In the mixing bowl
thou hast perfected praise.
Conforming to your mould,
your flaky crust begins to rise.

Steamy and buttery out of the oven,
you make my life chill,
when the morsel of butter enters the
    blueberry canyon
to have its fill

Chemically inducing nirvana,
a world in the eye of God,
blueberry bursts of epic epicness
down my throat you trod.

In my stomach you swim, my friend.
"It is not good for muffin to be alone,"
pop goes the cherry muffin to join you,
and in swims a blueberry clone.

Nom nom nom.

The citizens all around the world
    have eyes that look like crystals.
Everyone is actually born with the same eye colour.
The same eye colour is blue.
Everyone knows that eye colours change.
Every time people grow up,
    they start to change their eye colour.

I stare out of my cubicle window
to see a sheet of solid water
creeping, building, cragging, steeping

I come to, from out a merry winterland
and feel the urge to write a poem
about a scene worth painting.

My magnificent mundane.
Tedious tasking and chores galore!
Unappreciated.
And disregarded as un-glamorous duty.
But there is something to be learned in folding loads of laundry.
Patience.
Satisfaction through servitude.
Attention to detail.
And most importantly... attention to Love.

A panicked red flash
Flying from a loud rude crowd.
Bustling, beating, branded brutes
Do not make mother proud.

Quickened feet through cedars. Ferns.
The chase is on. Her time's undone.
For when the master of her castle wakes,
She'll be there for the taking by One.

Fields of music
And caverns of light,
Fill me with
A void of night.

"Crumb Control to Captain Munchie:
Any sign of foreign debris?"

"Negative. We've got Berry Crackles to the East,
Marshmallows to the West,
Graham Crackers at your six.
No imminent danger at this time.
Will inform upon foreign sugar filled morsel encounter.
Over!"

A canvas of possibility,
colored magnificently for the occasion,
yet inevitably disposable.
Though my life be short,
I witness the Joy of my purpose.
And they love me for it.

Missed by the broom,
hiding in the open beneath a
ticking clock.
I am the unnoticed eye
watching your treacherous acts.
You insult each other with names like 'Dirt' and 'Filth',
yet my hands are the cleanest.
Hated and despised
you walk and trod all over me.
Yet it is I who guards ancient castles

Fish,
My Fish,
Oh, My Fish.

A lazy slave takes advantage of their master.

A lazy master condemns themself.

The storm on the sea is calmed
The twilight begins to shine through
The tear in my eye is like a raging waterfall
Keeping at bay the demons that fight in you

A little girl emerges from the inner deep
A hand dives in from the outer wall
They meet in the middle
And dance a dance only found at a ball

She gives him a sublime key, so black
He treats it like gold
For if she collapses from exhaustion
He can unlock the only door to her heart, he was told

As the years pass
When he’s away and she regresses back
She’ll remember the key to her heart
And how it is no longer black

He comes home every night
To find his dream come true
He thinks to himself hourly
I’m glad I’m the only one for you.

I miss the smell of your skin...
I miss the warmth of your breath, grazing my ear against your mouth...
I miss the sound of the ever so slight sound as you run across the room to hug me...
I miss the taste of your lingering sweet kisses after a good morning squigglepounce...
I miss the embarrassed look in your eyes after I fully find myself in you...

And I haven't even met you yet.

I am in transition,
I speak to those who come after me,
I learn from those who come before me.

In trepidation and in fear,
I wait for the anticipation found only in her tears,
that when they bloom on the dry, thirsty wood,
marks the time to begin, I hear.

And in a whisper, a whimper, and shrill,
when cold leather makes a trail,
the heartbeat beats fainter still,
until that time when metal becomes a pill.

I make her back warm,
Melting Iron,
Smelting leather and skin,
Into leather again.

She is silent as a mouse. She sits,
remaining only a part of the beats, and his
expressed torturous tenderness.

Where consent meets fear and pain,
there is a shadowy still sadness that waits to be shown
in the light that is happiness and gain.

Some see a barbarous deceit,
in that which takes place,
but she only says,
Please.

Please.

As you wish.

I flail and flog at my own inexperience,
waiting to see,
if I make a mistake or three.
Til the time comes when she screams out loud,
I press on, deeper, deeper, until a chasm is found.

The afterglow of the torturous tenderness,
that illumines the heart and makes fuzzy the eyes,
is enough for me to see that consent remains.

I ask only the simplest questions,
Noting that she's infantile in emotions,
where high context rules,
and only those that know the code may endure.

She limps and lingers,
needing more than her fingers
as she craws safely into that safe place
called her spiritual chamber.

Having melted iron, leather and skin
been smelt into leather again,
I sigh at those wafers that cannot understand,
that the greatest of gifts is in a helping hand.

Short marvelous life
how is a man not lightning
who can see and think

I am in transition,
I speak to those who come after me,
I learn from those who come before me.

She makes my back warm,
Melting Iron,
Smelting leather and skin,
Into leather again.

Those that watch laugh with pity,
Those that study cringe with pain,
Those that judge seem too witty,
. . . . .and it is for those who cannot understand.

But I understand, now I understand.

I used to watch the poor man in the back room,
getting beat by the mean lady with a giant broom,
. . . . .with splinters.
Each splinter is again a world of wonder, he says,
. . . . .and I laughed with pity.

I used to study the piteous woman on the tree,
getting beat by the mean man with a tail of three,
. . . . .with hash marks of red.
Each hash mark of red is again a world of wonder, she says,
. . . . .and I studied, cringing in pain.

I understood when I finally fell,
off my tall horse called Brick Wall,
for he was a brick wall, after all.

There's no shame in it, they say,
so I went for it, clear as the night sky in shades of gray,
and that's when it hit me,
. . . . .as it is for those who understand.

Having had melted iron, leather, and skin,
been smelt into leather again,
I sigh at those poor folks who cannot understand,
the pure bliss of me, that woman, and man.