I write you poems in my head,
Hundreds thousands of them taking up space like the dead.

Some are sloppy with narry a rhyme,
Some are perfectly prosed and pieced in time.

Someday you will hear them,
Falling like prayers from my lips.

And when the day comes I hope you don't mind.
I hope you don't mind.

I write you poems in my head
Someday the stars will read them to you in my stead

And when the days comes that you hear
of my secret oaths to you my dear

Please bear in my mind
I needed no echo
... I only wanted you to know.

~Introduction~

I written here of late, under many guises and persona in order to let my work find its own unsolicited audience.
 This however, I must post as myself, for it is for my crew and longtime friends here.  
Even more so, I  must dedicate it to our Sally, who would not accept my repeated, intentionally, muddied "well" as an answer acceptable to any of her questions,  Thus, she inspired, and matriarched this prayer poem into existence.  As for the execution, the executioner takes me alone, as it should be, well and proper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well

wonderful multipurposed word
accumulates nuances like eyelashes,
dropping daily, but all there come the new dew's diurnal arrival

ask yourself
what rises,
what wells up
comes first foremost fired up,
when, parsed, passu from you lips
this faceted word wonderful nugget,
called, know to you as

....Well....

but before I bring you on
this compassed pointed
journey to dig deep a well mutual,
compulsed to present the ending,
of this voyage,
something never rightly done
but something
that charms, delights me insanely
and so,
that with a little mark,
not even a full fledged letter,
joins us too, well and proper,
my fellow poets,
I give you,
I leave you,
I join you
as
we'll
together:

thoroughly, soundly, carefully
so much more than mere sufficiently,
better than plain good and satisfactory,
yet, not well enough for the task in my hands solely
mark this word duly, fittingly

for in possession of intimate knowledge
of you and yours, and you, of mine,
so well we know, well we write
this new poem,
a cooperative dig,
trust and friendship lie in the near surface water table,
beneath our picnic blanket where verses are fed
grape and cherries, lip to lip,
enhancing each other's wellness on a summer Sun~day

momentarily, I am of less-than-well health or peaceable mind,
but that impropriety,
shelved for now, a lesser matter,
for I must behave like one of Bo's sheep,
good little boy, all my taled words well behaved,
for in the good company of my fellow crew and mates,
all that is shared here and now,
must be pleasing and good, even as
my welling tears are daring to be
clouded joyous side effects interrupting
our prosed companionship!

by the bay,
by the quiet crescendo of gentling waves,
I write, here where I write so well, so freely,
in my chair by the dock that awaits your first flesh coming,
this bay wide, deep, but no so wide that I cannot see the
old, prosperous, whale-oil receiving harbors on the other side

this bay to the Atlantic is borne,
so worry not, water for all aplenty,
and the words that float on top,
yours, if not more than mine,
awaiting your fetching, taking,
for have I not have more than my share drunk?

on the beach,
amuse bouche made,
bored, dug and gored in white sand,
littered with well-worn pebbles,
many little hidey holes,
within each,
a new poem captained and captioned,
a treasure hunt,
well beyond their prior good well hunting

but to a tour de force we enterprise,
fetch a shovel, *****,
and many little red, and yellow pails,
to the garden, to the park, to the strip of weeds
tween the concreted pebbled sidewalks, and dig

dig well and industriously, a few inches, a few feet,
for I am bringing all that fulsome bay water to you
magically from underneath,
only need to hear you scratching above,
to know thy location,
and inceptioning your well, with crystal fluid plenished,
thus, you need not wait to join me till you
reality can

this well,
is as an addition,
a well sensed joining,
our beings improved by us intercoursing,
for as well as could be
is a
could not be better than
from
water shared and poems
sourced and spilled thereof,
noel hymns born
fresh well water amniotic fluid

Lord!

listen well,
I command thee,
(for you and I, are well intimated)
I commend this motley collection of
wordsmiths to thy care, find them well
keep them that way

in every possible way,  
insure their inspiration wells to never be dry,
their modest frames well cared for,
leave them lives of good nature,
free of rancor

if shelter needed,
my ship's wells safe, secured, and many,
give them to me for care and repair

if they satisfactory, express,
leave them
well enough alone

These words have gushed,
torents poured from places deep and rarely seen,
so my prayer is not an everyday wishful thinking thing,
heed it well,
for I cannot be
everywhere simultaneous yet

encounter me now,
prima facie, finger to finger pointing,
know the ink in the well my pen drinks,
miraculously never ends
and so many things I need,
have promised,
poems that, well,
I write to you as needed,
with caution discarded,
demanding this exceedingly
and you cannot well refuse

We'll,

my mates and me
by the  bay
write together,
that
I eager await well,
that newly hallelujah day

~~~~~~

we
have
sensuously fondled
the soul of each other's mentals
with  
creative wordplay
prosed verbs and nouns
and emphasized the importance
of the vowels
U and I  

we
have
bathed in the
ocean of our imaginations
almost to the extreme of obsession
and composed thoughts of
double digits
like  
60nine along with
other numbers and letters
and rhymes with reasons that
b l e w our minds
m a n y
times

we
have
metaphorically
foreplayed to set our bodies aFLAME
and playfully insinuated which vowel was to blame
U or I?

count l e s s times
we
have
f
    a
l
   l
e
   n
into
the depths of
our verses and have been
s w e p t away by
the intensity of our poetic liaisons
e v e r y
s i n g l e
t i m e



©2002cj