I turned
my life's page
as my
eyes blinked

The next page
was clean
of ink

No names

No boundaries

No schedules

It was
exhilarating
to see

A clean page
just for me

A fantasy
full of free

Meet me
under the
Aruban
divi divi tree

barefoot
in the
evening's
moon lit
cooling
sand,
at the
edge...
of where
the land
meets
the
mysterious
sea.

staring
out
into what
appears
to be
an infinite
horizon of
mystery.

holding
on to
one another....
the longing,
and gripping
the mystery
of us
ever so
tightly.

we lay
down next
to one another
and begin
to indulge,
allowing
our passion
to flow
like the
wave crashing
sea....

   and
at long
last,
allowing
our passions
to
finally
be freed
by the sea...

just you and me.

after
waking up
this morning
i once again
realized that
i was
someone else.

just
think of
all those
before you.

now you,
you
have
been here
too.

the sun
may
decorate
the sky.

but you
my
sun flare.

you,
decorate
my
universe.

I was young at one time in my life.
I then matured and looked for a soulmate, my wife.
Full of passion, there was nothing I could not do, could not fix.
Throws of passion filled days and nights led to children, to the sum of six.
Three daddie's girls and three momma's boys.
Oh what perfect balance, oh what a joy.
A stay at home mom is what was in need.
So I blue collared my calloused hands till they hurt, till they'd bleed.
On one blue collar check we always managed to get by.
My wife not only great with our children, but she'd always have our money mysteriously multiply.
Those days have now passed, most of our children are all grown up and gone.
I look back to when I toiled relentlessly to provide, when I worked my hands clean down to the bone.
It's worth now is priceless, perhaps forgotten about by our children but not by myself and my wife.
When we were young we gave it all, everything we had, to give our six children the best possible life.
Now we have grandchildren and we smile so proudly, beaming, remembering what we have accomplished.
Together my wife and I created our own little community, siblings with numbers and love, something we always wished.
So now its our children's time to be young as my wife and I once were and admire their own passions, their very own dreams.
And its time for us to enjoy the sunrises and sunsets as our children begin to create their own little teams.

if awkward ever had to live a life.

it would always have that unsure half a grin.

it would have hands that perspire.

two left feet and mumbled unrecognizable words.

eyes that almost always look down towards the floor.

shoulders that are slouched, seem deflated.

if it had a twin it would be 'silence'.

together they would be 'awkard silence'.

there,
in the
cold hard
city streets,
on the
concrete jungle's
sidewalk.

his soul
exited
the body
amid the
powerful
aroma of
iron and
silently loud
gasps of
oh my.

his soul
circled
in
disbelief
and could
be heard
over the gasps
asking....


why?

when next
to me
at a
red light
i see a red
porsche,
i have never
felt a
need to press
more firmly
on the gas pedal
of my car
and say,
later fella.

when i see an
attractive woman
out and about,
i have never
felt a need
to make sure
that i absolutely
stand out.

when i lay
in bed at night,
it's poetry that
captures my
dreams until
morning's first
light.

when i sit
by a fire
breathing in
the first
harvest moon,
i fantasize
about autumn
and its
climactic
hues soon.

when i see
the first
snowflake and
it makes me
reminisce,
the first time
we engaged
in a passionate
eskimo's kiss.

when i see
the sunrise
and a sky
grey or blue,
i have
another day
of being me
but most
importantly,
'be you'.

Anyone else having issues?

as poets,

  we breathe in
the universe.

while others,

can only
   breathe in
themselves.

when the
sun's rays
meander their
way through
my bedroom
window's
blinds and
warm my
naked body.

blood quickly rushes
to all the
right places
and that
moment's lover
knows that
it's now time
to party.

there was
a voice
amongst
the
wind chimes.

it sang
softly
but
noticably
through
the wind.

it whispered
a melody
carried
boldy
to my ear.

but
like a
lullaby,
the breeze
heavied
my
eyelids.

the
clanking
chimes
drifting
me to
sleep.

the
voice
amongst
the
wind chimes
whispers...

rest now,

good night.

yesterdays
have been
lived in
like your
favorite
pair of
blue jeans.

tomorrows
are never
promised
and are
only what
might have
beens.

todays
are filled
with moments
saved for
tonight's
dreams.

put on
those
blue jeans
and live
like tomorrow
will never
be here.

tomorrow's
yesterday
is today
and today
those
blue jeans
want you
to dance
dear.

pagans are
heathens,
witches.

pagan
means villager, rustic,
civilian,
and itself
comes from a pāgus which refers to
a small unit
of land
in a
rural district.
it was a demeaning
latin term
that originally lacked a
religious significance.

wicca is a
movement
of pagans
that is
part of the occultist stream
of western esotericism.

they
don't believe
in religion,
they worship more than
one god,
they don't
believe in
our God.

pagans,
believe
in the
divine character of the natural world and paganism
is often
described
as an
earth
religion.

pagans
worship
the divine
couple in
wicca,
with the
lady as diana,
the
moon goddess, and the
lord as pan,
the horned god
of the
wild earth
while the
lower figure is mercury or hermes,
the god
or divine force
of magic - as shown by his wings and caduceus.

pagans can
be pagans
but,

pagans
are no friends
of mine.

she was
supposed to
be
'thee one'
to finish
all of my
sentences?

well,
i guess
that
she did.

she finished
them all
with a
question mark.

where the
shore meets
the sea,
is where
believers
fall to
their knees.

reaching out
your hands
you can
almost
touch it,
the horizon
is where
eternal peace
and forever
sits.

by car
by boat
by plane
the travel
towards the
horizon
only
teases us,
the only
way to
truly
get there
is through
Jesus.

I lay and stare up at the ceiling,
waiting with fear...
waiting with anger and confusion unappealing.
I seek comfort,
the comfort of home....
home is where I lay my head, it's my port.
Just twelve months ago the sun made me smile,
even a warm soaking rain I would crack a small grin...
the grin I took for granted like most for a while.
Everyday has now become a challenge,
the never ending hill....
the hill that breaks you of your spirit and breaks you of your will.
Dignity and grace are words that crowd my thoughts,
I'd like to keep my chin up and hide my tears from most...
slip away the man...a man that all will boast.

Trees forcefully stretched towards the eastern sky.
Timeless winds prevail, they mightily gust and howl.
They continue to bully the brown barked armored one.
Perhaps each day winning, even if by the millimeter.

Long slendered roughly textured bases.
Covered with a bright green moss on the cooler side, the shady side.
Feet rooted deeply into the soil which serves as its lifeline.
Making every branch that much more full, more robust.
Every leaf as green as jade, like the suit of a leprechaun.

Limbs at times if looked upon closely enough,
limbs that appear to reach the sun and clouds.
Wrapping themselves around each star, each moon.
Hugging them and thanking them for their galactic beauty.

A place of shelter and refuge for our feathered friends.
Riding out every storm in nested homes.
The aerie, the place they call their own.
Of straw, of mud and grass their castle in the sky.

A place of rest for metal cylinders.
Tied together in hopes of the wind kissing them.
This strange arrangement begins to sing.
It sings a melody to soften the hardest ear.

Where the catcher of dreams never sleeps.
It lies awake there, hanging, willow hooped.
Webbed like a spiders lair.
This one oddly enough has feathers.

Protecting its owner from nightmares.
The ones that eventually fade in the light of day.
Good dreams pass through sliding down the decorative feathers.
To comfort and nestle its unknowing sleeper.

That weathered tree will always live on.
Connecting all forms of creation.
Worldly and cosmic.
Uniting the earth with the heavens until there is no more.

remember,
remember back when you were just a toddler
and mommy and daddy told you to
beware of the monsters and strangers?

well,
what they were really telling you is that human beings/your friends are the real monsters
and danger.

never
remove your
eyes from
anyone.

once you have,
the damage incurred can never be undone.

eyes that smile hide a medieval darkness that sparkle like the blade of a guillotine.

a trusting fool
will always end up on the bad side
of a
crime scene.

my poems
are just
another
deposit

of my
life


in a
bank of
words.

i am
a cactus
in the most
extreme
conditioned
desert.

empty
like a
promise
full of
woe but
mostly hurt.

and
if our
paths did
never cross
again.

missing you
would stop
long before
a count
to ten.

ćause
alone is
when i feel
most safe,
most free.

alone along
the river
i want to grow
against
the wind....
the ilk of a
one of a
kind tree.

where,



do your
footsteps
go?

long ago,
my instinct was
to always
stand in
front of the
crowd.

be sure
to be seen
with hands
waving
feverishly,
here
i am.

but alas
as years have
rushed by,
i now have
no want
of being
loud.

in my youth
i was a
lion but now
with
maturity and
wisdom,
i am but
a lamb.

crime scene
tape is
yellow
in hue.

yellow is
friendship
joy and
get well.

more appropriately,
it should
be blue.

perhaps even
red to
represent
the flames
of hell.