If we poets are sad
No tears fall from our eyes
Words fall from our hearts
That brings the blank sheet
And the pen in hand to life
They know how we poets feel
Because they were always
In good and bad days there
Like best friends for life.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I long to be alone
A modest cabin by the sea
Where the days are quiet
Where no television, radio or phone is permitted
No unnecessary words of explanation
Where the afternoon sun bakes warmly on my cat in the windowsill
A gentle purr of content
By day I will walk along the sandy shore
Cast away my formal shoes
Roll up my pants and place my feet in the crisp waters of the salty ocean
The wind ... The crashing of the waves ... A seagull's cry
A dog and its owner passes by ... An occasional hello
They say people need people ... But I don't know
Natures own form of conversation seems to be a better companion for me
With the competitive world locked outside
Where money is God and the race is fierce
A ray of light catches the colourful bottles in the window
Creating a prism on the floor
I could take a photograph ... Capture the moment
But if I send it to you
Will you feel what I see

I remember the smell,
Like old wood and
     Lake water
Somehow found itself
     Mixed into some sea
           Of sheets,

And I remember
Waking up,
     Entangled and drowning
In an ocean of
Unfamiliar bedspreads
As you climbed into
      The morning soaked
Bed with me.

Your skin soft
     And vanilla
          And brushing lightly
Against the hairs on my arm
     That you made stand up tall,
Kissing me awake
     As I pushed your auburn
         Strands of fire
         Hair whispering in a
         Tickle against my ear.

The way your hand
     Rested with possession on my chest
           And tapped some forgotten tune
As we waited
For afternoon to
     Beckon us downstairs,

The steady hum of
The shore catching
The waves of the
      Lake shimmering green
      In the summer heat
           At the wooden base
                Of our cabin outside.

And I remember
     Our collective shut of eyes,
Resting our foreheads together
     As our hands journeyed
          To reach one another's
          Beneath the home in the sheets
We wished to never leave.


That was two years
     And a love and a half ago,

So now I long
     For nothing more
Than these summer mornings
To wake up not so lonesome
                                                  anymore.