Kept out of sight,
And stroked with inks of blue,
I pen in black and white,
And journey my way into you.
Through summer nights,
Back in time of the cusp of signs,
I see you through the slits of light,
As deep down you burned too bright.
I wonder if every facade,
You'd bury in your shade!
I'm bewildered if every heart,
You'd broken to exist in hate!
For as I caressed you on green pastures,
I reciprocate your aura with the soul I laid.
What I could never see within,
You were the one healing.
I'd drive you past your mind maze,
And deflect the waves arising,
Nor did I care to trace.
Or was I realizing?
For if I gave warmth to settle,
I could brush up the haze.
Saw you climbed the beanstalk,
As I fall from cloud nine.
Made you reached the end of time,
And landed on the first line.
I wonder what every facade,
You'll hide within the shade!
Cause deep slumber intertwined with pain,
Is the catastrophe that struck you in vain!

No love song comes to mind
No poem brings a rhyme
When I think of you
It’s sunsets and coffee
and cold breeze and warm sweater and shorts and sweet toffee like
Your lips that failed to touch mine
Your hands intertwined with mine
Walking nowhere in mind
Having you beside
Is like turning my world upside
Down and about we go
In alleyways and car rides we flow
I only met you once but its like
I know you you were meant to be mine
But it’s fine if you leave
Don’t stay another day, just release
I shared a moment with you, it stopped the time
The world spinned but I stayed grounded
Held onto to the dunes
Tried to drown out the noise and listen to your words
They flow like tunes
I knew you were different but I don’t know why
It’s never been like this with another guy
Would like to see what you’re about
I bet it’s stardust of cosmos and magic and art
I’ll do my best to keep up and to restart in part
Looked at you with infatuation but there was a longing for belonging
Would you hold me one last time again before you leave for good?
I don’t want you to go but I think I understood
You don’t see me this way I hoped you would
I think i may be naive but I’m not a fool
Maybe a fool but not misunderstood
This sliver of hope at the beach
Is turning to be out of reach
And it would be sad to see you go
But wait and hold me one last time
When the time stops
And this poet fails to find a rhyme.

Magnification and magic, majesty and jest, me?

My first thought on waking, or reaction acknowledging,
science, if any thing is sharp, it was made to become so.

Crystal vision, any reader in this medium has,
an attainment,
merit worn
by knowing
words hold
thoughts and thoughts occur in superstringy gnosisnot.

Over time, dust is drawn to the tangled web that we wove.
In visibility,
winds paint the Granite wall my bubble occupies,
melting the shallow snow,

enough for a California snowday. My mileau,
my conditioning reflexive zone,
bouncing a thought between reading minds morphing
wishes once thoughts,
aimed
as it were,
at hungry wolves, or troglodytes.

- My Grandfather, Caleb Boyett,
- has blessed me,
- no quest set before has not called
- on know how knots tie and solder mends
- learned from watching him, as a child.
- I was reared in a junk yard,
- with a bunch of happy dogs.

Stela, not
"Stella" from the common programing relative
to Hollywood, see
the sign.

Big-time, Robbie, big time, SHOW
bidness,
be kind.

I don't give a damnabouda greenback dollar,
spent it fast as I could,
or woulda, had I ever sold what must be sold,
to accrue money problems,
or secret stores to protect,
sense of will,
sense of pur- in advance guarding the niche
posed
under superpositioned words we all react on,

pinch of salt,
taken from the spiritual conception developed
as many children must have been set up,
to spill some salt,
so elders could guage,
measure
reaction to instruction, "toss a pinch of the problem
                over your left shoulder-
                to ward
off any malicious salt protectors mind cry.

Not a lie. In my realm, stories reign supreme,
and those who learn to tell them without lying
seldom prosper
as per standard class-ification projects,
historically called civil-ization.

-- so that's my que, 2023, snow melt negative space
patterns evoke… that word again,
several times today, 10:34
took pictures of the patterns in the snow
that look similar to some level of me,
to rock art in

Time and chance, perhaps I needed the provocation,
common senses, all agree, things occur with no ..... lost threads

Internet ties,
intellectual kin,
in the wildering edgewise meandering mind
we share
in time
we spend thinking thank you for reading my mind.

I am a fool as they say, because only fools fall in
Love. what should be we, feels like
You. And you are …
Too busy to say it back

© Raffi

When I lay in bed
Body tired, lights off
But mind on
I write words in my head.

They rarely rhyme
Or have any real basis,
Ragged lines
Slipping in time.

Emotions and feelings
Jumbled and digressed
Blurred memories
Torn into segments
Of little, poorly formed
Ellipses.

And I have the nerve
To call myself a poet.
Because when the words form
They resonate
Within me.

They make me feel everything
And nothing.
And sometimes,
When you read the scattered formation
Of my
Deepest
Darkest
Brightest
Most hurtful thoughts

They spark something within you
And you can begin to feel your
Deepest
Darkest
Brightest
Most hurtful thoughts
And you too, become a poet