In life we may touch others
Set beautiful things in motion
Sway and bolster the hearts
Of our family and friendships

All our kind actions and loving words
Moving like ripples on the surface
Outward projections of love
Rocking sleepy boats with reverberant lullabies

Echos in time whose source has expired
Don’t ever cease to exist
So long as there are ears to hear
The notes of a loving life can never decay

Poetry helps me pass the time.
When I get bored, I churn out rhyme.
I've had some published (only three)
in some unread anthology.

I know my verse is gauche and gushing;
enough to burn one’s cheeks from blushing,
but dirty laundry gets no airing
and on my page there's seldom swearing.

I never dodge that dread decision:
to pen without the least precision.
Whatever wings its way is writ;
I’ve never been a hypocrite.

We aren't all deductable sums of one name,
Not all equal players in the same game.
Some sit in ivory towers way up high
Others more disposable parts of the pie.
Some know how to do the dosey doe,
Others disregarded as they go.

We may be all sailing out at sea
But in boats not so compatible, as you see.
Some are the pieces that win this game,
Whilst others are tossed as if they're lame.
For some are Kings, Queen's and knighted,
And the rest are left feeling less delighted.

My mother never really showed me she cared
My mother told me to go out and become someone worth something
My mother killed all the thoughts I had of being worth something
My mother lashed at my skin with her cruel words
My mother made all my insecurities what they are today
My mother laughed at the tears falling from my eyes
My mother only wanted to fix me, not seek help for us both
My mother shut the door to our house in my face
My mother kicked me out of the family without me having to leave

Sorting through belongings
a good friend left behind,
I encountered a secret panel
in the back of a dusty book shelf.
Behind it was a collection of anime figurines.

All female, plastic and scantily clad, of course.
While admiring the details
of these strange but beautiful things,
his mother stepped into the room.
I was red-faced, caught in the act!

She simply smiled with a knowing look.
One that said she wished her son were still here
to appreciate his clandestine collection one more time.

Like everything else in our lives
We tend to take for granted
The people who made us who we are
In reality we don’t have to look far

Right by our side since birth
Through our words so ranted
She was the one who really cared
She was the only one who shared

Now that I am older
I remember the actions
Filled with everyday love
Thankful to those above

For the one person that gave me life
The very woman I now miss more
There really is no other
Than my precious Mother

SHUNK. SHUNK.
the horrible sound, of mechanical incisors,
Ripping into my thighs
As I programmed it to do.
a sigh of relief, from those around me.
Finally,
I am dead.
My head, lay empty
The corpse of a wolf,
That once dreamed of getting better.
Doomed this fate,
tied to a life that's filled with pain and hate
Why do they weep for me?
Why do they lose sleep, over what was never theirs?
Surprised at what they caused.
shocked, and awed.

I lost my shoes the other day
while visiting a church to pray
for our lost souls, now gone astray,
or sailed adrift along the way.

The last time that I saw my shoes
was while I roamed between the pews
searching for minds that won't refuse
to listen to real thoughts and views

about the state the world is in
about true love, and waging sin
wondering how blind eyes have been
watching yet another war begin.

She walks into the room,
And everyone stops to stare.
She's so pretty,
It's almost unfair.
Her hair is shiny and long,
Her eyes brown like milk chocolate,
Her skin is flawless,
And her body is perfect.
Everyone wants to be her,
And everyone wants to be with her.
But they don't know her,
And they don't know what she's really like.
She's smart and funny and kind,
She's an amazing athlete,
And she's always there for her friends.
But no one sees that,

Your golden hair is a citadel of light,
in spangled beams it braids the dawn
and early sun is put to flight.
The flaxen fields, your sweetbright hair,
a flower’s head in flowing breeze,
in wheaten lights it fills the air
as sparkled suns burst through the trees.