"hinted" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
“Oh you’re Irish?” he said.
“Did you learn the language much?” he said.
Honestly, what can I tell him? I was raised in the North - a ****** wasteland for such a naïve question.
Vague memories of fumbled classes where our secret history was ditched just to get straight into the basics (Cad é mar atá tú?)
No – seriously - I was not tied to it – it was anonymous to me at that age.
Forgotten like some distant echo of once visiting Coole House as a child.
Sure, we knew it was “important”, “our national language”, “heritage” etc. and we were warned it was quickly slipping into the drain of Western hegemony.
But it was baffling, unsexy and only the blunt-faced humorless IRA thugs amongst us were in any way keen.
Then it was gone, just like the faded memories of “The Children of Lir” from my primary school.
Looking back I wonder, what was the point?
A half-full measure paying lip service to our identity.
Teachers and headmasters terrified of the grand colonial reveal that the lessons might have hinted at (were they trying to stop us being Provos-in-waiting?).
And all of this against the awful shame of a common tongue that had no foe yet was slowly vanquishing from our shores.
It could have all been so different.
Rather than rushing to get something in our empty skulls, they could have given us a sense of joy, pride & belief in our own culture.
Calling on Yeats, Behan, Heaney and others to drown us in the language of our ancestors.
Telling the stories of old that only the academics & hippies were keeping from us then.
You know, it might kept us all on the same beautifully illuminated page.
We might have been comfortable in our skins and open to others,
not looking deep into our worthlessness and lashing out at them.
Language is being and language is connecting, I’ve learnt.
But that’s not something I got from my secondary school.
June-July 2018
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
I could still smell lavender, hinted
winds from the east I’d once caressed.
And I could still smell that Lavender
When I look down to watch the ants
scurry. Once more, I could still smell
Lavender come empty and my life In
a bubble atop the world. And at last,
the Lavender’s gone, when trees root
elsewhere.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!
Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew
Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts
Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.
Praise me, praise me.
Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?
But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?
Origins unknown
Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.
What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you
Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.
It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.
I egged you on.
I loved you back.
I’m sorry.
#MeToo
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
lesson #1: in the beginning, all poems on Earth were formless
on blended knee, the approaching, humility, raging, barely
tempered by a gale force need, the forthcoming yoga pose of compose
you have urgings, mostly in a blink of an eye,
then going, gone notions, the writing is so a losing effort,
you turn the paper’s aperture sideways hoping to get an
inside straight insight,
but the poem refuses to come, the creation ******
delayed is torturous and the poem birthing, even worse
so you revert to basics to give the formless a shape,
recalling a child’s learning that in the beginning:
“the earth was formless and void,
darkness was over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the surface of the waters.…”
so you insert a single sheet of 20Lb bond paper,
sliding the typewriters carriage smooth swift
over to the starting gate hell’s bell, typewriter machine smell erotically exciting creative fluids boiling,
typing, laughing out loud, forming entree to the hinted hallway
of a womb opening to a crafting with three words:
in the beginning
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 5:05 PM UTC
*Sometimes it's a cactus, not a rose
that pinches the heart of a lover
though, she doesn't smell musk
or her eyes aren't lined with kohl,
he was weary and looking for an elusive spirit
which even he wasn't clear what, but found in her.
Breaking away from the caravan
hurtling down the dusty road
to an unknown town in that arid desert
he spoke to the cactus, whose eyes met his
when a shiver passed through the psyche of both.
Cactus, stood looking at him, her sad smile hinted
to the heartbreaking news they have to face,
cactus, broke her silence, said she was happy
on being looked after by the hollering sun,
howling desert wind and sand storm cover her
with utmost affection,"They are my cousins,
they know me well all these years,
I let them decide for me what I need..."
they stood looking at each other, for a minute,
nothing more was to be told
"Have no misgivings, stranger, though my lover you are,
we live or die here together, but your destination is far
you are a rare one, readily gave your heart
to a mere desert cactus, that rarely flowers,
your perception, is the creation of your vibrant mind
I respect your passion and spirit of adventure,
we live the way we are made to live, why bear the pain of change,
I hope you know what I mean,
we live the way the most fitting for us, love is sacrifice too,
we both have hearts that beat together, I am blessed
but now, we have different choices, who can say who is right
the logic we espouse are different, though our hearts crave to be together*"
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
You are like economics,
Your addictive touch, my unlimited want.
Forget our chemistry, physics & genetics,
But you, I just can't!
Ne'er scarce in relation to my demand,
You know my every mood & curve.
You alone, can my heart command,
As market prices shift & swerve.
I am normative, you positive,
Opposites attract? Tis true!
Our every action, cumulative,
Together, the perfect graph we drew.
Your utility, I cannot question,
You chipped away my unstable equilibrium.
Your every approach, devoid of confusion,
Insurance of our love, requires no premium.
Though our needs are ever recurring,
Our time, brief and limited.
Memories created are never-ending,
Opportunity cost for you? Never hinted.
You are the good, worst, better & best,
Most importantly, you are never a test!!
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Dre and the chronic came out like how'd I want it;
The g funk gangster now hollywood Prankster with a little of that, you know B funk wankster probably jests was safer
claiming when everything hinted in song was stealth cuz it all was health, like if i moved to compton to expose the stealth
my friends like my friend Toney too aboriginal to expose himself
nuff said
and Peter getting **** from all innocence to all claimed are really enemies before the stealth cuz now he's stand
bred aboriginal relate like his gained was stand claiming he's green eggs and ham when all i fed him was the green eggs and spam
I'll knock first before I was wack as strength to knock confusion the **** out like you in **** dirt; the patience actually was the equal in lengths,
**** it all, like i ever needed was precision-aim-range like they all needed me to prove each women given to birth precision like it was deranged strength
when i hid from the aim range, all gained in gay haste, to what i as game take: i'll expose the ************ like actual gained raise to ever touch, that how fast it was that when the game takes at *** grabs at tag match when at back when at me..... Strength Triumph Pain
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
I Saw A Nightmare The Other Day,
I Saw A Night Spent In A Cave,
Food Is What I Just Like All Others Crave.
You Can't Stop Shivering Anytime,
You Try Sitting Closer The Fire,
You Arrest Your Hands To Heat Them Up.
As You Look At The Grim Sky Of Night,
A Tear Trickles Down Your Eyes,
And You Quickly Wipe It Off Lest It Freezes.
They Start Talking About Blame,
They Put The Blame On The Mother,
Then You Try Not To Scream At Them.
For It Might Well Be The Earth's Bane,
It's Her Revenge Returning Every Torture,
Why Put The Blame On Her You Ask Them.
"The Earth Has Its Cycle Of Cold," They Say,
"Wasn't It Us Who Made Her Bound To Do So?" I Demand,
They Stay Quiet - Speechless To Say Anything Knowing What I Hinted.
Then I Woke Up Disturbed By A School Van,
I Try Not To Think Of My Nightmare,
But As I Peer At The Van From Behind The Curtains - The Nightmare Seems So Smokily Near.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
It was on Hallowe'en when we said we'd meet;
as we thought it might be romantically spooky;
and I trotted gaily along the pathway
through the dimly-lit park
where the predator gay *** maniacs roamed
hoping for a bit of backdoor action
and my excited little heart went
"YI YI YI YI YI YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
with eager anticipation
of a hot new nymphomaniac date.
We had been a-texting with
ever-increasing frankness
for several weeks and I was beginning
to get tired of wiping the keyboard clean
after each bout of frenzied
manual self-stimulation
which she had boldly urged me to
and the built-in camera was out of order
because of the damp ***** build-up.
I found the pictures she sent me
stimulating to say the very least
especially the one with the melon
peeping out from between her legs
and I found her blood-red eyes
rather exciting really
once I got used to them;
and I was quite looking forward
to the love bites she promised me
which was why I had washed my neck
with particular attention to the blackheads.
Promptly at the stroke of midnight
my putative mistress arrived
with a ******* great clap of thunder
and to say I was surprised by her sulphurous breath
would be putting it mildly
and the fifty-five inch waist
was a bit of a disappointment,
and I honestly and truly think
she might have mentioned
the suppurating scabs
and oozing boils
or at least hinted at them.
As I fought the ravening hell-bitch off
with the hatchet I had wisely brought
in my briefcase as a safety precaution
once more I rued my innocence:
how many times have I been let down
after such high hopes from internet dating
and yet - trusting soul that I am -
I had again let my heart go astray.
Once it was all over
and I gazed down at her hideous
and mutilated corpse bleeding
and twitching on the ****** bitumen,
I lifted up her skirt
just to check the melon photo
hadn't been a fake;
and although there was no large
piece of fruit in situ at the time
I could see it had always
been a very real possibility.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
11-11-11- past 11a.m.
I missed it.
I wanted for me what happened to my friend
in Australia
She was walking down the street and at
11-11-11- 11a.m.
almost everyone around her
took a bow to such powerful numbers
11-11-11-11a.m.
(Perhaps we shall be saved she said)
Today, my 11-11-11, I was shopping for my lovers feast;
Hummus and crispy organic veggies
Fresh beets and pure ****** olive oil
Local goat cheese to die for
My phone alarm rang letting me know it was 11:10
(I did not hear it) as I was talking to Max my grocer
About:
Just picked Arugula and sweet Irish butter
(To mound a top San Francisco sour dough)
He hinted to me not to miss out
On:
Butternut squash and meaty pomegranates
"A lucky omen" he said, "on a day like today."
“What do you mean A day like today?” I said
“Well it’s 11-11-11” he smiled
“Oh my goodness” I faintly cried (almost too loud),
“I missed it!” (I saw the time on the wall where I was shopping)
“Missed what?” he said
"Missed out on experiencing 11-11-11-11.a.m."
“Oh my dear you missed nothing”, he said as he reached toward me with
A huge ripe pomegranate. I felt flush from wanting something
that now seemed so gone.
“No”, Max pointed out, “you have more than feeling a set of numbers
In the movement of the day”,
“You were here planning a feast for a loved one
(yes I told him it was a lovers dinner)
What could be more in acknowledging the power of life
Than love?”
I said nothing as I beamed and took that pomegranate and
Ohhhh
I felt so good.
Linaji 2011
(an almost true story)
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
From white to many,
From one to seven,
We live in that heaven,
Which is people driven.
We should rainbow our-self,
And then the battle is won.
Bending from white to many colors, as rainbow itself,
What could we have done, if we had only been one.
Rainbowing is an art, which we have to attend,
Coz every time we have a different self to present.
Our battle with life is mellowed, when we rainbow,
As winning seem as close as, those seven colors through my window.
The artist told me about it once,
The Almighty hinted when the creation of it was done.
Yet the juvenile me, always pondered,
That there is some magic happening, when it thundered.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
Have you not noted, in some family
Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,
How still they own their gracious bond, though fed
And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?—
How to their father’s children they shall be
In act and thought of one goodwill; but each
Shall for the other have, in silence speech,
And in a word complete community?
Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love,
That among souls allied to mine was yet
One nearer kindred than life hinted of.
O born with me somewhere that men forget,
And though in years of sight and sound unmet,
Known for my soul’s birth-partner well enough!
2.6k
If bedbugs become pets~ is there a possibility~someone is spending to much time in the sack~and not stepping out into what the Real World~ "Offers Up"~even tho the Bedbugs seem more friendly..... If you Cry over White onions~why cry over the Red one ? ? Turkeys Trot to a dance taught by man~Pretending to be foxes~always close to the tail . A Truly honest man~Would~Not be believed~if it weren't for the Falsehoods that Truly exist ! ! Staples when firmly pressed~Usually hold things together~SO___What makes these staples unworthy of being served up at dinner ? Ever think about yard sticks? ~ and How Come your neighbors don't have any sticking up~ and your the only one that meets the measure. . . POE only hinted at the torment of Modern man~Stories in Stupors don't find the center of the heart~ Unless they are really experienced . . It's sorta like being poured into a Landfill~But like a Good Cork~You can't seem to sink all the way~Your head just bobbing above~and continually being that ready target~as additional waste'PILES AROUND ! ! It's like walking into a familiar room~But as you turn on the light switch~you discover~that you are now the "Stranger"~in a strange place. . Life is like a Trampoline~casting ones thoughts up and down for review~NOT considering that some may be actually measuring the values presented. . *The *Broken heart of a man'who loves the woman who opened that door~ May Never be receptive to repair~NOT ENOUGH PARTS LEFT ! ! As the Lights "Come-On"~ it's like being at the Helm of the 'TITANIC" ~ assured that all others are off safely~__AND~ the Shaking of Life Begins .......
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
and I loved it...
the efficacy,
the efficiency,
obeying, used,
the being used
to muse,
all in one word,
verbed and j'accused,
identifying the culpritess
(for my M-use is
definitively a woman),
I say:
Please baby,
Please bossy,
Please sir,
muse me some more?
M-use me, use-me,
accuse-me, heck,
abuse-me,
my tongue, my lips,
(especially, my lips)
your devoted
poet-servant.
give me spiel,
words to make
them laugh,
groan and squeal,
do me baby,
one mo' time,
the big reveal.
you know I am
exclusive to you,
others get my body,
but only you
get my
my poetic
streams of screams
things I can
never confess,
peeve but at the hinted
whisper of them,
things that weaken me,
in the places
where poems
umbilically
die stillborn,
the chord
connecting
just us two,
it, that chord,
wrapped round
my throat
choking off
my special voice,
cause you want
just those words,
My Muse,
all for yourself
and I can't say no
to
My Muse,
My Conscience
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
“This Insubstantial Pageant Faded”
(spoke by Prospero, The Tempest, by W. Shakespeare)^
<>
Our words are all actors,
a long run, run its course,
our long playing record,
scratched, love~worn to
worn out extremity, yet
yeoman service did offer,
extreme only in magical
transforming plain sight
into visions, a legacy,
bent gray, tarnished by
weary wearing aging,
their brief sparks now
but reclamation flares of
burst lights of waning days
in short lived tastings of what
was and can be nevermore
everyone’s magic has its preset
timed timing, and with
every day, each a concentric
ring marked and hallowed,
a heartbeat ring narrower
than its predecessor,
a shallower hollow,
a fair represent of both
all that came our way, and that
we resent with no resentment
into a cloud capped atmosphere
for all to ****** from a flailing,
flying breeze, their brief gleam,
multiplying, thus envisaging,
illuminating the manuscript of our
hinted future forward’s next percept
*
“And like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep”*^
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 8:23 AM UTC
splurge on the urge to serve well colored desserts
binge with no purge.
chomp away conversation and feel it where it hurts
you are more abundant,
than all the currency you could ever carry in your pocket or purse
yet one of those black holes carries anxiety, profiling, while fear lurks
For many moons, mirrors were dispersed to the cursed,
Weeping and wallowing in whispering whirlwinds of woeful words unheard -
preventing
the never-ending spreading by attempting image cementing,
projecting lists with thoughtless flaws causing immediate rejection
with time the mind played a game to cage you in it's name,
draining your pay, benefits, and full pension
releasing the need to sow the seed for an introspective gaze
you hold the key to breathe through the chains of that imaginatory detention space
inhale
exhale
Suddenly walls lift from the maze you assumed was fatal race
Your heart glows
Knowing you're on the path you were hinted at but never faced
To forever flow forward with a loving third eye seeing absolute grace,
emitting energy in everyone, thing, mirror, and place
immediate influx of infectious bliss-infusing airwaves vibrate to the tune of soul affection~
to realize inbetween scenes you appreciate the mystery,
part of a pinpoint plan, puzzle piecing the learned ability to see -perfection~
It's you.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
An eye of ocean,
Sapphires float around its gently pulsing centre,
The ebony darkness breathes,
And what seemed a simple shade,
Becomes a plethora of distinct hues,
Defined in hinted flecks,
Beneath a glistening,
A shimmering,
Of flowing glass,
Calm now,
Slowly,
Carefully,
With a hint of uncertainty,
Floating sapphires around an ebony darkness,
Are blocked from view,
And with a steady sigh,
Released into sleep.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
dear little me,
you’re taught that if a boy is mean to you, he likes you. you watch all these movies and read all these books about jerks and scumbags who fall for good girls and subsequently ‘act right’ for them, and only them. you think this will happen to you. please don’t date the ‘bad’ boys.
no, the boy of your dreams is a suburban drummer with hair the color of the earth, and the kind of laugh that makes you smile, even if you’re trying as hard as you can to be mad at him (which you never really are).
you listen to him. everything he has to say, you listen. even if you heard it all before, you listen, because nothing makes you happier than the sound of his voice when he’s talking about something that interests him, or how his day went, or something that made him laugh. and he listens to you. everything you say, no matter how dumb it is, or how much you stumble over your words, or ramble on about things that aren’t very interesting, he listens, and he doesn’t think you’re stupid, and he doesn’t think you’re annoying, and he never ignores you. ever.
he introduces you to his parents on valentine’s day, and doesn’t make you feel like you owe him anything. he buys you that bear you hinted at wanting the week before, which you end up sleeping with every night, and aren’t even ashamed to admit.
he naps with you, which you’ve always dreamed of doing with a boyfriend, because, let’s face it: you’re boring, and you sleep more than a sloth. he’s a heavy sleeper, which makes you laugh, and you poke him or rest your head on his chest or whisper things to or about him while he sleeps because he won’t know about it anyway.
he gets you out of the house. even though all you ever want to do is lie in bed and sleep, or watch netflix and drive yourself insane from isolating yourself so much, he gets you out of the house. he gets you interested in things you convinced yourself a long time ago not to try. he shows you things you never had the energy to look for.
sometimes, you’ll find yourself scared, because your anxiety woke you up and told you that he doesn’t like you anymore, or that you’re annoying him, or that he’s leaving, and you ask him, almost every day, ‘do you still like me’, and he never seems bothered by this, even though you swear he is, and he always says ‘yes’, and you always smile and you'll find life a little less heavy.
even if, for one reason or another, the two of you don’t last forever, know that this is one of the happiest times of your life, and that you were okay, which is all the two of us ever wanted. you’ll still date those boys who hurt your feelings and make you feel small.
you and i both know that you can’t resist the temptation to see if the books and movies are true, though, and you’ll end up sad. you’ll ***** up. you’ll mistreat the people who care about you, and you’ll hate yourself, for a little while, but, the boy of your dreams will be there. he always was. that’s the boy you give your time and attention to; that’s the boy you choose: the boy who saw you at your lowest, and still chose you.
sincerely,
bigger you
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
i, night, hung about thy cheeks more splendored
beams crisper and wholly brisk with wind
than even winter could. i stroked about the
penultimate hour of your face the little and
stranger carelessly perfect lips of my face
and drinking so stilly the sky is abrupt
with normally clothed stars; **** and playfully
abundant. i lay my heart with thee and i am
increased. i lay hands with thee and i am
between the velour of your not-covered thighs
making, with you, an errant child like Demeter
and Poseidon (who hangs his restless skin upon
the nape of the coiled neon streets. hinted
at his edges just; the circlet of the bay, i wander
in thee night.)
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
**** on my nose and question the ethereal depth of my love for Dark Matter.. the beer and the cosmic phenomenon. Ask me why you think we should love one another in the darkest prison, laughing at the ghosts, scoffing at the shadows, screaming in delight: 'depersonalized madness can't hear me now!'
Your pupils are dilated with panic. Too much coffee, you addicted, raging barista-wannabe. Too much indication that the owl whooting WHO is asking, 'who?' Or making reference to the World Health Organization and the spread of Ebola across the western sub-sahara SHUT THE **** UP, OWL, I DON'T WANT TO CONSIDER WHAT ITS LIKE TO BLEED OUT THE EYES.
Drifting along in life, driftwood getting paid to drift along as long as it can stay a bit past nine and help the boss close up shop. Dressing all indifferent as if black Urban Planet pants that require a lint roller are worth the $20 they charged or if the polo shirt you wear was really worth the 80 you spent recklessly when a previous boss hinted you'd breached dress code by showing up shirtless on the very first day.. you ate nothing but Mr Noodles and bruised apples for a week just to help a CEO make bonus on his margins and afford the violent takeover of Exxon Mobile.
SCREECH AND SCREAM LIKE THE RAGING TINNITUS YOU TRY TO DROWN OUT WITH STRANGE SPACE MUSIC from spheric-lounge. Is depression all that bad if cipralex makes your jaw clench as if it were overdosed MDMA? Perhaps I'll feel well on Welbutrin, smell putrid, feel stupid, noticed that my love life is just another betrayal by a loopy cupid, my Lawd.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
The sweltering sun shone down upon me
As I stood under the shade of the sycamore tree
Its branches stretching out as I felt the cool breeze
That gently touched my cheeks
In this on slaughter of summer heat
The crispy cool breeze that hinted
Its delicate coolness just made me
Yearn to go for a long summer swim
Ah to be strolling along a beach
Watching the waves lap against the shore
As I stroll and kick the waves aside with glee
Then running free and wild into the deep blue ocean
That beckons to me
Then floating in its pureness of cool waters
As I drift along with its surging tides
And feel the heat of the sun shine down on me
Oh I am in heaven to be able to just to relax
In this oasis of bliss
Then as I waken to the sounds of cars passing by
I glance to my left and think…hmm to be at the beach
This fine and wonderful day
Now that would be pure bliss
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC