I find happiness within a confined box
No one from the outside world cares to knock
This box is to old an brittle
I'm
To wise,
To nimble
To peek out into the outside world

So I sit,
An crumble myself into a tight fit
In a fetal position
With toes tight
Reserved to only an inch
My face stuck in between my lap
My hands hugging my back

Pigeons swarming around my box
I constantly scream
There's not a soul to touch or take
For heaven is where my soul will take

.
                                      ?
                              ?     ??      ?
                           ?        ??         ?
                          ?         ??          ?
                          ?       ?     ?        ?
                          ?       ?      ?       ?
                           ?       ?    ?        ?
                            ?         ?          ?
                              ?       ?        ?
                                 ?    ?     ?

~for Rimbaud

The same rules
you lived out
still apply:

Drink too much.
Take drugs.
Sleep with
too many women.
Drink too much.
Be irresponsible.
Squander
your money.
Drink too much.
Hurt those
who love you.
Drive them away.
Drink too much.
Overdose on silence.
Drown in solitude.
Drink too much.
Ignore consequences
Go quite mad.
Drink too much.

And then,
of course,
die young.
  - mce

I have tramped around the vineyard
Watched others toil in the fields
When called I never answered
Someone else can harvest the yield!

I would support those who worked
Trying to meet their needs.
Outside the fence line I lurked
Keeping down the weeds.

Maybe I'd drive the truck
Loaded to the brim.
Or dance, stomping in the muck
Juice so deep one could swim.

But into the vineyard I will not go
Beautiful as it may be.
Watching the vines as they grow
From outside I will be free.

Then one day it happened
I was pushed over the fence
Upon the ground I'd flattened
And found I'd been so dense.

Inside was so much more
Than I had ever dreamed
There was truth behind the lore
I truly am redeemed.

The vineyard is my home.
I never want to leave.
It is for those who only roam
That I will always grieve.

*Songs of Solomon 7:12
let us go out early to the vineyards, and see whether the vines have budded, whether the grape blossoms have opened and the pomegranates are in bloom. There I will give you my love.

Is there anything more wonderful
Then being part of the poet’s corner?
Lucky am I to be a poetry lover!
A romance novelist used poetry to ponder
A story that changes and transforms
One’s heart.  Is there anything more wonderful?
Joining a poetry site, I blundered
My way to writing a poem, oh what torture!
But lucky am I to be a poetry lover.
Many offered their support, allowing me to discover
My path and slowly my writing became stronger.
Is there anything more wonderful?
So many inspired awe and wonder,
Giving me strength to claim my own corner,
Justifying my becoming a poetry lover.
To those who offered encouragement so tender
I offer my thanks and give honor.
Is there anything more wonderful
Than becoming a poetry lover?*

Kelly Rose
December 29, 2015

A year older, a year wiser

A wisdom always in the making
Nourished by experience
Vitaminized by failures
Strengthened by aspirations
Built on the foundation of hope!

Year after year
Brick after brick
Wiser
Cemented by determination
Watered by dreams
Cracked by blows
Repaired by a mason
Working round the clock
Anointing healing!

Get up man.

You are a year older
But a year wiser

And the fruits of this wisdom
Often unseen
Oftener unknown
Ripen inside
And then no more just yours
Scatter in the surround
Beget nurseries of wisdom
Building, vitaminizing, strengthening
Repairing healing
Your foundation
Your hope!

and should this night find you alone
staring into the abyss
shivering in the chill of hopelessness
fire the candle
dip the quill
and speak to me
for i await your solitary tear
your desperate moment
giving rise to the beauty that cries
deep within the soul
of the poet