on a napkin
in the fold
out of nowhere
written bold

on a napkin
soaked in pen
lost in wonder
wander in

on a napkin
plans and schemes
draw on dreaming
simple things

on a napkin
cloth and fading
all is forward
all are waiting

on a napkin
lost and found
almost forgotten
written down

I've caught this instant - firmly, by the
Tailfeathers. Plucked in darting flight and
Iridescent in the hollow of my hand, sheer
Primacy is utterly intoxicating me.

lightning, bright as the sun
etched on eye, and mind
shaking with the thunder
rendered, deaf and blind

clouds, passing on
to the beat of striking shards
and ears, listening fond
as the storm's bright music starts

the darkness always passes
it's always been this way
storms and gales revealing
a newer, brighter day

so sitting on my roof
I sigh and blink, in time
I will no longer be aloof
because in a stormcloud, there is rhyme.

Sorrows pinned upon the breeze
Delight in flight, as might the leaves
Stern autumn plucked from summer's sleeve
Gladly dancing death's reprieve.

Cutting and slashing
Is love everlasting
Never breaking the skin
It mutilates from within

Won't be here to always tell the story,
right?
that's why rather than feeling sorry,
I write...

a series of quatrains*

Anchor’s bound for hell as it falls
Sadly I watch the fast rope slip
It is gone, I need a strong sip
From a sailor’s bottle, land calls

In a boat, earth and moon move you
these deceptive cargo ships hide
the stash of smugglers, I choose
To rock back and forth with the tide

Such fearless ships save lives at night
and daytime too but not for thanks
for it also ferries heartbreak
when lovers part on boarding planks

A message in a bottle lost
was found on a cold Cornish coast
The message read “darling please
know my love will swim across seas”

I daren’t live by sea much longer
Oh! what I’ve seen, fear gets stronger
with every lapping slurp I hear:
the drowned whispering in my ear

Once I fished in this bay of shells
My line was frayed from reeling sharks
A blue whale fought me three miles out
In his bowel I awoke at last

Boat or ship? For now ‘ships’ they fly
A rocking chair, without duty
They float, enchant, sink but don’t cry
shipwrecks are a thing of beauty

Time wasted neck-deep in
idolatry, pretty bottles of
pretty liquids, light gold,
amber, charred oak brown
soaking vanillin and wood
which warms the tongue
perfectly.

I pop my pinky finger in
funny ways, relegating
flow of blood to necessary
extremities only, thumbs
or forefingers or whiny
joints screaming loudly for
sustenance.

There are days in my past
I wish I had skipped,
accidentally sleeping past
my alarms and the sirens
and noises of cars passing
past my window in whichever
home I find myself to wake.

There are days more recently
I have skipped, my mind
spending hours drunkenly
slipping from action to act,
poor me and my problems,
always worthy of an award,
a statuette of broken glass.

What happens when a person dies?
Does he roam around freely
and without even tries,
makes everything happen?
Or is it darkness and all black,
as he becomes helpless and numb,
heartless, hopeless, literally dumb?
He becomes nothing but a memory.
Really? What happens if I die?
Will I be a memory for smiles?
Or I'll be blamed for my lies?
I want to feel death for sure.
But I don't want to leave my life.
**How easily can a person die?