When I think of you,
a flood of pleasures
flow gently
on rivers in my mind

The memories
we have made together
out last all other life's
which I have lived.

Everything else
is just faded dreams
dissipating like
morning mist on the bays

I live in the present
enjoying each moment
as treasures long searched
with no value outside
our secret realm

Poor ventilation, shadows like ghost
In full light of day, corners covered
Concealed places for roaches and rats
Bugs, fever, sickbay, sometime death
Theses dark places, let there be light

The mind, like umbrella shot in the rain
Eyes, unprotected, become blurred by showers
Ignorance, superstition in dark slanted caves
Impede progress and deter development

Canto Four ~ It is Crone’s Day and Gundhag’s dead carts arrive at the bastions of Garland Legion on the southeast wall of the capital city of Laurá Luné.
She carries with her the infant boy wrapped in rags. The wounded men upon the carts are in greater number than is her custom in bringing to the details of healers that now pour forth from the walls of Garland Command, the largest and chief of legions in the empire. It would appear she makes a point.

how could i not love may
the month that i was born in
the jacaranda's in full bloom
lovely weather's here again

the french marigolds i planted
are growing taller everyday
i can't wait until they're blooming
they'll make such lovely bouquets

there's no better month to have
been born in is what i say
when nature's at it's most beautiful
how could i not love may

Should life send you wandering
out, and about at twilighttime,

your world could change immediatly
or stop cold, on a dime.

that pathway, that one chooses
will be a lesson learned,

one road will be less travelled
the other, you'll get burned.

Should this twilight force hit you
I can't emphasise, enough;

you're going to pay profusely
for your demons in the rough.

What you have to offer
gets split into two ways,

I know the day will come around,
not long after I have gone away,
notebooks like this one will be found
hand written poems I penned one day.

Maybe a grandchild or a son
going through a closet or a trunk
will by mere chance then come upon
plain rhyming verse among the junk.

Will they pause to read them all
or peruse even just a few?
maybe they'll read "Winter's Call"
and think some others worth a view.

I feel the swell of your thigh
the bus motor rushing
the city swirling in lights
beyond our blue bathe
of night setting

the streetcars thick trundle
in the centre lane
the arbitrary deposit of tail
lights like lipstick blotted
in the mists

your have magic in your
veins pumping through
your heart
the bright earrings sway
the doors hiss
and the wipers bump

we will turn the clock
away on the nightstand
and listen to the music
play

i thought you know,
all my feelings for you..
but you don't think so,
said it wasn't true.

i thought you know,
i'll never let you go..
but you're not thinking so..
said a resounding "NO".

you're high..i'm low?
you're good..i'm not?
you're more..i'm less?
you're phrase..i'm dot?

a smile on your face
sends me signs that you already know,
but i only got one slap on my face,
damn!! i thought you know.

the NRA's creed goes like
this "guns don't kill people,
people do", true enough but
you forgot the word intent
in your analysis as you sanctify
the second amendment right
to bear arms

i know a man who says words
don't hurt people, their reactions
do, true enough though i know
enough
to know a man's intent to
hurt and that makes all the
difference in the world

It's really sad
When family care and
Most likely understand, but
you can't help feeling overwhelmed
by the disappointments of life

Feeling hopeless
you can't tell them your sorrows
because they're too trivial, selfish,
childish, and self-centered

Been told too many times to put others first,
but when trying hard to do that,
the mental challenges it takes to empathize,
makes it harder to grasp whether thoughts
and ideas are right or wrong