The universe puts her headphones on
And plays her favorite track
The raindrops in the meadow burst
And soak the earth
And with her feet up on the world
She smiles from ear to ear
And plays it back

The moment someone knows me
The moment someone sees
I exist
I am present
I am back to being me

And so I go where noone knows me
To where I'm openly not seen
To not exist for a few hours
Is such a blessing
Not to be

I am a bird beneath the waves
Though it be dark and blue and deep
My wings are not best suited to the sea

Though lofty heights are known to me
It’s beneath the waves I wish to be

To see the fish and how they breathe
Through coral and the crystalline

Though I am free
With neither cast nor current in-between
I am a bird beneath the waves
I do not belong within the sea

A true leader is a selfless soul,
One who thinks not for himself,
But for the others, for the many
For the halves and for the whole, of humanity

Regardless of age or importance to man,
It’s not in the memory of their great names,
In with which we stand.
But in the willingness to mold
One’s self into a servant,

To humbly hold the troubled hand,
And to become the kind of person who doesn’t abuse,
The right to demand

But instead, looks to enable others,
So that they might just begin, and begin again

Because all of the power in the world,
Can be abused, and removed if misused

For this, my dear leaders, I ask of you,
To not lose yourself in the arrogance
Of discovering that you are indeed you

Because true leadership is not about you
And leadership, will never be about you
So before you lead, would you let go of you
That way you might win in spite of you

Goodnight father
Goodnight sun
Goodnight detestability of day and enjoyment of all things costly and fun
Goodnight to you
And goodnight to me
Goodnight dear bed frame and thank you for this, your stability
Goodnight my pillow
Goodnight my bed
Goodnight and would you carry me, over the moon and back again?
Goodnight to you, to these honest things, which I may or may not mind first thing in the morning
Goodnight my distant memories
And goodnight to my favorite mystery, to your quiet and kind consistencies
For it’s a good night I offer, honestly
A good night from another
A goodnight from me
Goodnight my father
Goodnight to your son
Goodnight moonlit stars and spinning earth
Though the turning therein has just begun
Goodnight my Lord, goodnight and please, watch over those in need of sleep
Goodnight my God, a good night to you
Good night you have been, good to me

Lightning in the skies
Saturated clouds above
Moisture in your eyes
And should the rain ere reprise
Would you always stay beside?

I hope that one day
She will come to me when she is tired
Because rest
The pure rest of a resounding peace
Is something which I too desire
And can provide her with

Izaak is an introvert
Izaak likes his room and board exactly as it is, so that he isn’t bored
Quiet in his apartment, just as he was in his dorm
But soon his people started telling him, more and more
That he needs to get out more
That he needed to go out an explore
Just in case he ever should look back and wonder
What exactly it was, like if he wanted more?
And so he tried and so he went, out into the world
He spoke and socialized
He brought, and bought and spent until he himself felt very spent and worn
Because Izaak is an introvert, and for the outside he wasn’t meant to be
Let alone to be reborn, and so
After all the stretching, the social pains, the growing norms, which were not wrong
Just different, he was both different, and the same
And in his room, he was welcomed him back
Once again, to the walls of printed ink and paint which he himself did create
Because Izaak, did indeed need to see the differences within his own eyes
But only in time to better understand and represent
The quiet life which he was meant to lead, inside
Because Izaak is an introvert
And no introverted thing is ever truly a waste of time

I want the back of your head
I want the smell of your hair
I dream of it
Or so I've been
Asleep for many years
With arms in shape
But not for me
But to carry the weight
To preserve the strength
To ensure the future of our family
For this desire
For this my soul weeps
And my arm ache
I want you more than I want me

Poetry should be like boxing,
Short, swift, and powerful.
To the point and presented so that you never see it coming.
A hook, a jab, a firm right cross.
Hard hitting and unforgiving,
Never what you are expecting.
Watch it on your cable boxes,
Cheer and scream till you're obnoxious,
Because poetry should be like boxing.

This is the wind born
As it wimpers through the trees
A willful whisper
Midst the meadow mindfulness
Willing it will ever be

You are ember with less orange
You are tree bark true and brook trout at play
You are earthy as the hollow dell in the Catskills still
Turning as the waterways

You are ever moving, always slight
Looking back over those delicate shoulders of yours
To the footprints of me
And in the time spent therein not a day’s older

I don’t know her name
But I know what I see

Hear the howling cold of winter
And know that warmth is in my heart
Waiting for you throughout December
With outstretched hands and spirit renewed
Know that every year I will wait for you

The rain falls heavy on my heart
Directly and fervently
With a subtle patter to be heard in part

Reflecting only as tired can be
In being our separate, you and me
We are bound by these, such worlds apart

With ribs thrown open like lighthouse doors
And parted seas, as shallow as these
Such broken chances leave their marks

In pouring self out ever slow, in all these ways
The rain, it falls heavily every day
My life is kept from you apart

Slowly following
Never will he let me be
For eternity

This day is like the pouring rain, heavy falling and hard to swallow.
Dark as the memory of an old embrace,
Cold and mellow, like the cousin of a summer day.

Yet within this rain we are unchanged, just not the same.
I see the water as it cascades,
And floods the streets, to wipe the dogged dirt away.

It’s in my ears, it's on my mind, like a booming sigh.
The raindrops on the soggy ground.
Flooded I am washed away, but not far enough to leave this town.

Curl up in my bed
Do not wait for me to sleep
Dim the lights slightly
And when I return to you
Wrap your sleepy arms round me

Though hours of silence
May stand still between two hearts
There's nothing between
Your chances and your own hope
With opportunistic eyes

You see this building? I built this building. But nobody knows that I built this building.

I can only assert that I did build this building, and refresh my own memory of building said building.

But at the end of the day, it's just an old building. And ironically enough, I've never stopped building.

There are a few other people who helped build this building. Like myself they can say that they did build this building.

And even if all of our name were there on an engraving, it would never truly be anyone's personal building.

Because we built it for those, so that they could start building. So that they could get going and build their buildings.

Because the framework we built was a structure of learning. And we each taught ourselves through the process of learning.

Alluring eyes like waterfalls flow right on by
See not the graffiti on the rocks
But the beauty which resides
Deep inside her watery eyes

Be not mistaken
I'm here as a creator
Your words hold no sway
Over my designer's eyes
So keep them in your own lines

What I do really is like boxing.

I throw out punches and mix with jabs.
Hitting the bag or person I see.

And if it comes back to me, at me?
I hit it again until it stays away.

Like boxing you see?
Most honestly.

Granola pattering between my teeth.

Rain crunching beneath my feet.

Wait a minute...

Was that what it ought to be?

Cold candy
Pop rocks bursting in the morning hail

My mouth a mess and mind untested
Tired and still

The morning reaches out to me
But nothing gets better at this time of day

I wish my words could carry me
Like I carry a them, away

The clouds racing across the sky
Remind me that my chance to live
My window into this varied life
Is rather short-lived
And that one day, as I certainly know
I'll be able to fly across the sky
Beside the clouds
But never high enough to look down
At least with this particular set of eyes

I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves

And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees

Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet

But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground

So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see

Within the leaves
Beneath the trees

Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.

Foolish to revive
Anew on an April's day
Stormy sentiments
Devoid of such rainy eyes
But full of such snowy woes

It's electric friction beneath the feet
Like stockcars locked on the inevitable path
Matching until meters burst
Exceeding the limit and flying off the track

With powerful pinpoints and frustrating fault lines
And the breaking of makeup on the skin most bold

It is a poker face across the way
And the frustrations of knowing that the crowd turns cold
Whenever you've failed to play perfectly within the fold

Tennis
Is the realization that you are IT, and all that which influences the bouncing ball

Dedication has a name
It was on your ID
But I couldn't see
Because it was too dark
And I didn't want to be a creep

The waitress asks what will it be
And I respond with quite ease
No dish or side this time for me
But a cup of tea if you would please

Though graciously she does agree
That half past two is time for tea
She soon returns with what I need
A cup of tea if you would please

A purple *** she sets by me
With spoon to stir the boiling tea
I calmly raise my cup to thee
To a cup of tea if you would please

As wisps of steam drift up with ease
The rolling in my tum decrees
This chai delight empowers me
A cup of tea if you would please

No sugar will I ever need
To taste the apple and the seed
The spice of life which sets me free
Just a cup of tea if you would please

Now comes my check it's time to leave
And the bottom of my cup I see
One final sip to go with me
A cup of tea if you would please

-SS

Haikus are like Blue
Berries bursting in my mouth
Always gone too soon

Deep, somber, reflective pools.
Stirring by an ocean of blueish gray.
Vast as the mountain and all of its roots,
Clear and deceptive as the piercing light on a cloudy day.

Not flustered by the coming storm,
But troubled instead when it is blown off its course and swept away.
Unshaken by the torrential downpour of warming rain.
For cool inside they will ever stay.

Such pools as these are ripples away from some escape.
Yet when all other pools would've walked away,
They stir themselves and still remain.
Fixed and introspective.

Much like the tides which arrive anew with each coming day.
These waters rise and though they reach,
The wonder and bewilderment is never washed away.
From within such pools.

I'd forgotten here
That the most beautiful place in the world is round

That the future I see beyond the horizon Is now
Above this place
My hometown

I'd forgotten here
But I remember now

Though weary eyes are still worth seeing,
Sometimes the sight isn't worth the time.

I'd encourage you instead to rest,
And escape from yourself within your mind.

Just go close your eyes and be at peace,
Embrace the darkness with remind.

Like a weary ball of worn out string,
Sleep quietly until you unwind.

When I see this
When I hear that
And when I am most hallowed out
The arrogant side of me saunters in
And quietly says, something boisterous and aloud
“Let me show you just how I can be“
It says most confidently
And yet I wonder those words
And if my arrogance also says such things to me

You’d have better luck storing rain in your mouth
Steadying quiet clouds with your eyes
Alive

Mere perfection doesn’t exist I see
No
And the cake is a lie

It’s the desire to interject
And infuse
Which I push against

Yourself insinuating from which I hide

This look says me
Let me feel my feelings felt
Or else there is no point left alive

Red lights in the night sky
Twelve eyes
Blinking at me curiously
On top of towers which fail to pierce the sky
They wink at me
Almost knowingly
For I am tall and lean like these
Blinking often into the night
Clearly in sight
But rarely ever truly seen
For more than an instant
Or more than a two eyes
Just for a moment
Like the red eye passing by
I blink
Because I'm still alive

An impossible shot
Through cast iron ring
From incredible distance
And yet how is it possible
That she never misses?

One memory
Would endure everything
Always coming back like the bounding footprints left beneath each drop of rain
And that is
The smell of her hair in the morning air
The stringiness and collective song
The shortness of breath
The vibrance of wave
And all at the length of a violin's strings born long
Torn is such a memory of song
Between fondness and regret

My voice is in the falling rain
A crashing rolling weeping realm
My song of storms proudly proclaims
These clouded skies are falling down

Back to the earth from whence they came
A moist collection careening down
To crash into the waterways
And sing my song clear and aloud

Into your ears I whisper rain
And share my secrets so profound
As droplets cleanse the concrete stains
They sweep away the sorrow sounds

So here I sits by window panes
To smell the sky and taste the clouds
Though thunder rolls and storms berates
My song remains like falling sounds

Knowing a name
A face
A distant friend
Isn't enough to say
That you can
Because you cannot
Until
Do so much
As pretend
Because you have not
Yet since
Been invited in

You shake me like a spiderweb
Reverberate the edges of my mind
Until the very essence of you spreads
And you are attached
To every corner of every structure
Which I've slowly built up inside of my head

Hear my heartbeat now
With ears pressed to humble chest
Ever calling out

The hollow sound of heavy rain
As it beats upon an empty chest
No leaves to tear or lives to end
There is only rain
And storms unrest

Dissolve the ceiling above my head
With an outstretched arm
So that I can speak to the stars again
Not to say goodbye
Or to say goodnight
But to welcome them back into the darkest corners of my life
So that I can lay here and not feel flat
With my head tipped back to catch the slight
That way I could be in line with you
Underneath the distant stars tonight

I will let the enamel rust
If that's what it takes
To remove
The enamored me

Buttons couldn't describe you,
Nor a picture or portrait to compare.
Your smile indescribable,
Neath iron straightened golden hair.

A shadow in your eyes I see,
Your arm inscribed serendipity.
An unforgotten commodity,
An awe inspired oddity,
But what aspires you to me,
Is the winding way your eyes did see.

Before the corner first was turned,
Before the present came to be.
What was the sight which turned your way?
What overshadowed your luminosity?

I wish my friend that you would smile,
For everyone not just for me.
In light of this stay positive,
And smile miss serendipity.