How can you hate a  Poet?
How can you hate a person who  freely pours, his/her fantasy imaginations and art to the world?
How can you hate such a pure and honest soul?

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.

When you feel the deeper calling,
Something yearning to be expressed.
A definite thing
Felt,
Yet unseen.
Elusive,
Stirring sleep, bringing unrest.

You’ve become shrouded
in years, my friend,
decades even,
of wonder and mastery.
Your noble craft, the role you play,
Has reached its brilliant totality.

Yet beneath the fading light
A gift for others’ lives.
A new reason for being and
Perhaps, It speaks,
my friend,
From nothing
beginning to Rise.

It leaves the body of knowledge-
Your blood, sweat, and tears.
Obsolete,
like gas station receipts
That wallpaper the rooms
Of victory over the years.

What you’ve achieved in life,
Grand and monumental
No Doubt!
Has become, as it should-
Just a shell.
Protecting Divinity within, what was,
and the fragile human without.

So sit, my brother,
With the pain and grief
Of longing.
And hear its funeral song.
For beneath the Melody,
Sweet sorrow brings with it
The birth of how you belong.

this city was ours
the trees the streets the places the stars the clouds the sun
all of it was ours

we made our own landmarks
we climbed mountains and built bridges with our love

but those bridges burned
and the city went up in flames
and those mountains turned valleys
and the clouds turned gray