I can't say for sure at what age you
suddenly start to really
take the world in,
but I have these
specific memories of being
an angsty fourteen-year-old
running laps around the reservoir
at swim practice.

I was so young,
but old enough that I really thought
I knew what love was,
and maybe I did,
maybe I knew love in a certain kinda way,
a certain kinda love I'm too old
to understand now.

I ran laps.
I remember noticing my breathing,
the one-two-three huff-huff-huff
rhythmically circulating oxygen as I
went numb from the waist down.
I remember thinking about this
boy that I loved in
some way or another.
I remember noticing the water's
gentle splashing,
the way the high, hot sun reflected off its splishing.
I remember the sound of runners
passing me by,
the sight of those I passed doubled over
from a "cramp" or maybe just
laziness.
I remember the way my coach yelled and yelled,
pushed and pushed.
I remember feeling and thinking so
many
different
thoughts,
noticing so
many
different
things.

I remember the first time that
I just took in so much
I had to go home and write some
love poems,
spilling my guts onto college-ruled paper
in some various-colored
gel pen.

I can't say for sure at what age you
suddenly start to really
take the world in;
I can't say for sure at what age a poet
suddenly becomes a
poet;
but I have these
specific memories of the first time
I took the world in,
and I decided to write
about it.

Eyes alight
Laughter loud
The waves hittin d shore, d only sound
As v wade into the crystal blue
Splishing n  splashing-so much fun
stories n jokes over bbq
as up above dances d sun
Tho smile on my face a sadness lingers
i should stop hoping,coz its hoping for nothingness
wishful thinking's steel cold fingers
I should stop believing on u i guess.
I should let go of u,coz it drives me mad
i need to let go,i dont wana b dis sad.
I should let go of u... n slowly i will...
D only question now...
is well, how?!

He lazily wonders, "would it be best,
to manifest,
this array as a poem?"...

Dribbling, drabbling, splishing and splashing,
Summer's scorn whirls unlashing.
Gutter strikes throng cluttered pipes,
filled to burst before crashing.

Concrete delta, chizzled from steel,
devouring, steadily, it's only meal.
Here to stay, but ready to leave,
they swifly pass throughout their eve.

Porch roof wet, drip by the drop,
along the guardian's shielded top.
The sky yields for the setting sun,
but in the night, the bombers run.

Booming strikes desparetely fight
to enter the darkness, and win back the light.
So many things, all the same,
block mountains, laying their claim.

Slicing into theatrical waves,
luck guides as a strider braves.
Running as well, the Tempest to test...
both he and the storm, the other one craves.

Sitting back in his safe little home,
the boy becomes worried,
of becoming too grown.

"How to put into words..."
"This moment may never be seen again."
"Almost gone... lost to the birds..."
"Holding on between a thought and a pen."

I gathered up my thoughts, and
gazed upon the waters of reflection,
serendipity shimmered cross its surface
I gasp, struck by the beauty of its perfection

transfixed on the little ripples and rivulets
splishing, splashing and weaving
clouds did gather above, the rain began to fall,
I sunk to my knees unawares I was bleeding

vision blurred with tears,
head swollen and aching from the cold,
I awoke this morning with no aim, but a destination,
and down this valley lane I strolled

I can no longer cook for myself, nor wash
and my hair has all but gone
some days it's as if nothing's happened
and others I know not my name nor where I'm from

my wife is long dead, my only grandchild, waits
ah, greed was always a perpetual enchanter -

alas none of this matters when you hear

"I'm sorry to say, sir, it is terminal pancreatic cancer."

And now gazing across the dewy grass
to the opposite side of the lake,
I reminisce the good times, the simple highlights
of this beautiful life Death will eventually take,

stone-cold realisation setting in for the last time
that soon I'll be gone, I know by the blood

tick tock Death, please don't be late,

I'm ready to be reunited with my Love.

Time to fall back into the murky waters again

You did so good

Splishing along the surface

trying to keep yourself afloat

making all those luscious bubbles

but it's time to sink below

and rest.

I was nothing if not distraught
Russet and frail, my youth streamed lies
He was anything but a loss

Brown splishing eyes and chaos caught
Tight in the tipsy bows I plied
I was nothing, if not distraught

Wrecked as we were, while I forgot
Heart in his throat, I made it mine
He was anything but a loss.

Beckon me back, claim me as frost
Slight, on the brink of stolen tides
I am nothing if not distraught.

Weak as I stood, I still cannot
Lean on the love who fleetes with prime
He was anything but a loss.

Black preened his eyes, n' I just watched
Lacking water, we sunk in pride
I was nothing if not distraught.
He was all, all I ever I lost.

Rain,
thinking it signifies the end of the Summer,
I root out my galoshes, my raincoat
and sou' wester
one time a Beau Geste in the hot sand,
but now best to take a hold of your cool hand
and go splishing and sploshing
and maybe some splashing as well.

Autumn is upon me and
the fall rises before me,
I'm going home for my tea.

Twas just another ordinary day down on the farm when Clarence cockerel “****-a-doodle-dood” his daybreak alarm..as Pingo pigeon picked from tiny little crumbs of corn amidst the shed loft and his partner Sonia sat in the hay stack that was warm and soft..

Yes it was an Autumnal morning just like any other as Farmer Ted Brown worked in the dairy along with Molly his Mother, milking the Friesian cattle all in a row as the udders filled the pipes with such a creamy milk flow..And  Daisy the cow being the oldest of the lot would “Moo” and “Moo” as Harry horse did trot..”Quack” “Quack” “Quack” went Daddy Donald duck as he splashed and swam in the farmyard pond quite covered in muck.. with his partner Michelle a very fine Muscovy Mother as her ten tiny ducklings, nine sisters and a brother.. splishing and sploshing muddy water with their wings, squibbling and squabbling the noisy little things..

Of course this Monday morning at the crack of dawn didn’t rouse the Farmer’s son Sid as he stretched with a yawn coz he hadn’t went to bed until well after late courtin’ and a’kissin’ his latest date..just a couple of school kids lying canoodling on the hayshed floor as mice and voles ran in and out of that door..But Penelope pony pranced around the paddock as she  strutted and head butted in her frenzied fit so sporadic..The Suffolk sheep “Baa’d” and bleated munching in the meadows all that day in the Farmer’s field not too far away..

So it was indeed just another average ordinary morning on that hillside farm and the sun had risen as the day was dawning.. Everything was normal with nothing untoward as Great Granny Glenda Brown stood pressing her pinafore on the ironing board.. she had the bacon and eggs frying in the pan, ready to enjoy her breakfast with Great Grandad Stan..And how they all adored their countryside affair with the sounds and the smells in that cow dung fresh air..Ted, Winifred his wife and his Mother Molly and Sid her Grandson, lived in the big farmhouse with lots of fun..And Great Granny Glenda and Great Grandad Stan Brown had just moved to a lovely country cottage nextdoor from a flat up the road in the neighbouring town..

a blast of whiskey the summon of the king to appear
a real encounter with Elvis & Zepplin,
from the early 70's sparks a calm to remedy
three at the bar forced to civality..,
under thick chains received
band was on the run kissing cousins all so much fun
these are the years sparked by tears,
throuw a quater in the fountain
some rich peeople choose to through the ashes in a fountain
base they are rich you see falling...calling out the remedy,
sit back ******* with a higher degree
your name is encrusted as distant timber under the leaves
Terror awaits the slogan a notion to rock & roll
splishing and splashing with no place to go,
bust up the beat to promote its tempo

Music across the pond,
a hint to vainly belong
having trouble to the new walk swing
then it rolls its nature from with again
I can dig the premonition from the falling rain,
Stairway To Heaven
not a one stop shopping event to a routine store stop seven eleven
paint a picture from beyond,
leaves None other then Motorhead, "Ace Of Space" !
brother pray for me brother connect to the falling leaves
transport a super couper honest Alice Vinny Cooper
cast a Flamingo
traverse to haunt the cold chilled places to go
through a river to impress a polished kit cement

Such an encounter in 1969 Jimmy Hendrix and his Experience
in the bushes forced on *** sorry that we met
not a noble jib to eternailze,
playing Star Spangle Banner
In the heavens beyond the moon has landed...

Mercedes Benz a good look always depends
the horse before the cart found a tisk & tasket
Safe behind a squeeky wheel
Expression
Innovatiion
In conjunction to fly
with words crossing by

The warp and weave of cloth
surrounding the curve of *******,
bright colors enhance a raised peak
as cold water creates goosebumps.

Imagination takes me to fantasies of
exhalations grazing creamy *******
exciting silken buds to bloom,
begging the promised warmth.

But so many to choose from
as a bevy of buxom beauties
roam the chilly surf
******* clad in tropical decor.

Forcing summer into spring
as coeds infiltrate lakes
and other beach areas
seeking freedom and wildness.

Splashing and splishing,
bouncing taught bodies,
epic eye candy and colors
cause naughty ideas.

The view sends testosterone rising
while the temperature keeps it
in check and on the verge of blue
wading and enjoying the view.