no whimper, no breath
untethered soul, hushed and still
in my arms, silence

With his feet of melting clay
he steps back from the stream
He trembles with ice-cold fear
no longer living the dream

Scenes of chaos, he shivers
Nothing ever stays the same
His self-worth is now in doubt
mighty, he once was in name

Ohhh, do not fear my good sir
it's only a fluctuation
The world is ever changing
that will be your salvation

Soon, all will be forgotten
we give the devil his due
No matter what your offense
never trace it back to you

Poems don’t have to be about severe emotion
Nor do they have to be about devotion

They can show how a baby plays
Or what to do on lazy days

Poems describe many things
Including insect stings

Parties in the dark
Playing in the park

Shaving in front of the mirror
Or simply sipping on a beer

Poems reflect every thought
Including the things we bought

What I am trying to say
Is that poetry is our thoughts at play

Would you like to ride with me,
and get your mind literary refreshed,
With lovely sweet sounds of words
that elavates your mind and soul?

Would you like to ride with me,
and catch your self a poetic fun?
Sometimes i may appear satirical
slamming those folks in power.

Would you like to ride with me,
and float around in my literary lake
I'm ready to take you round about
and make you feel my lonely steam

In light of tension twixt
brinkmanship rumbling one
East Asian Tiger
country otherwise known as
"the land of morning calm,"
yours truly t'will invite
"freedom foo fighters"
tubby regaling with a jubilant aire
total mortal Kombat
levels threat of human warhead
bomb dubbed "Fat Boy.”

I never want to escape the blissful enthrallment,
Of the way thoughts of you lead my spirit to soar,
So this is so yet another of the poetic instalments,
Of how you rock my world every day to the core.

As I dream of you I lie in bliss for hours and hours,
Conversing with your soul awakening my inner self,
Yet predicting the future the card is always the tower,
The fragile foundation of my mental emotional health.

I’ve never known a thing called home
Unsettled is my state of being
Settle down means settling
From every angle I am seeing

Always in motion is my heart
It takes me far away at times
From golden hours, setting suns
Darkened nights in frigid climes

By a tiny solitary fire
Sits a solitary man
A bard devoid of audience
Who will never understand

This ghostly congregation
To whom I bare my soul
Sit within the echos and
They never speak at all

MY NEXT LIFE

These last five and sixty years
Mainly tears and little laughter
Yet after all this time, I’m sure
That more of this I don’t deserve
A curve in the direction of time
To climb up to the higher plane
And again, I shall wonder why
If I cry, nothing seems to change
So strange, the next life beckons
And reckons I am due a break
At stake, my long held dreams
It seems they may become real
I feel ready, and willing to see
And be grateful for my next life

A walk in the park
Gives us time to think and pray
To view our planned day

It provides us thoughts
About ourselves and others
What to change or keep

Place to be alone
To note the beauty of life
And our part in it

Ah! Sunday morning
I lay late in bed
A cold winter blows
Summer lies dead.

I roll on my side
Feel her warm body there
Soft as lambs fleece
Long golden hair.

To gently caress her
Slow rouse her from sleep
Let fingers trace patterns
From face to her feet.

Puff into her shell like
Kiss satin smooth throat
Move down to her breasts
She outs a small troat.

Now she awakens
Turns languidly o'er
Voice husky with passion
'Your turn to make the coffee'.