The ink well is a writer pens pool.
Where pen becomes fishing rod
for words burried within.

Guppies surface like little words  generated from the mind into delicate poems upon seas of vellum.

Other times words become shark-like bitting to bleed with an array of emotions
and scenes of a broken heart.

Well that was the way it was back in the days when people used ink wells.
Back in the days when poet wrote
near candle light.

Now we have the ball point pens.
Where the thoughts come directly from heart to hand, to ink to paper.

Now writer moves near electric lamp replaced by oil on desk. Or computer screen that houses a new breed
of a gigabyte fish.

All the same the scribe speaks
with words that take on
a life of its own.

Still releasing a fish tale
every now and than.

It is with one match
the darkness of room is lit.
One intention to recall who one is
to expand consciousness for peace.
One song of breath to sing out
and pass an awakening spark,
with compassionate smile.
One moment to change the world.

Be the match you are
to burn inside your great light.
It is why you are here.
It’s with the power of your own light
that God’s spark lives.
It is the light that cannot be extinguished.
The catalyst that makes one see
as they integrate the dark
into rainbows.

One bright candle of self held in a darken room
vibrates to gobble up the dark.
To awaken the sleeping.
To carry the soul to feel empowered by
rays of God within.
By your essence of love present.

One bright candle of self
in a moment of day or night
vibrates to a song of ones divinity
meant to be seen.
To move inside life’s dance.
To ****** go to touch many
feeling everyday the celebration
of a candle of love we are.

Let the light sail into you.
let your own candle burn bright.

A writer...
One who often chooses words as if nails
and with pen like hammer
hits a thought right on the head.

kiss me with speed of light
and wrap your aura round my vessel.
Kiss me so all senses of time disintegrates
and rivers of ecstatic waves flow.
Kiss
me
long
so melodies travel in mind.
gracefully as our heartbeats play
to float us in waves of passions.

I whisper this poem with sigh.
moving at dusk of clouds.
Roads take me
on pathway
where heart grows heavy
and footsteps slow.

From where he hides that someone
I’ve searched for?
Is he behind stars,
near flower not yet bloomed?
On road the self less travels?
Or perhaps he’s mythical with no form
making absent to eyes.

Whispers of prayer leave lips
to land on leaf
for gentle breeze to gift an angel.
Perhaps then
dream will touch reality,
as I do rest
below a moon bells song.

And as the seas did roar, Proteus rose gallantly.
He plotted with clouds to yield thunder.
Let wind whisper his name strong.
Told birds to steer from tempest winds.
And warned fish to go under sea-purse.

Yes, Proteus was present in full form,  
to have the sea do its bidding.
So...dost not sail thy vessel I pray.
or you’ll feel his wrath I today.

Dusk has brought an end to the snowfall
that consistently fell.
And all one can hear are
the snow blowers at work
moving in-between the rustling wind.

Clearing for the new day
Life is now reset
to resume regular schedule
as children to school.

Love cannot be caged,
as it drifts inside a conscious mind.
As it echoes from mind to heart,
from heart to voice.

Love cannot be tired down,
as it moves inside a deep breath.
As it pushes clouds away
to reveal a bright sun.

Love will never be stopped,
as it travels through the universe
As it moves from the Divine's voice
to be implanted inside all.

In this great cosmic play,
I shall be the actress.
The one who saves the self.
I shall move in grand attire,
gracefully dancing
through rain and sun.

In this great cosmic play,
the orchestra with commence,
with birds flying in voice.
With breath that bonds with wind.
With leader who holds baton pen.

I am the leader. I bow, as guides applaud.

I am scared that when I'm
Mothers age of 91
my memory
too will leave.
And than my life will be
of one who wanders
in a memory wing
waiting for a meal
and visitor I barely know.

I carve words into bark of vellum
as if tree trunk
standing pristine and tall.

My pen-like tool moves
in moment below blue skies
lightly peppered with orange clouds.

My breath merges with nature
while birds echo in serenades
that color mind with spiraling visions.

I carve as a master
with its title passed on
from generations inside starlit cosmos.

Come, partake in my flourishing garden of verse.
And may you be inspired
to take a bouquet into the heart.

DEAR SUN,
Your rays entwine with my heart
giving me energy to send rays of love
to the many I meet. Thank You.

DEAR VOICE,
You carry power with words,
to speak truths,
songs to sing, and even screams to cry.
You supply a mouth piece
for light beings
to speak.
Thank You.

DEAR SECOND,
You are like a grain of sand
almost invisible but
as you join with others you build
and I learn from your example.
Thank You.

DEAR BREATH,
You caress my lungs
touching every ***** to aid self.
Without you I would not exist.
Thank You.

DEAR GREAT, GREAT, GREAT GRANDPARENTS,
Though your faces are visible only in photos,
and your forms long gone,
I honor your lives and riches Of your values
woven into my very nature.
Thank You.

DEAR LANGUAGE
You, the written word
fuels my passion as poet,
allowing me to spread wings
inside poetry
Thank You.

I will not cry a river for you but for self
who needs to release pains
that come in currents of undertow.
Currents that flow from this life and past.

Teardrops bond to face
like snowflakes hitting ground.
They shimmer in light on cheeks surface.
They freeze upon features, as feet walk in winter air.

But soon tears like rain stop
and whats left is a smile
as I recall my greatness.
A smile to match the upside down rainbow
in sacred sky.

I am as sacred as sky.

In an HP sky of verse
words float like birds.
They fly so poets divine
watch with binocular eyes and like buttons.

In an HP landscape
verses gathers inside seasons rain.  
Sometimes thunderous poems are posted
Other times light poems that harbor rainbow.
Occasionally they even shine with sun.

In an HP home people gather
singing, laughing, screaming, crying,
in language of hearts
from around the world.

In an HP platform
magic is born tickling senses.
Becoming a melting *** of jargon
in a computer screen world.

The first week you left me
my knees begged feet
to pick me up from floor.
But it didn't answer.

The second week
my lids begged eyes
to cease deluge of rain
But they didn't stop.

The third week you left me
my mind begged eagle
to whisk me off forever.
But it never came.

The forth week
in heart I begged spirit
to help me move peaceful.
They answered giving me peace.

Fear will not get upper hand today
for I am swimming in waves of light
where fear dare not go...
else it would drown.

Open the parachute in heart
to float with the wind of love
as you dance in footsteps,
drifting as if floor is sky
and freedom is yours.

Rhyme in time.
Time in rhyme.
Tick-tock tick-tock
The grandfather clock
carries the sign.
Tick-tock tick-tock
The rhyme is buried in time
Yes time is a rhyme,
to feel subline in time.
TicTacToe talk
rhyme says your divine.
Tick-tock tick-tock
Inside times rhyme
Time is so fine,
so fine.

Under a cloudy marshmallow sky, I watched
as wind sculptured landscaped.
I saw beautiful unicorns drifting in fields white.
I saw heart-like balloons drift holding my dreams.
I saw little faces winking inside rays of sun.
It made me sing to feel the gift of moment.
The moving masterpiece before me

D. Dance in the freedom of self
         R. Radiate your own eyes into others
            E. Expand with the gifts given by God
         A. Align with heart to be love avatar
              M. Make a difference to help humanity.

**
Dream to reclaim our Earth
and make it what its meant to me.

Words,
they have a life force of their own.
Dancing onto page as if letters have feet.

Moving to birth a phase
that draws eyes to gander.

Words like coins of gold are little blessings from my God-like form.

A form where soul
is illuminated
by the light of words.

Good-morning Angels
who carry backpacks of love,
inside my third eyes vision.

Good-day all cherubs,
as you spread
feather-like wings gracefully  

Your woven magnificence
spiraling in through mind.

Good-afternoon angels
who vibrate with flight plan
to bring energies into heart.

Good post-meridian guardians,
as you whisper in wind
so heart expands to feel blessed.

Your ethereal bodies arrive divinely
to gather wishes for felicity.  

Good-evening angels
who hold me in your visions
to guide me for peace.

Good-evening celestial ones
as you place rose petals sweet scents about
and I drift into incandescent dreams.

You all wrap me with love so grand
as I say my gratitude.

StarBG © 2017

Inside the abode of heart I sing
Gyrating to dance with light.
Smiling inside eternal glow.
Swelling with inner illumination.

Inside the abode of heart I anchor.
Moments fade away
Night wings take me afar
Visions merge with sparkling stars.
And sun shines in highway sky.

Inside abode of heart I dance.
Dreams become reality.
Light integrates dark.
Love pulsates outward divinely.

Inside abode of heart I move
Gracefully continuing to exist
Walking with one step after another
Flying with one breath after another
Bonding with Gods hand one lifetime after another.

Freedom calls. Freedom Calls.

Ink is the heroine and pen the needle that moves guided by my fever. The ink pulsates within transmuting into words and phrases. My heart expands racing with visions. The side effect... a written poem that perhaps will give some peace. Peace from my addiction to live before it starts all over again. It is an addiction many a poet had to fight over centuries. Their lesson let it flow let it grow.

Its past my bed time.
Lids are heavy.
Feet ache for comfort of bed.

Its way past my bed time.
Sounds amplify.
Mind wanders for dreamland.

Its way way past my bedtime.
Lights turned off.
This day is done.

Goodnight

The essence of self is to whisper like wind
and climb mountains of words as scribe,
to arrive at destination of yet another poem.

My lights essence is to move
with grace recalling my eternal self
and celebrate life.

The essence of self is to shine like pulsating sun,
that radiates with love sweet love.

Little Bear is so divine
He moves with charm and grace.
Touching many with his writes
I stand to bow in place.

He writes of things that tickle eyes,
of those who gather near.
I am grateful for his poems.
I celebrate and cheer.

May he feel blessings I send,  
as I call all to see.
That he writes on many things,
including a grand tree.

So if you do meet him please,
do say hello won’t you?
As you know him you’ll feel light,
to sing below the moon.

A POEM,
becomes like an ice cream cone
meant to lick up with eyes, as if words are sprinkles.
And waffle cone is the screen that wraps the verse.

A POEM,
is the fuel that tickles consciousness
so one can fly inside another’s perspectives.

A POEM,
is like a cobblestone road where each word
is a stone meant to walk on with eyes.

A POEM,
is the gift the writer presents even if the two never meet.

We are all poets.
Sometimes, using pens
on floor-like keyboard to write.
Other times, our poems are sung like bird
to whisper in ears of passerby's.

We are all poets.
Communicating in whatever form we choose.
Sometimes expressed
with a stare or kind gesture.
Other times, we use bodies as tools
to dance or move
speaking without words.

We are all poets,
marching to our own melodies.
Gift's we possess as divine beings of love.

Having a good listening ear is a virtue.
One to be treasured though some people
don't know how to whisper thanks.
They only know how to whisper woes.

I asked my ego mind to back away
from interfering with the flow of life.
But it would not listen.

I asked repeatedly to stop it's spew of judgments, that stifled my freedom.
But it wouldn't listen.

I asked spirt to help me recognizey
ego's claw of control.
When showed to focus,
I put an end to ego's jargon
inside peace I a-go.

I AM,
a chauffeur for words and poems
that expand on page.
My poetic license never expires.
My road is heart of a divine journey
that echoes as inks gas moves.

Sometimes my words crash upon page to release pain.
Other times they glide like a bird in flight.

I AM,
a creator inside the matrex of self
scribing upon road of words,
that expands consciousness.
My gifts I share with grace,
to offer blessings.

Sometimes they vibrate at a red light
to make one pause to ponder.
Other times they drift, as if in cruse control under creative rays.

I AM,
a driver of my own destiny,
as poems I create
inside the gift of day.
Inside a moment where my vehicle is sacred
and peace is mine.

A summer morning
blessed by dancing wind
pushes clouds away.
The moment
anointed by birds in flight
make grand scene.
A summers morn
graced by flowers scent
fills nostrils to spark smile.
Ears perk, senses align,
dancing shoes on.

Time to play
in heart of dreams
all in a summers day.

I gently whisper words
upon field of page
like feather drifting in air.

They land gracefully
planting seeds in readers eyes.

They blossom to expand
with visions for viewer to ponder.

I gently whisper phases
from poets heart to page
planting a vibration of love
so perhaps one may recall
their worth.

With just a drop of sun's ray
my gas tank of heart is filled.
Sparked with magical love fuel.

Breath in gives inspiration.
Breath out releases old stuck energies.

Inhale gives hope and love place to anchor.
Exhale releases carbon dioxide for plants.

Inhalation activates wisdom divine.
Exhalation releases fears and doubts.

Gasp in to open heart and fire up dreams
Respire to balance by anchoring within.

A continuous process whereby average person
breathing  23,040 a day.

A grand opportunity to feel the power
and align with love.


StarBG © 2017

POETS,
people who scribe as sculptors making masterpieces to hang in their text museums. And as for the reader...They are the ones who visit.

POETS,
one's sometimes filled with pain and insecurities that must write so they keep their sanity.

POETS,
the gift to mankind who can change the world
with one reader at a time.

P0ETS,
EVERYONE IS ONE
WITH A STORY TO TELL
BUT, THEY JUST DON'T KNOW IT AND THEIR EGO JUDGES BEFORE THEY PUT PEN TO PAPER
SO OFTEN THEY NEVER LEARN IT.

Have you ever had a song
vibrate in your head?
Stuck to pull at senses
until you surrender
and listen carefully.

Have you ever sung with voice
repetitively in flow of words
and hunt for answers
in a sea of moments?

Have you ever heard a song
that played over and over
catching your hands to move
and feet to dance?
Allowing heart to soar like birds,
and breath to rhyme with verse.

Until sub-consciousness takes over
and wings spread to dissipate time
inside fantasy.

Have you ever played a song
inside mind so many times
it became a part of your very thoughts?
Until you felt it was yours to own
and made it your part of your reality.

Where you floated within melodies
to unleash coincidences
that matched the orchestration.

I have and it gave me freedom
inside a creative force to dream.

FLOWERS,
speak with language of fragrances
and expressions of love that melt into endearing eyes.

THEY speak with little tickles
that turn into words infused inside breath.

FLOWERS deserve ones gratitude
inside a gentle breeze of a sunny day.