As I look into the sky
Studying the bright silvery orb
Waiting as though it is filled with answers I've yet to hear
The leaves rustle like paper
As the wind softly carries on
Caressing the blades of grass with care
The cicadas call softly from far away
I wonder, what do they say
I hear the crickets underground
Calling for a mate
How simple life must be
The stars scattered in the sky
Is someone out there watching too?
The moonlight reflecting off the dancing leaves
Adorned in silver freely given by the sun
Life goes on

Its nights like these
That make me wish to fly
Leave my body here in time
And scatter upwards with my mind
Filling the sky with love
Leaving pain somewhere behind
I long to finally soar
Upwards
And no more

I have no friends - I have no wife;
An ogre in a bog.
I have no love - I have no life;
But ****** I've got a dog.

Before I took up poetry,
I had no way to express myself
I didn't talk to other people,
They wouldn't care about how I felt
I've always found this difficult,
Uncomfortable to speak my mind
Ever scared to make a fool of myself
Of being judged and pushed aside
That I never spoke of my worries,
Not my doubts, or my fears
I kept them buried deep inside,
And ignored them all these years..

I don't remember when I started writing,
Only when I did, I wasn't scared
My thoughts no longer caged inside,
And my poetry I shared
Before I took up poetry
I was lonely, confused, and afraid
Poetry helped me find myself,
Brush aside old habits and forget mistakes
And slowly through my writing,
I'm healing every day
Poetry can save lives
Don't believe me but I'm proof of it all the same

~

"paper or plastic?"
she asks as i stand;
her chatter, all
friend-like... warms
my heart while she scans,
and insures i’m a fan.
i reach for my jeans
and draw from my pocket,
my wallet falls open
(it's lost all elastic),
no green in its folds
cuz my wife got there first,
"guess this time i will
be paying with plastic."


"paper or plastic?"
my answer he asks,
my groceries all scanned
’cross the checkout counter,
in disarray they lie waiting,
for the next stop, my home;
but the trip to my car
at the end of the lot,
and the slamming of brakes
to bring my car to a stop,
yeah, that bag better hold!
"i think it is best...
do you mind if i ask
for a little of both?"


"paper or plastic?"
she asks with a smile!
the look on her face
does not beguile
the dance of her eyes,
as our food she prepares;
a feast for the palate
this Saturday’s eve.
my reply, unexpected,
off my tongue rolls,
with such ease...
“this ain’t no diner, love!
thanks, but no thanks,
i’d prefer china... please!"

~

*post script.

a fun one that has been tumbling around inside this silly head for months, just dying to come out. enjoy this, yet another glimpse ’neath the covers of this ADHD mind!!

I wanted to fill the cracks of his mind, and breathe his very breath. Need consumed by deep desire, leaving me scared to death.

I hung a rope on that tree, where I used to kneel and pray. Struggling to keep my head up, waiting for something he refused to say.

I wanted to slip and fall into arms, eager to break my fall. Scattered hopes cast about, that are just shadow puppets on the wall.

I cupped my hands to catch his tears, but the favor was never repaid. Slip the rope around my neck, in hopes to repair this mess I made.

I wasted all my saved up wishes, just in the end to tie the knot. I finally took that step and hang myself, with all the promises he forgot.

Sleepless nights have been my fate.
Tossing
             turning
                          tossing
                                       turning
                                              How much longer will I wait?
                                       tossing
                          turning
             tossing
turning
Your soothing words came far too late.
tossing
            turning
                         tossing
                                      turning
                                             I've flipped the latch and closed the gate.
                                      tossing
                         turning
            tossing
turning
I'm only something you'll grow to hate.
zzz

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.