"rhode" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Turquoise blues guitars
Laughing baby elephants (that paint)
Melodies singing lullabies to sleepy baby elephants
(tired from painting all day)
Blank canvases full of blackberries on the inside
The antidote to love
All the dotes that didn't get doted
And all the ones that did
Playing badminton in the backyard of Cupid's summer home in Manarola
The ruby that died to make Dorothy's slippers
And the shortest hair from the Lion's tail
Wine filled grapes
Water balloons filled from hot springs and melted mountain snow
Two spokes from Steve McQueen's "Great Escape" motorcycle
Three kisses from Ilsa Lund
And a smile from Sabrina Fairchild
Tom Robbins' typewriter (it's magic)
A flying dragon
A dragonfly (grounded for not doing her homework)
Jenny's phone number
The pillow that hit the floor at Cecilia's that afternoon
The third stair from the top of the Stairway to Heaven (best view)
One of the lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
And a grain of salt from the sea the other is swimming in
An olympic size pool full of melted crayons
A vile of sweat from the ever fleeing muse
A refrigerator the size of Rhode Island
Full of magnificent lines of magnetic poetry
Poetry (all of it)
The monster under the monster's bed
Every foul ball ever caught by any kid
Hammocks (any and every)
The cardboard boat that never stopped sailing down the gutter of the world
The secret to everything
(kept securely under the bed of the monster, under the monster's bed)
Santa's real address (you won't believe this)
The blue ink from the blueprints of Atlantis
Golf carts with no maximum speed
The energy dust left from dancing, hugging and smiling
Freshly climbed trees
A warehouse the size of Antarctica completely filled
Wall to wall with raw, unfiltered laughter
Beer
Everything that was left on the field
Passionate embraces and embracing a passion
Apology free, but full of forgiveness
The wild of the wilderness
The tame of the un-tame
Language
Intuition
Conception
First kisses, waves and winks
Goodbye hugs and thrown in kitchen sinks
Art
Music
Pain
Puddles that have been danced in under pouring rain
Empty film cans
Films on screens
All of these ingredients
Are what makes up
Dreams
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
As a child, I used to cut
apart maps of America,
separate the states and
put them back together
in strange geographies:
Kansas against Maine,
fling the Dakotas as far
away from each other
as they could go, press
New Mexico against the
breast of South Carolina.
I tucked tiny Rhode Island
into the palm of Michigan,
gave Nebraska a seaside.
I realize now the folly
in these stately migrations:
I never thought I’d wish
I could drive across the
border of Alabama into
Oregon’s deep woods.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
“every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
Letter from George Washington, 1790, to the Jewish community of Newport, Rhode Island
<•>
multiple motifs present poesy alternatives,
but one supremes
safety in your own chosen orchard,
supping on clear water, wine and figs
children of trees, nurtured by one’s own hands,
children of your children, running the grove,
shouting out in sweet safety
the wasps happy shameless pollinate,
dreaming of more generations,
ruefully smiling, thinking of
Adam and Eve, who ashamed of
their apple’d sexuality,
hid their nakedness of course beneath
the safety of
fig leaves
you do not pray for safety
you do not ask for anything,
nothing to fear says the father,
for you already live in our own
George’s garden of eden
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
You didn't say Hi
You didn't ask me
If I am well
Why would you care anyways
In your larger than life - Life
that you're living in the Big Apple
Nope.
You just wanted to tell me
that you were nominated for an Emmy
how blessed I am know know someone
who was nominated for an Emmy
I congratulated you
in the nicest way I could
and told you about the boring things
I've been up to
and you didn't respond
why should you
you are an Emmy nominee
living in NYC
and I am just Kimmie
who lives in Rhode Island
and has a normal 9-5 job
But you know what
I will never apologize for
who I am
and what I've done
no matter how small or
insignificant they seem to you
I will always remember you
as the gothic boy from high school
you were weird and I liked you
you made me laugh
and I never judged you
What right do you have
to judge me now
Well congratulations
You've done it
You've proven that
you're better than
the rest of us
You have done amazing things
Yes, you are going to have
the most amazing career
and I am genuinely happy for you
and you should be proud
but maybe
just maybe
stop ************ to yourself
Even though my life
might seem small to yours
in comparison
I am very happy
I love the simplicity of my life
and I would never in a million years
trade it for yours
So you live your BIG life Alex
or do people call you Samuel now?
And I will live my simple one
Have fun at the Emmy's next year
I'll probably be playing my Xbox
because let's face it...watching the Emmy's
is pretty boring...
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
There’s a rooster
that runs around trying
to ****
every hen,
goose,
guinea,
and
sometimes Super Dave Osborne
will even make a pass
at a close-enough finch.
Occasionally Super Dave ****** off
the Rhode Island Red.
Red measures twice
the height
and weight
of Super Dave Osborne.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:37 PM UTC
Here is a tale of blood, guts and war
The war is over but its still raging within
I can hear the bombs going off,hear the screaming as they hit the ground.
I’m back in Rhode Island Street, Highland Park, Detroit.
War has turned my heart to stone.
Now that you're gone I live alone, in this empty home remembering every word you've said.
Didn't bother to learn to become a father, old school all the way.
A 72 gran torino on display, I lived to work
Retired from 30 years in the auto plant.
Slowly the world has passed me by.
More black, more brown, more slant eyed
Still I know right from wrong
It’s the same here as in Hong Kong
When coward gangs seek power and control
I have to let them know they are digging themselves a hole
The weak and defenceless look with tired eyes
They let themselves become victims of a drive by shooting
I never express feelings of regret or remorse
In the night I made a plan
Go without a knife or gun in my hand
defeat my enemy with my brain
Making them believe I was insane
In an attempt to take on the entire gang
Yet they listened to my brave harangue
So I reached into my jacket for a lighter
They reacted like any street fighter
Opened fire to stop this threat
The church bells ringing
My body now in a casket
If you listen closely you can hear me say i'm the one to finish things
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
those are very sharp apples. bobbing for catheters and chasms have their own parabolas
or might you think your urchin skin; the pinnacle of passive violence
in the **** kingdom of your vibration
in the valley of our entropy.
the Either Nor'easter
of our zero degrees
West.
Due South of Sound Reason.
the locals call " the sound "
where the heads pool the dark waters of our consciousness
and eddies abide beneath the radiant dirge
of sweet sweet life, and singing blue whale pods in the dodgy brush-fires
of our Marianas Trench-coat Lining
the vocals explode the random and un-cloaked , it disappears as phenomenal
and all men seize the kelp beds of our delirium
with bashful wisdom.
I press my lips against your wet yes! and all this is January-nettles for jam.
for all seasons.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
I drink to the java they put in my cup
Brazillian or Turkish I guzzle it up
Starbucks to Borders just pour me my brew
I need that caffeine or my poet is through
'Fore I’m snoring away in a Manhattan minute
Fill up my mug with my potion poured in it
Those dark little beans are my favorite booster
I'm up to the task like a Rhode Island rooster
Phooey on tea leaves and colas with fizz
I’d cry to the heavens, is that all there is!!?!
With no mud or jamocho my words have no pomp
And no lovely check from old Wergle Flomp
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
On the shores of Vietnam,
She was Ly and
He was Tom.
He saved her from a falling bomb,
How much sweeter does it get?
He brought her home to see the states,
Took her on a couple dates.
He even set and cleaned the plates.
How much sweeter does it get?
They bought a home in east Rhode Island;
Decor to match her home in Thailand.
She acclimated to the dry land.
How much sweeter does it get?
Some years went by and Ly would cry
When Tom would get deployed.
"My country needs me."
"So do I."
They both would get annoyed.
So one day Ly brought up to Tom
That life is like a ticking bomb.
So with his quill
He penned his will
And ended back in Vietnam.
Bullets showered from the sky
And mines exploded from below-
But ****** really stole the show...
The warm night skies all orange aglow.
Ly heard soon of Tom's demise...
Tear drops glistened in her eyes.
But she was quick to realize
The will, the future; oh the prize.
How much sweeter does it get?
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
with good guns
and ****** marys
in a slow-spinning vestibule
with chairs made of wicker
and wood,
and accidental great whites
smiling from the ceiling.
music slips in from her viola.
we wish we were in a class
of language
by Fridays and last night's
setting fire to station wagons,
knowing not how to prevail.
from our seperate young boats,
one last sip,
we watch the sunrise
and we let life be the same,
equal distance between our names.
the afternoon ends with abnormal thunder
walking overhead like dead neighbors.
on the ground we walk their way, too.
so this is Rhode Island?
then music slips in.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting ***** trained undone
via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m**f*** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with their warrior whoosh!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
**there's nothing personable about wintry skies above the boston harbor
it gets ugly along the ridgepole of rhode island and providence plantations
this time of year
i ink off the dome
along the varicose veins of these violent streets
we smash more
because life indoors
is the gateway to new manners
or points of psychosis
if your boo doesn't get you
enough to get along
it storms snow where we bump
some think it's fine
or that it's by design lakes freeze over here
and mold mirrors made with angels in mind
but it's a terrific tragedy
the death of colors, inhibitions and innocence
choked away from the branches certain seasons undress
the way no one knows enough to mourn
but mother nature's a chameleon
and new england is the skin that won't keep
it's the backend of the wannabe springtime middays in may
when shorties lose their minds again
a few hours every other day
rock cutoffs and capris
because the sun showed her shine again
but she's so premature
and we've dreamed dreams before this way
against the grain
so we get high to get by like smokeheads do
but i need something sexier to wake up to
like garden birds and backyard bird feeders
american robins and the orioles
that i imagine must use their sugar water to maintain better bongs
because it's a slow burn...
the backside of northeastern calendar months
and my consequent mood swings
are 1 of 2 things that need adjusting
but it is what it is, and too cold anyway
so smiles crack beneath the pressure
like glass poets in poetry slams**
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
A gray day – cool, frost will come tonight.
And in the coolness they arrange the scene,
Just so during the waning light of day.
A scene of Christmastime, wreaths and lights
Adorn the doors and window frames.
Wealth and solidarity, joy and love I see in them.
They pose now before their work.
The camera snaps,
Their well-being so obviously displayed.
In the future they will go each by each,
Yet bound by such events
A family they will forever be.
Of that family I so record
In these observations from afar.
Now pray a grace protects them from the likes of me.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
1. MISSISSIPPI II
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
2. SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
3. L.A.
The real ***** Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
4. WYOMING
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone. That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
5. VERMONT
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
6. NEW HAMPSHIRE
Charlie and Kathy
are from here. They're nice to
know if you can find them
7. MASSACHUSETTS
The prettiest girls live
in Boston. They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
8. RHODE ISLAND
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
9. NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls. Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
10. HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
11. DELAWARE
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
12. MARYLAND
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
13. VIRGINIA
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
14. WASHINGTON STATE
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
15. OHIO
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
16. ILLINOISE
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
17. ASSISTANCE?
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
18. INDIANA
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
19. WINDS OF CHANGE
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today.. I knew he blew.
20. COYOTE TRIED
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
*I contend that it is not my place to give testimony or
To tell what love is but that I must include love
Here now so that I can get on with my story
Intelligibly with the help of the word itself
Without any other ideas or explanation for it.
Dr. David Dosa, speaking on behalf of Oscar the cat,
Stated that Oscar was never wrong and that Oscar
Seemed to have some innate ability to know when a
Patient at the Steere House Nursing Home was going
To pass - going all the way back to when the cat was a kitten.
Dr. Dosa went on to say that the pernicious, anti-social cat
At the Rhode Island center would only cuddle up to those
Patients who were in their last 2 to 4 hours of life.
The talented Oscar has proven the medical staff wrong on
Several occasions when patients were close to death.
Dr. Rosa – when asked about Oscar’s accuracy stated
That Oscar was right 100% of the time and that to his
Knowledge or to his staff’s knowledge that Oscar had
Never gone in and cuddled up to any person who was
Not near death, something that he had to accept - that
The cat had better instincts than he – a doctor – possessed.
At present, I hope that I have sufficiently captured
The reader’s understanding that there are yet many
Things out there in the real physical world that neither
Science nor religion can understand but I know what
Oscar knows – what he knows is this thing called love.
Now that phrase is not at all to my liking.
For to say a man is fallen in love, -
Or that he is deeply in love, -
Or up to the ears in love and sometimes
Even head over heels in love carries
With it an idiomatic implication that love is
Somehow beneath the man (fallen) – something
Regurgitated in Plato’s opinion which with all his
Divinity ship – I for one hold that the thought of Love
Being beneath a man be damnable and heretical.
While Oscar the cat simply says – let love be what it will.
And possibly, just possibly - gentle reader -
Without any further current explanation, so do I now
Join ranks with Oscar as I write of a love that is
Alive and well – and if I do not come and cuddle
With you it is not because I do not love you.
Tis but my task to find those in greater need and
When I find them near death, afraid or lost
I, like Oscar, I know of their fear and of their
Desperation so with pen in hand
I purr next to them cajoling
Them onto their next great experience.*
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Collin is still four.
If you haven read any of our poems,
In my collection "Son",
You would know that Collin is my little ghost baby.
Collin is four,
And my absolute pride and joy.
Tiny ghost hands,
And a tiny heart beat.
I kind of like,
How he isn't going to grow any bigger.
We moved yet again, this September.
To another state completely.
Collin doesn't mind.
He quite likes Rhode Island.
He likes the train station
And the little ghost girl who lives there.
He now wants a sister,
Of course.
But she's only three,
And I didn't just find Collin,
He chose me.
I just wouldn't know how to go about it.
So we'll see.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
You can have Tennessee,
I want Rhode Island,
You can have Michigan,
But I want Arizona.
You can have Manhattan,
Austin,
Las Angeles,
But please pay no mind to West Virginia.
I deserve Hatteras,
Considering my childhood
Phoenix? Please keep it, I don’t belong there
I want the subways,
The taxis,
And Vegas,
I’ll promise to steer clear from your home state,
New Hampshire.
Make sure to take the country roads,
railways,
and buses,
As long has as you never step foot in Seattle.
You can have our old apartment,
I get the dog though,
He likes me better,
Burn down the bar where we met long ago.
I want Wisconsin,
Maryland,
Ohio,
Say hello to your mother for me in California.
A mutual declaration,
We divide our favorite places.
If we’re lucky,
We’ll never contact again.
We’ll map out the borders,
Part ways,
Shake hands,
Declaring the love we had,
uninhabitable.
And yes, we’ll split the difference.
If we should step on each other’s path,
in passing,
Despite my avoidance,
I will be very humble,
Very stern,
Aloof,
But forgiving.
I don’t ever want to see you again, my friend.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Leaning on that granite wall
that sacred place
where the town folk once were blessed
and rested.
Techno beats entwined with thoughts............
and I'm lost again.
Lost to the music
lost to myself
and to a reality that never really was,
never likely to be.
A place to dance
a place to see.
Those colours when I closed my eyes......
what was contained in those fracturing patterns and shapes
as they sluiced and mingled together.
In every mind present
but different in those minds eyes.
Eyes that never sleep
the ones that brings us sweet release.
Observing and revealing all in turns
the mix the Dj's spinning
it burns,man it burns.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
when i was younger,
i used to make these bucket lists.
in second grade we were learning about the fifty states and one day we were given a map of the united states.
we were to color the states that we had been to in red. and the states we wanted to go to were to be colored blue.
i distinctly remember having a map covered in a shade of the vast sea because for some reason back then i thought if i could see all these cool places i would better my person.
i've been in many more than 50 states.
sadness. happiness. guilt. excitement. disgust. jealousy. frightenment. joy. exhaust. et cetera.
and a gross combination of each.
texas, rhode island, maine. those are all just divided in lines that different people claim they own. but in reality death is the only guarantee we have in life and that may seem crazy and some people may believe that they are immune to this curse. i'm here to assure you that you are going to die. and shortly after your name will never be found in mouths of people who once knew you but only be seen in past year books. and even then you'd be lucky to have your name recognized. along with your name, your possessions will no longer be known to you. the only thing you'll really ever have is yourself and i'm sorry for that.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Heart is racing..
Will I get to see him?
"Flight is delayed for replacing a tire for an hour"..
Crap.
Stuck in Chicago for another hour...
Just want to see him
Finally get on the plane..
To Philadelphia she goes..
Just a couple more hours
Missed flight to Rhode Island..
This couldn't possibly get worse
Waits for 2 hours..fidgeting..worrying..
Gets on that plane finally..
Now I'll be able to see him
Gets to Rhode Island, driven to Connecticut
Checks into hotel..
Just a few more hours and he will be out of class
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
Jumps out of her skin, opens the door.
Embraces his body, as if she doesn't want to let go.
I missed this man greatly..
Kissed and embraced, then made love for what it seemed like hours.
"Get up, lets go get something to eat"
"Hurry hurry!"
Starts freaking out, she can't seem to find her clothes where she put them
"Calm yourself, shh, here close your eyes for a minute and calm down"
The best was yet to come..
"Open your eyes, Will you marry me?"
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 10:49 AM UTC
Recall the training days of April with
juvenile curiosity , myriad painted butterflies
sailing golden-green opportunity
Wisteria , honeysuckle fencerow borders ,
Young Cottontails darting to an fro over
flowered , broom sage cover
Honey and nectar filled the air , Quarter
Horses worked the stair step valleys on
dew covered morns , Longhorn cattle
called home by the tolling farm bell ,
Rhode Island Reds foraged the fresh turned
farrows , sunbeams emblazoned woodland narrows
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
we'll sit here and listen as it envelops our existence
silently we'll witness the instant come with no resistance
just reminiscing about how it was
how it is how it never will be and how come
letting the sand slip through our hands like an hourglass
our last thoughts of how fast the hours passed
back when time mattered + we shattered every dream we ever had
and then walked on the shards to bleed and understand
my feet never healed. it's a constant reminder that
things fall apart
and that life is defined as
an action that you would have taken differently
if you had only known
like this epiphany of you and me alone
looking into your eyes as they reflect the chaos in the sky
yeah - better late than never
although we would've been great together
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 1:05 AM UTC
On a flat gray sea a freighter moves
to feed, to care, to improve,
sunlight gone, lights blaze,
against the careless sea
the freighter goes, little by little.
© 2016
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC