Happy St Patrick's day,
I wrote in a note..
But you didn't read it,
& That made me feel low.
On the page,
A 4 leaf clover I drew.
Thought about how,
It reminded me of you.

I wrote.
Good friends are like 4 leaf clovers,
Hard to find and lucky to have.

*You might've been hard to find,
But all the luck that you gave, was bad...

ITS NOT EASY BEING GREEN...

The 17th is a day when we celebrate
GREEN, whether we're IRISH or not...

It just seems like the thing to do
And it is my favorite color...

Where ever you go
You see people who hauled out that
GREEN shirt with a large
leprechaun drinking beer on it.
Once a year they wear that shirt
It will last forever...

Some dye their hair GREEN
And drink GREEN Beer
Jigs dinner....now I do love that
I wonder why Its not GREEN?

But soon I will take my
Shamrock off my front door
And my crazy profile picture
Off facebook
(YOUR WELCOME)
along with the shamrock banner
because,
"ITS NOT EASY BEING GREEN"

I'll raise a pint of Guinness,

There's little else to say,

Let's drink, dance and be merry,

On this St Patrick's Day.

Trying to love you is like trying to live infinitely
Cause even roSes have thorns that make you bleed
The stArs have faults
And angels fall
What's the point in loving you at all?
Those freckles are stars in celestial connect the dots
How can one person alone beat all the odds
There's nothing left for the rest of us
No one ever asked you to be perfect
No way that happened by chance
TiMe to take a step back
Take a bow
Snap out of the trance
You cannot be as great as they make you seem
I'm waiting for you to come apart at the seams.

Sometimes we have a life long dream...
but not sure where to start....
and sometimes we must go to the extreme..
with a thought that's not so smart....
It started with an issue..
she knew she had to resolve..
Unaware of her options, but knew it had to be solved..
He destroyed the girl that she had been...
destroyed the world she had lived in...
She weighed the pro's and the con's..
and concluded it had to do with ponds...
So she set out on a mission..
and decided to save for her own condition.
A well deserved vacation in the " Florida Keys"..
for her and her honey , and with his money....
The months how they passed...
So slowly, then at last...
The day they left was 20 below..Brrr..cold
Soon they were driving down Old Cheney Road..
A backwoods road where the St. Johns' River flowed..
I hear the fishing there is great...
You'll get a bite with very little bait..
They reached the lake in the early morn..
and that is where her plot was born..
She poured the coffee she had made..
and laced it with some " gator aide "....
Here my love she said so sweetly..
I made this special for you my sweetie..
The cast was made, the bait was set..
No reason for her to sweat or fret...
Eyes did close and body went limp..
She started to shake and then thought..
Come on girl be strong don't be a wimp..
No one knows we're here or where we're at..
She rolled the body to the edge of the water...
heard a splash !..it was only an otter...
Within a flash, the body was trash...
there must have been 20 gators below..
ripping and flipping the body about..
She packed up and decided to go back the scenic route....

post note: I've always wanted to be my own boss, and now due to my recent loss..
The Insurance is an assurance and I don't have to wait...
I'll open a store and call it " GATOR BAIT "

Alight me Paddies! Today the world is Green;
I am in a mood, alas, to gnaw crubeen,
To kiss my Irish lass, and cuddle her awhile,
To hear the Irish Rovers sing their bonny Isle,
To wear a shamrock, laboring o'er a stout:
Murphy or Guinness, to me it matters naught.

You are a hard ghost to pin down
my will-o'-the-wisp

If I approach you . . .
you recede
If I back up . . .
you approach

But you never let me touch you
My marsh lover

A light unto my heart
Burns where I cannot touch
Cold flames of blue leave me
No traces of heat upon my lips

My heart shivers from lack of loves inferno
The strength of my skin
Cannot be measured
The merit of my bones
Cannot be weighed

Nor will my love be finite
Caged or displayed
My lips seek soft wet kisses
That reign down on my soul

~~~
Traditions lead to streets of dream
to scant abodes
beneath the green
So tiny
small
'neath gardens tall
with russet
stacked
above them all
~
Their chimneys waft
of fire's stoke
the meek step forth
though bashful folk
The pitter pat
of little feet
arise
the length
of Little Street
~
They take my hand as pipers chant
descend the street
with river's dance
Around about
the dancers croon
to every home
I'm blessed ...
buffoon
~
Tranquil glade amongst the heather
sparks ignite
the moods in feather
Flames leap forth
as cauldrons
coddle
tubers roast
as whispers twaddle

Pipes
I fill
and pints
I swallow

Tip 'em Back
their chant
seems hollow
~
Breaking bread
their stew
yumm - titious
though
in my head
their brew
grows vicious
~
Little Street
a fading glow
still ...
I was little once you know
The shutters
close
the visions
wane
their magic
carves
my hiking cane
Another day
another plane
the child inside

asleep

again
~~~