I was out browsing the galaxy.
I came upon this place of poetry.
There are Poems laying at the Poetry Alter.
Found a poem I also wanted to give some water.
At the Poetry's ALTER
Pieces looked upon.
From the fore front they've gone.
Yet they are special and still stretched carefully out.
Like flowers just waiting there to sprout.
Poems to be read upon like planted seeds.
For anyone who needs,
I was out browsing the galaxy.
I came upon this place of poetry.
There are poems laying at the Poetry Alter.
Found a poem I also wanted to give some water.
We are the Writers, the sowers, the reapers.
We are workers the laborers the Poetry Keepers.
Let us browse the books, the internet nooks, the newspaper shoots,
But let us not be guilty of being overlooking crooks.
Let us not go ignoring the massive carefully written books.
But let us sow
Were we shall reap, let us read that we may grow,
I was out browsing the galaxy.
I ran across this place of Poetry.
Let us pour WATER.
On the poems left lying at the Poetry's Alter.
Dear writers of poems, songs and books you have now been watered.
This water consists of vitamins, and mineral for you to grow.
May more from you develop And more of you may sow?
You're watered by tears of joy, laughter and refreshing rains.
Your Poems are seeds, grown and sown it forever abides,
and its uniqueness remains.
S.A.M. All Rights Reserved © 2007

Is it a warm bed on cold night?
Is it a cup of coffee shared?
Is it eyes glimmering – book ending a candle light?
Is it a kind word or a gentle touch
Or is it simply understanding much?

I think a Valentine must be
Learning - Showing,
Pushing - Pulling,
Holding on for all your worth.
Never doubting - never pouting
Knowing that seeing isn’t believing
It’s more a matter of trust.
Daring to share
Without a care
Of loosing one’s own self.

Becoming one isn’t just fun
It’s knowing someone’s there
Looking for what we call love.
Maybe sometimes it’s just a matter of lust.
But when your heart is breaking
And there’s no place to hide,
If you find my hands upon your face –

I’ll be there by your side.

she gave him a smile that knocked down common sense to his knees
Want whispering like silk through through his mind
"Everyday shall be valentines" he assured her

'Tis damp, cold and lonely - not much bigger than a closet
But the little room within me is mine.
It has no niceties such as an address but
To one side – when pressed upon hard enough –
The walls open revealing the many hidden chambers inside.
But the walls have no doors and until now no one has ever
Stayed long enough to find out the secrets hidden inside.

Then here you come along – you who has scarcely warmed
Yourself against these thoughts when I feel that look.
You spin around and around in the small wit that I am -
With the most perplexing look I have ever seen.
With words I press upon you to sit here within my thoughts
But the case of your look is the case all by itself.
All I can feel is your resentment for bringing you in here.

My hard planked thoughts and plastered breaths are not
Favorable - even to my own sensations – as if I am trapped
In some sort of desolate, silly omnipotence –
But I dare not mention my little hidden room within.
Though not a thing is left to be wished there is nothing
As terrible in it as the knowledge that you think I am possibly
Absent of the capacity to supply you with your inner most basic needs.

The glow of health and happiness somehow leaves your cheeks
And your brisk lively conversation seems forever removed.
Like a stone in the road, I seem to bring you
More distress and I wonder what stupidity had led me
To bring you here to fumble around in my mind.
As if we are both too delicate to communicate -
Our tangled tongues and fingers say not a word.

I want to say,
“Please, please press harder against these walls
And you’ll see, you’ll see that the muscle and tendon
That covers these internal walls are
Just a parody for my own protection.''
I feel the mistake of moving this thought closer to you now.
At first you squirm to get further away from it
But in doing so you struggle and push against the thought.
But herein - a single thought falls from my mind.

I watch as you ****** it up an unfold it and
Proceed to open my imagination to this wrinkle entitled
“The Little Room Within.''
I watch you as you read peering through my facade.
You proceed to pull out another wrinkle
Then another - and another
Until the room within me is no more.
We enter deeper and deeper inside of each other
Like children on our hands and knees –

– And I –

I
follow
you
all
the
way
to
the
inside
of
me......

All hail these small and sweet courtesies of life.
For smooth do they make the road of it.
Grace and beauty – each cut so deep like a knife.
They beg all these inclinations toward love at first sight.
Yes, ‘tis those courtesies which let the stranger in.
With tones and mannerisms - they do have such meaning.

Oh - ‘tis such a blessed thing,
One for which I could lose myself
To the honor of my aching.
I feel a heart which bears all to itself.
Oh yes, tis' open – ‘lest I shut it all out.
So I ask, “Are not my eyes the scout
For which my heart journeys?
That vision, is it not flowing through my arteries
Bringing my heartbeat’s rhythm in tune?
Oh, let that beat be mine none too soon.”

With that said, she laid out her arm in front of me.
Taking hold of her fingers in one hand, I aptly
Applied ******* of my other hand to her wrist -
Firmly - and begin counting each heart throb.
“One – two – three – four,” counting out aloud
Measuring each heartbeat as it happens –
Hoping to find the art of her fever.
I close my eyes as I continue to count – thinking –
There is no occupation in the world comparable
To feeling a woman’s pulse.
And when I had counted to twenty five
I looked up into her eyes and
At that instant I felt her pulse quicken.
She clutched my fingers tighter in the one hand
While pressing the wrist of her other hand
Harder into my account.

Is it possible for two to become one flesh and bone?
And if 'tis true, what is everything else to become?
Sometimes yours while at other times the other has it?
All the while to be generally on par tallying up the score
As we each permit the other to share in ourselves –
At least in as much as a man and a woman have the right to.
Like a bag full of pebbles which started out jagged
And rough, with very little gleam.
Only ‘tis after being years in the bag together
Do the stones, having had many amicable collisions
Wearing down their angles and edges, do they
Become well rounded and smooth with the brilliance
Of their combined luster.
Nothing to either could have been
Accomplished alone.

She looks back into my eyes as she presses her wrist into me
and asks,
“How does it beat with you?”
Placing her hand on my neck I say,
“Feel for yourself -
‘Tis an improvement –
‘Tis my evidence.”

Raised on my extremes with these extremes woefully denied,
An oath silently affirmed yet mournfully defied.
Words not weighed or windowed by their sheer multitude,
Inwardly swallowed in rhyme, be they rusty and sometimes crude.
To some - truth has to be dashed with the salt within their own eyes,
Their own tears to confuse the foolishness and twist them into lies.
Do any loving words have an equaling folly to befall?
Or do you believe in nothing – yes - nothing at all?
The poets’ rites are here - to - for rarely embraced,
When what is needed is a muse, who could add flavor to the taste.
Such savoring delights I offer, to a soul in need of ritual food,
Served up hot all at once – then sinfully shared in the ****.
But by force one cannot offer these to even the gods,
For only one in a million is worthy, all the rest are just at odds.
No fraud I offer you in this, my musing trade,
But writers are harder to conquer than they are to persuade.
They are busy scribes mingling within life’s refuse,
Raking around in the garbage looking for new verbiage to defuse.
Do you hear me – do my words sit on your lips?
Touch them now – gently - and let me take you away on a thousand trips.
My words on your lips – can they truly take you away?
Shhhh – my darling, close your eyes and taste them, and their gentile foreplay.
Oh this author swears it not but only you can know
How far these words can reach or where for art they may go.
If I fail you and for want I lose my common sense,
What love will come from this or be the consequence?
My words are like raging fevers boiling my own blood,
Be careful my muse, these words often float into a flood.
For love is like water always seeking the path of least resistance,
Quiet yet powerful and oft bubbling over in persistence.
Breathe my muse; take it all in as we flow into the decent
Working up the foam as we threaten to shoot the vent.
Who among are as witty as we are wise?
I watch as my words leave those lips and shine from within your eyes.
Those eyes like reflecting pools, one by two, my holly preference,
I think God must have given us two eyes so as to cross the reference.
Kiss me my muse; please kiss me until this fatal fury has gone,
Hold on tight as I write and drag you from your rightful throne.
These words raised in power amongst our fellowship.
Words, precious words, now on our hungry lips.
May we let them ooze – oh - please let them go,
Listen do you taste them now? Only you my muse -
Only you can ever know.

If you don’t want to say anything,
Then sit beside me..
Even I love the sound of silence..

The silence that is all the bedlam in your mind, those that keep you awake at night.
The silences that tossed your love distant, but little did she know that it was all the noise that you could make..unheard..
So sit beside me, for even I love the sound of silence..

Did you not smile the other night, and muster the courage to utter the poisonous words, ‘I’m fine..’ ?
That venom is still deep in my spine, plunging through my nerves..
But dear friend, I know you are scared to share.. so sit beside me, let’s hold hands and hug tight.
Stay silent for the night..

I know it’s my fault that I let you alone tonight, and the silence made your blood make the chaotic clamour.. I didn’t believe you, lost my gamble..
The cut on your wrist betrayed me, and the one on your ankle was mocking along..
the puddle of your flesh and the red demon oozing out, the howls and snarls and growls in your silence, only smirked and scoffed and sneered in my face..

Little did I know that this is how much you love silence, that you confided into it’s humble embrace than share it with your only friend..

May I follow you? Send me the address to where you are now, may be we get to sit on that terrace and blow off our last cigarette, smile and stare into the blank.
That’s what we do best, that’s how we became friends..
Because you never wanted to say anything,
So you sat beside me, even I love the sound of silence.