliated

Through thick and thin, we got through it
With every step, we found the strength within.
Through every laugh, and every smile
We found happiness, through every moment
We made the worth while.

I thank god for bringing me such joyful people in life
Through every storm, they've eased my strife
The sudden frown turns upside down,
When laughter echoes all around
I find myself in a room with my friends,
Where every moment of joy never ends.

So thank you for the gentle love you've given me
It's a gift that sets my heart free
I was lost in the darkness, till I found light
With you by my side, everything felt right.

She's not a poet
But I find something more than poetry in her lips
I found a poem full of bliss
That showered through her words
That I know I'm gonna miss
Words uttered through her mouth
Slayed my dizzy heart
Those words were the charm that made my heart warm.

Silent days, delicate rains,
clip clopping like marching horse,
on thin, steel roofs, and nylon umbrellas.

Drenched, sweating foreheads in summer climates,
consistent, cool winds like drooling  ice,
drying sopping skin, a rough cloth to an oily pan.

Starved road trip bellies, after intermittent rests and games of eye-spy,
salivating at laminated menus, and passerby plates,
pre-meal hot fries, fulling deep guts with salty chips and fizzing raspberry.

Waking hours before blaring alarms,
knocking parents, a whistling kettle, and the popping toaster;
an hour to lay restless head into the deep world of snug pillows and warm blankets;
as if your whole universe is one big cushion.

Finishing a chapter and curling rough page with soft finger,
placing floral bookmark into the straight crease,
placing it back into its spot on the shelf or bedside table.

Dawn coffee.
Friday afternoon.
Saturday morning.
Kind encounters.
Meeting deadlines.
A finished poem.

Suddenly it was November.
And it felt like the chance to be happy
was lost.
Shriveled and fragile,
as the slowly rotting leaves still clinging to trees.

I like the waves.
The way their static fizz tickles
the bristles of my ears,
as if they were long brown thistles in beach dunes,
engirding pools of sand between
the wet crevices of my toes.

I’ll lie in the bayside sheets of gold,
where the clouds drift silent,
encompassed by its warm fold,
soaking my horse-haired brush
into sand-speckled jar,
painting my watercolour flowers;
butter daffodils and heavens daisies.

I’ll lie on sun-dried towels
beneath chequered brolly
and scribble my brain
into summer-kissed parchment,
with leaded letters and granite words.

I’ll write in the colour of my soul,
using what’s left of my heart,
as I’m flayed down to the white-skinned bones
that hold me upright:
left thin and pale.
But, for these tapestries,
I find it worth my loves
discounted sale.

Déjà vu
All I had expected
Nolonger an ambition or dream
Actualness of reality
Proud, content, enthusiast
I've made it
Florescence above aspirations
A jubilation

So bright
Like a rose tree in sunshine
Aura of excitement
Bliss of beauty
Like aurora borealis
Sparkle of life
A mission to stay like this till eternity

A little to late
No regrets
Least happened when alive
Past now history
What I have !
A step of success
Further live in gratitude
A promise to disperse triumph