it was february 4th when i
drove by
their home
and;
their Christmas
decorations were still up.

I just looked- smiled - and drove away.

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.

-
👨🏻‍🎨🎨

That light on the wall there,
it shines down like a ray of sunshine.
It begins so silently from its origin but then becomes so loud,
as if it were the big finish to a Mozart masterpiece.

The shadow of a bird is a blur,
a blur as it races through that ray of sunshine just like a raven in an Edgar Allan Poe novel.

And just then...that ray of sunshine falls weightlessly to the Earth below it,
Sir Issac Newton may have called this gravity.

The fallen rain I can hear traveling on the ground,
shhhhhh....
if you listen carefully you can too,
listen...and be captivated by the soothing sounds of this world much like Stevie Wonder and Helen Keller.

And now a deep sigh as the light had darkened and daybreak has crawled upon us....
just like a baby,
a baby that has it's whole life in front of it.
You?
Well......you have a new day.
Be that ray of light for others much like Moses was.
And perhaps one day your name too may be used in verse.

Our minds are so powerful....
allow yours to bring you to where you want to be.
I seldom live in reality....
Why?
It's often too painful to live in so....
I prefer to create, create beautiful images in my mind even if they aren't always there.

When I look up towards the stars, I may see something much different than you.
I see everlasting serenity.
I see me walking down Hampshire street, hand in hand with my Great Grandmother Sarah on our way to Nativity church when I was just a little boy.

I see,
a place void of anxiousness.
A place void of fear.
A place of long last ease and rest.
A tranquil active creek with subtle sounds of water flowing.
A place where the lions and the sheep play.
I see Heaven and a place for all beautiful hearts to forever stay.

you could
certainly

walk behind
worse

i'm
imperfect,
yes

But-

i am
worth
your time!

i am
not regret
that you
did

i am
only
regret
because
i have
no twin

My love is not for sale.
My love resembles no prison nor jail.

But, nor will I ever try to buy yours.
I can only tell you, true love feels like a summer storm's rain when it pours.

If it's material or gifts you need as proof?
That type of love is a lie, much like the little boy that cried wolf.

Perhaps what you feel then, is just not love at all?
That kind of love can be had by talking to a wall.

What I give is me, something I feel is quite valuable.
A love, a friendship, a person that is anything but malleable.

There is not another you, there is not another me.
So when we are dust of this earth, never again, you and I no one will ever again see.

All of the jewelry, all of the money in this world could certainly never buy me.
My love is the best kind of love, you receive it for free.

And sure, we may not speak or see one another as much as I would like.
But I understand life is very fluent, much like wheels on a Tour de France bike.

Doesn't mean that I will buy you gifts to fill that void, that missing.
Just means when I see you i'll want a lot more hugging and a lot more kissing.

Life is busy, life is very very chaotically busy.
Life is like Father Time, it never stops and it never will for you and me.

A simple phone call, a private message is all I ever need.
Simple things for a simple man, affection and love is all I greed.

Those types of things let me know that little ol' me, crossed your mind in some kind of way.
It's things just like that I never forget, things that totally make my day.

And that is certainly more than enough for me.
And....
and I hope it is enough for you -- from me, for eternity.

Why do I hope this to be?
Because my love is and always will be, .....free!

tonight's sky was cold-

cloudless, blanketless, alone-

then you, my moon, spoke-

In days
of
high anxiety
like these.

Days of
awakening
fresh and,
wiping
the sleep
from the
corner of
our eyes
to only
find that
the nightmare
is reality.

It's then that
I toss my
satin sheets
aside that are hugging my
naked body
and its
"morning wood";

rush
a shower
and throw
some coffee
upon my
inner spirit
animal
with a roar...

It's then that,

I always
find that I
lead myself
down by
the mighty
Niagara river.

It's here by
the mighty
Niagara river
that ...

my life
rides each
wave that
crashes up
against
the shore.

And...

The larger
the boat,
the bigger
the wave
that seeps
inside these
older bones.

The more
brilliant a
blue the sky.

The brighter
that the
yellow orb
shines,

The more diamonds that
shimmer atop
the mighty
Niagara river....?

The quicker that
my anxiety
yields to
the idea of....

"just another day",

which;

we all
it is not.

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.

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.

I have read many a word from a favorite of mine, Edgar Allan Poe.

Inspiration overwhelms me and his words I often keep in tow.

Macabre, a man that made his own paths, plodded through the quagmire.
A man that was a little off, outnumbered  and unafraid are traits that I admire.

Dark?
Sure, if you are as deep as a thimble full of h2o.

Dark?
I laugh....only as dark where the shadows of cowards grow.

Don't be afraid of those that dare to be different and walk alone.
Don't be afraid of their echoing, stand alone tone.

Poe and those like him are not shadows that cowards like you need to fear!

Poe and those like him are the only ones on this planet that live to keep things real.

A Quasar
is a
mere puddle
compared
to the
depth
of many
a poet.

I have written many sentences with my heart

I have written many sentences with my mind

Most often it's difficult to tell them all apart

There is me, there is you in every single line

Forever on words
I shall dine

I'm a poet, it's how every day starts

As my eyes first breathe the morning air

My heart and mind through words rise naked and bare

I write poetry
because
I feel that;
not enough
of you
listen to me
when I speak
as a matter
of fact.

And even
then;
at times,
I feel
as if
I am back
to
square one
again.