Will it always only be a safe dream
like wandering in a bare wilderness,
game to robust predators, and wildness
clear choices call across the primal stream.

It was late Spring when we first did daydream
the fragrant flowers were dusting progress
Winter's meagre offer, a cold caress
the wildlife, sedate upon the grounds glean

of Fall's gathered rare jewelled leaf mountains,
among the valley's musk we would linger
peak with sounds, echoes loud voiced joy bringer
beyond Summer's pleasured column fountains,
wayward wine red chances, seasoned drinker
deep red and bottled up, loose danger pains.

Ages past I was once a prized rose,
prized by a Beastly prince
prized by a promise since
filled, prized by a Beauty who chose
a simple request to be brought a single rose.

Please let me stop, to catch my breath
look not upon my petals withered
my thorns still own a fine point tapered
the Beast would not forgive the Merchant's transgress -
ion, so I was privy to a ransom demand, He then Beast, obsessed

that Beauty was to come of her own free will
otherwise Beast would the merchant ****,
(and remember I still lay on the ground, stock still
  not wanting to incur the wrath or step of ill will)
either of a Beast, my Master, or the Merchant, and his own disasters

to have arrived a thorn's point, a life and death balance, no act
no wonder once it was all done, I aged slower than the rest
but for Beauty missed her family and the Beast was in fact

Still a beast,

some say I was put under glass, some say under a magical spell
I was possibly picked up by beauty and she was pricked by a wicked thorn under her skin and a tiny drop of that love's blood sustained
me, think what that type of love, could do for the Beastly,

prince,

read the story for yourself, take a dusty book off the shelf
learn and live the lesson for your self and share your love,
like Beauty proclaimed hers,
and the Beast received then became the Prince,
from ugly, and the families all, filled the great hall,
Beauty had a marriage Banquet, the next day
I saw it all from my place, now let me retire, I fade faster
and in the end The Prince, his Beauty lived happily ever after.

Mind the thorns when you lay me to rest.

"Outside the city where the pomegranates grow..."
In solitude, my soul bloomed alone,
A spiritual journey I pondered on,
For the world, I saw a giant pond,
I prayed for blessings, with a magic wand,
Deliverance from our virtual Armageddon,
From then on, I was not alone,
Collective blessings bloomed at home,
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
In solitude, my soul bloomed alone.........

I am words written on blank paper,
The words are there but no-one can see them until they are spoken.
The girl in the back of the classroom, unnoticed
Until she can open her mouth wide enough to sing with the chorus.

I am the one they call afraid
When Destiny knocks at my door
I can't find the words to even begin to say
I'm just not yet ready
But once I am, my God, I'm unstopable.

He and she stood side by side
Under the twinkling stars
Under the ghost in the jar
He and she stood side by side
Under the graffiti moon.

He and she danced palm to palm
To the rhythm of their art
To the music of their hearts
He and she danced palm to palm
Under the graffiti moon.

He and she saw heart to heart
In the darkness’ embrace
In the midst of hidden praise
He and she saw heart to heart
Under the graffiti moon.

Dear E. E. Cummings

If I caught a glimpse
of your shadow,
dancing the breeze
whispering through my window,
I would find a way
to dive into the enigma
that fills your mind.

Your eyes were  
always set in
beautiful paradoxes of
the human condition
while we blinkered ours
to the mundane -
moments spent in ignorance of
their importance in the future.

How do you
wake a photograph
with letters,
capturing our essence
in such lucent clarity?

I want to know how
you entwined these words,
for in their
infinite simplicity,
they sound a lot
Llke magic.

You, my dear, are not the sun.
I will not label you as something
that I need in order to survive;

You are not here to make me grow;
I can build castles inside me on my own--
I do not need you in order to rise.

The moon has always been up there,
trying to watch over our lonely souls
and I hear its response through the night's soothing sighs.

And you are not the moon, no,
you do not deserve such a title.
You are not a star,

You are not as wonderful as the galaxies above
and you most definitely are not the universe,
composed of all things strange and lovely.

You, I repeat, are not the sun.
I will not grant you the permission
to help me live.

And I wish I had known that earlier.

Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
questioning.
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
waiting…