He danced on water to the rhythm of the waves spinning and twirling in the arms of time.

She craves his warmth his light, giving herself to him they moved with the tides in the dark of night.

Separated by time and space doomed to meet but twice a day fore she is night and he is day.  

Two lovers who will always be, separated by land and sea, touching twice a year far but ever near.

He’s her sun shining bright, shes but a reflection of his light, shining for the world to see


the magic true love can be.

I’m different this I know
I live my life differently
I write poetry,
I love whimsical slogans
but
I’m rooted in responsibility  Grounded in place by obligation
unusually passionate
a champion of the underdog
with
a strong desire
to love and be loved
seeing others in need breaks
my heart
but
l’m also self destructive
I can be bitterly jealous
I take unnecessary risks
I love blindly
I constantly throw caution
to the wind
and
as the Irish would say
I find myself in a fine kettle of *****
usually of my own making
so
to combat my faults, flaws and dragons
I have a simple rules
keep my mouth shut!
never voice my discontent
and
keep my demons and dragons caged  
I’m a wild creature that out of necessity has been domesticated
so
that she may walk freely in the world
but for a kiss
i have broken these rules
and
i have given my discontent a voice
Set free the dragon
who in turn released the demons
who now crave what they have
long been denied ................ love
but
for that kiss I would die a thousand deaths.

I love storms.
The promise, of thunder.
The possibility, of lighting.
The sound of rain on a tin roof.
The rush of the river.
The music the rain makes as it dances in puddles
In an attempt, to lure us out to play,
The sound of the wind in the trees,
There is no symphony greater,
No music invokes such emotion.
Sadness happiness all rolled into one sound.
The Allegra and Crescendo of the rain.
The flute sound of the wind as it whistles through the trees.
The bass sound as the river rushes the banks
.
The storm menu always the same
Fresh bread and soup.
The smell of bread baking and simmering soup,
mixed with the scent of smoke
and crackle of the fire
set a mood.
Curling up on the couch with a good book
and three fingers of whiskey.
Lost in the music of the storm,
the warmth of the fire,
the scents of fresh bread and simmering soup.
Together
They create an atmosphere, of
peace and contentment.
Oh, how I love a good Storm.