Dancing at night in dark blue denims.
You left the taste of lemon
in my mouth when you asked me to drink it.
I smiled out loud when I heard of your visions.

Dancing in the diner parking lot.
The cheap speaker you brought
is still playing our music.
I yelled that we were infinite just like you taught.

Dancing at the railway station by rail cars.
Looking at the stars,
thinking about the ones to which we belong.
I point to a pretty pair and you smiled at the dark.

Dancing between demons and dreams
Why did I leave?
When did I get here?
When did I start this spark in the dark?
Lost in my fear
Frost frozen clear
To everyone but me
But here I spin in uncertainty
Is all this dreaming a poison or a cure to me?

I'll hurt myself
before you get
the chance.

heads of golden yellow stem so green and bright
standing up so tall standing so upright.

glowing in the sun in the early dawn
sat there on display in the early morn.

even in the boxes of the window sill
this lovely springtime flower the golden daffodil.

such a sight  to see such a lovely thing
i love to see the daffodils in the early spring

I was feeling
down
depressed
and dark.
I put
some
rocks in my
cup
to uplift my
spirits,
to climb
out of the hole.

I want to
run on
the clouds
and
touch the sun;
go 180 around
the third turn.
Feel nothing but
the wind;
go out like
Earnhardt Sr.
in
a blaze of
glory.
Last lap
last run.

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

Not always the writer's intent
Sometimes they are screaming on a page
Others make love to it
Took time to know that artists do much more with words than they are given credit
No matter what your genre is, if you write than you can hear me
It was never meant for to happen
The fact that it did is a gift
You all are gifted and you perfect and polish your craft
Can you see yourself?
Your heart is on your pages but where are your eyes?

C@rainbowchaser2020