Writing
Poetry:
Sometimes best
when psychedelic
written in fever
or dream
delirium
because,
when finished,
the anarchical
structure
allows for
greater understanding;
delving and finding
deeper
meaning
within
otherwise
shallow words
Sometimes best
when psychedelic
written in fever
or dream
delirium
because,
when finished,
the anarchical
structure
allows for
greater understanding;
delving and finding
deeper
meaning
within
otherwise
shallow words
Fog lays down
thick and smothering
The perfect day
to wander down a beach
alone but for thoughts
and dreams
created to paint the landscape
fill with color
the blank canvas
that runs damp fingers
through my curling hair
memories
rush through the mist
at my peace of mind
breaking through contemplation
to replace it with nostalgia
as another wave breaks
along the shore
A gentle voice
whispers warmly
against the harshness of the
frigid air -
and despite
calculated apprehensions,
I find myself slipping once again
comfortably into your arms;
breathing out softly,
I feel like I am
home.
thick and smothering
The perfect day
to wander down a beach
alone but for thoughts
and dreams
created to paint the landscape
fill with color
the blank canvas
that runs damp fingers
through my curling hair
memories
rush through the mist
at my peace of mind
breaking through contemplation
to replace it with nostalgia
as another wave breaks
along the shore
A gentle voice
whispers warmly
against the harshness of the
frigid air -
and despite
calculated apprehensions,
I find myself slipping once again
comfortably into your arms;
breathing out softly,
I feel like I am
home.
Memories haunt
shadowed rooms,
dusky hours
Darkened silhouettes lay comfortably
oblivious
to the outside world,
unfettered by time -
their embrace lingers
long past the present moment
in the warmth
only reminiscing now provides
A glimpse of surety
a split second of love -
chances taken
with tender results
fade
as leaves turn to falling snow
and an unshakable chill settles
into my bones
shadowed rooms,
dusky hours
Darkened silhouettes lay comfortably
oblivious
to the outside world,
unfettered by time -
their embrace lingers
long past the present moment
in the warmth
only reminiscing now provides
A glimpse of surety
a split second of love -
chances taken
with tender results
fade
as leaves turn to falling snow
and an unshakable chill settles
into my bones
At last,
XIX
Butterflies
Something unfamiliar.
The new,
unexplored
magnificence
of closeness
The water
breathes
reflecting
the complex simplicity
of the fading sky
Peace
flows around
me,
the audience of a dying day
The mountains stand
So strong
Resolute
against time and season
They cut the sky
distinctly
from the land
beautiful;
exquisite.
Old dreams die
making room
for new ones to begin
VIIII
I close my eyes
In one of the rare moments
Captured in serenity
Heat
Dances softly on my face
As the last dying rays of sunlight
Reach the place I stand
This place is full of memory
I allow myself to sink
Comfortably into recollecting
Better times
While darkening colors play
In the water
It was one of those perfect days
We spent as innocent children
Forgetting the world
Leaving reality behind as a shadow of the past
Laughing without restraint
Racing breathlessly down the grassy hill
Barefoot
To wave at the passing train
Do you remember
The conductor waved back to us
Time passed as slowly as the sun sank
Into the great beyond
Full of promise for tomorrow
As we counted shooting stars
You whispered softly
you're beautiful
Into my hair
And I almost let you see me silently
cry
I spent my wish
Praying that we would last forever
So we did
Even now as you’re gone
And I stand lonely in my solitude
I remember
And hold us in my heart
Sweet reminisces
Of simple moments
We shared
I breathe in the evening air deeply
And resurface to the time
I’m in
Smiling a little
As I turn away from
The setting sun
Sunset
Forever
Stretches out the horizon
Into unfathomable distance
A line the eye can’t see
Bordered with rich blue
And gold
Blended with pinks, violets,
And delicate shades of orange
The setting sun
Sinks
In an ephemeral moment
Too perfect to last
Inspiration
Holds many forms
Sweet as innocence
Subtly beautiful
Poetic scenery adorns the walls
Of a writer’s mind
Rich and vibrant as a warm
Summer afternoon
Or,
More appropriately,
An autumn evening
Spent on an ocean shore
With dying sunlight
Playing colorfully upon the water
Lined with velvet
And spattered with stars,
The room of the imagination
Contains well-formed architecture
Smooth sculptures
And well-read books
With peeling lettering on the
Faded binding
Picturesque views from the peaceful interior
Of quiet wood
And war-ravaged field
Juxtaposed through a stained glass window
Depicting fairy tale heroes
And portholes into the stream of time
Each pen-bearer and letter-wielder in truth
Transcends both space and time
Belonging to another realm in entirety
Filled with dreams and half-digested thoughts
Fantasies
Captured or lost
In the black and white characters
That cannot do them justice
Happiness
Eludes me
As a spring butterfly
Pleasant and promising
Seductively fluttering close
Only to dance out of reach
As I stretch out my hand to brush its beauty
Theoretically
Happiness
Drives
Each of us
In our own self-interest
To live out our lives
In the manner we think best
While some
Complain about their luxuries
Others lay defeated
Starving
On the roadside
Faintly whispering for want
Of aid
And the haughty
Look down ignorantly upon
Their brothers
As their sparks dwindle imperceptibly
Lower
Butterflies are free
They fly away
As those with nets
Take up their arms
In attempts to capture
The moments in life
Trampling those unfortunate enough
To find themselves in the chasers’
Paths
Those too slow to compete
Neither of the parties
Notice
Those who sit quietly on the roadside
Who allow
Nature to take its course
And find beauty alights softly on their shoulders
When they aren’t watching
