***** words aren’t always hidden
in symbols, are they?

Some poets use words to wound,
and they know my weakness.

The subtle weapon of language.
The tool of a master.

Artfully chosen,
then Drawn like a dagger.

Slaying my attempts
at peace of mind.

Because they know I always
read between the lines.

Have you whispered?
My name before you sleep,
Have I entered into your
Thoughts, as you drift?

Do I pass through your judgment?
And soul as you weep,
Do you feel as if you,
Have lost control?

As our inner feeling and,
hearts we keep,
At times I feel you are near me,
As I whisper your name,

I now realize we were absurd,
To have ever parted,
I see your face ever so,
Vividly in my mind,

I tend to feel the upmost enchantment,
I close my eyes and see as we once danced,
I wonder will we ever be together again,
Holding each other ever,
So tightly as we once did,
Assert our love,
And never to WHISPER GOODBYE”

There are moments of pain i feel,
I am sure soon it will heal,
As sounds of your voice linger within,
As does the gentle touch of nightfall,

It is then my mind equates to illusions,
And my pen in hand , and pad of paper,
Makes me dismiss all the confusion,
I tend to more pain, not knowing you're OK,

Or how you may get through another day,
The unknowns cause the most pain,
And make my tears fall down like rain.
I hope this wasn't a mistake,

My feelings for you remain the same,
In hopes this wasn't just that I'm not the blame,
I long for you now that we are apart,
But as in my mind, you live in my heart.

I miss you more than words can say,
And I hate that we are so far away.
But please may you know I think of you every moment in a day
And want to be with you in every way.

I truly hope this is not ended,
Because for me its been so splendid,
There is only one more thing left on my, mind,
So here it is I'll let it sound out,
I love and care for you more than I ever
Knew I Could!
A.G. 7/17

“Some people come into our lives and go quickly,
Some people move our souls to happiness & dance,
They awaken us to a new understanding in life,
As they pass a whisper of their wisdom to us,
Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon,
Those are the ones that stay in our lives, and mind Forevermore!”

I hope one day
soon
I can delete your number
never speak to you again

How could I ever try and understand such a cold man
Heartless too

you have no feelings
for those who love you

When I need you the most
You're never there


This one is for you

All the tears that have fallen
down my chin

all of the words
written with heartbreak

I'm tired of feeling this way

clouds of lilac blossom
thick in the blue air.

day unwraps in slow
whispers and the wind
is more lonely than am i.

the sky is a broken
vase, little
pathways of the sun,
her strange loads,
her happy voice.

the lilacs were our love song
may swept into our hair and eyes
little pieces of me scattering
like breaking waves.

dipped in the magical ink
of flowers
the garden cries
for its wilderness
its withering of sky
its blossoming of twig
until you can’t see the sky
and it becomes softly an impression,
a fine mist of golds.

no song now,
only the death of the
wind and a new road
that winds from the silver distances
of the moon.

only a harbour where i
rest for a while, a little
boat bobbing where the waves lap,
waiting for you...

Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
       paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
   most of the time

As a kid, living miles up
  a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
  out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone

   I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
  never learned what
  "superstitious" was,
    like the other kids
        from town

It wasn't the cracks
  in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
  already broken —

It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
  where you belong"

   The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
  muddy stair steps
in the rainy season

Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
     swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged

     I still haven't
found my way out
  of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
    on its own;
   like the way
     rainwater
  in the swollen
creek bed flows:

   And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —

   most of the time


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018