1)

"A POEM IS LIKE A GEM"
20th September 2010.

A poem is like a gem, the saturation of a text,
so complete, and being shorter than prose text,
beautiful as such.

In the readers mind, while reading,
it dances in unison with his own thoughts,
his gathered knowledge, his word associations,
his joys and sorrows,

Bless Canada where
I dwelt in self ordained confinement
and
woke up each morn,
to the sun,
trying to peek in
through the venetian blinds.

I felt like playing mischief,
closed my eyes,
till the sun was up
in the heavens,
only for a brief moment,

Suddenly,
snow captured the sight of Canadians,
I rested still wanting to bask,
in the winter sun alas,

THE GOLDEN DOOR

From sunlit shores
across gray seas
like Alice into the Looking Glass
through a Golden Door
we passed
with dreams of better days

Fools with foolish ways
clowns and buffoons of sentimentality
were we
to hearts who would never know
or see
souls that in passion’s fire glow

we love our liiviing
we mourn our dead
we open our soul
for the world to see
and are misread

Lying on the canyons rim,
With you here by my side,
The Colorado air never seemed so sweet,
And the stars never quite so bright,

At this moment on the canyons rim,
The desert air is cool,
The clouds all have a silver lining,
From the bright mountain moon,

Lying here on the canyons rim,
Your long hair surrounds me,
Enveloping me like a curtain,
Your scent is all around me,

Each day I breath anew
With every moment I smile
In my heart I sing

Your laughter holds the world
My hand carasaed in yours
Theres butterflies in my stomach,
Love in my every move

Your arms are my escape
Come see me fly
Help me soar
Be my modivation

Love me forever darling
Watch me smile
Live my life
Be my one and only baby

dirty beneath her nails
like dark carpet trails
and kraft dinner leaking
from the pot like pails

nude light bulbs topped
with fluff
gathered round her
all her stuff
happy singing to her
songs
the grubby coloured
humming earbuds
as
she sang along

I often wondered
how and whys
we dangered landscapes
high as sails
full of winds of addicts psalms
immersed in magic
tragic balm
the epic nearness
of hearts calm

Today,
Upon
My right palm
I did write your name
Not with ink
In awesome colors
Neither blood
Unsparingly
But, with
Each tear.

Each drop, slowly wiped away,
Stained my flesh
Your name only
It did smear
Yes, oh lover of my soul
Today,
Upon my right palm,
I did write your name
With my each and every
Tear.

Long was the night
and longer still the shadows
I readied all for our wedding night
Eddie Styx is to be my best man
Should he take a night from stalking

The preacher, sanctimonious old goat died last week
So he shall be at his prime
The menu a feast to behold
served cold, as the road it was killed on

Lorraine, Lorraine I come for you this night
There on her balcony she stood
beautiful, warm and alive
This too shall pass

Exist, exile,
when set aside
for that last mile,
a trial at close of day.

Why me, not you.
'Tis for the few
to end at break of day,
my life not easy,
trouble free,
and yet it had its way.

Through times of joy
and times of sadness
times of freedom,
times employed.

Twinned the two halves
joined in gladness,
mother, father's seed
developed into me.

Great poetry comes straight from
Pens of great poets 
Not stifled by egos 
That hinder 

Willing to work on weaknesses taking liberties
Born from loins and wombs
Not literal, just poetical
That heals 

Inner self tortured by soul
Flaming with passion and distresses

Straight from your pen 
Titles were created, inducing
Creativity, flexibility in
Writing grandeur poems