A porcupine doesn't have many friends
Due to the needles that stand up at the ends
No one really cares when a porcupine cries
No one is there to weep when one of us dies
No one ever approaches a hurt, sad porcupine
Can't even attract a drunk with a case of wine
No one wants to get close enough to start to care
No one, for a small porcupine, is ever there
Tears fall down their cute, small needled faces
No one ever pays any attention to their small cases
From place to place, we porcupines wander so slow
There isn't a warm welcome at any place we go
Seems like porcupines just can't please anyone

The grass changes shades
as the light peaks over the clouds.
It shimmers
as it catches each bead of water
on the blades beneath it.
So cold against my feet,
but warming to see a new day awaken.
I often wish we had physical cues
to our cleansing and preparation for each day. However, it is our lives
that reflect the continuous changes
we seek to build.

They stand embrace in each other's arms.
The wave crashes with force against the pier.
The couple look on.

Three friends sit at a coffee table each trying trying to tell their stories.
Stories of love, fights, those whom have inspired them.

A man runs by, earphones in his ears, dodging the various walkers.
Laughter ripples through the air as the three friends find something entertaining.

A pregnant couple walk by wondering how much longer till they meet someone whom they have been growing fond of.
An older couple ride by on their bikes, probably reflecting how 20 years ago what the world was like.

A waiter deals with the various orders hoping at the end of the day to get a huge tip.
A homeless man approaches those walking by begging for food.
Who would have thought he would have ended up where he is?

The friends continue to chat boasting of their lives and accomplishments.
I am watching the lives of others and here I am... sitting alone at a table having tea.

I wonder what they think of me?
Shame poor girl has no friends for a Sunday afternoon.
Or how can she be so brave to come and have tea alone.
Or is she waiting for someone...oooh let's wait and see if someone arrives.

No one knows my life as I don't know theirs.
I don't know where they come from, whether they are here at the beach in despair.
Whether hope rings in their ears.
Or maybe someone confesses their love to one another.
Or a bright business idea is struck up.
Or someone has come down to the beach to remember a lost loved one.

We are all so different. Have different wants and needs.
Different reasons being down at the beach.
So how can I judge? How can I assume?
I have no idea why each person came down to the beach.
As for me...I came to get out the house!

A yellow belly cardinal launches itself at my window
Pecks away at the old window pane,
Should I chase the intruder away?
Or should I make him the subject of my next poem
He became my inspiration, and I his adversary
It slurred whistled phrases calm my inner soul

After a while the pecking annoys my daughter’ cat
So, here I am compromising myself and not caring
Because I am about to compose a piece:
About war and peace: title
Fluffy and the **** bird
I took out my camera and zoom in on its beady eyes,
and realize that it was as blind as a bat

Teeth-chattering, tail going from side to side,
doing the war dance this **** cat,
A blind cardinal with a sweet melody
what more can I asked for, but to watch and learn
from the intruder, the spoil feline and the observer,

A yellow belly cardinal launch at my window
Pecks away at the old window pane,
Should I chase the intruder away?
Or let my daughters’ cat razz it?

In her closet next to a shirt
hangs a concertina pleated skirt
she slips it on with grace and ease
the tiny pleats are there to please
like a million shimmering crystal shards
all tightly pressed like a pack of cards
as she moves they sway and dance
upon her legs they tickle and prance
the feeling makes her smile and shiver
which makes the pleats start to quiver
they skim and flatter her  hips and ***
like the majestic rays of a rising sun
such carnal delights found in a skirt
as she hangs it back next to the shirt.

Black squares pulled at the soles of my shoes, one unlaced. Brick-red fake bricks were wrapped serpentine 'round a solid cement beam, shimmeringly glazed by epoxy and daylight.

It shone white on the left half a bedraggled face. The other half smirked, sitting cross-legged under a wall-less window, eating carrot sticks with chopsticks.

There was dust in my nose, dust in my eyes, in the blank between us. How I ached to pull up my skin, burning under thousands of minute needles, and the diaphragm-tugging grip of "come closer."

Mysterious orbs, enthralling eyes
Lovely hands feared by demise
With a touch that turns tumult to ease
Each gentle caress calms infuriated seas

Raven locks soft against fingertips
Fetching curves on a pair of rosy lips
A voice mellifluous like an angel's, divine
A smile more radiant than a ray of sunshine

Every movement manifests innate grace
The light at the end of a tenebrous maze
The embodiment of one's romantic dreams,
But my hands are about to rip your elation's seams

You are perfect - perfectly flawed
An act the audience would barely applaud
Tongue soaked in a well of profanities
A lacerated soul plotting atrocities

Tousled hair, pernicious hands
Your sanity gallops on feeble strands
Frivolous antics deem you ignominious
But how you handle agony is stupendous

Perhaps it is why he is utterly enamored
Hymns of love in his mind sauntered
Your presence drives away his blues
You fit impeccably as his muse

From a distance, a scenic perfection
I spew no confession but unadulterated admiration
Lucky is he who holds your heart
I am but a spectator awaiting the story's subsequent part

I stood,
Gazing at the sunset.
Watching the sun fall...
The day die...
The light soften and dim,
Painting the sky with vivid strokes...
Freeing the moon.

A daily masterpiece,
Well displayed
Above the lines of the city.