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springtime did arrive
frogs are jumping and humping
pigeons are nasty
Lord the day I will be blind
You will be my vision
Lord the day I can't speak
Anymore
You will be my voice
The day I will need oxigen
You will give me oxigen to breath
Also Lord I will not smoke in my life
I am telling you the truth Lord
Because I want to be healthy
For a long time
That is my wish Lord
The quill of a forgotten moment,
a signature of time upon the sky,
languid white clouds drifting by,
spurs a sharp pain that wouldn't go,
strikes paper filled with imprints,
ink staining along a cracked soul.
The hand moves in quiet rebellion,
scraping against the silence left behind,
words spilling like embers from a fire
long thought extinguished but still breathing,
its warmth aching, its hunger unspent,
spreading across the page like memory unbound.
Nature speaks
Moving winds, babbling brooks
God’s creation for us to enjoy
From the buzz of a bee to the sounds of our lips
Sounds abound
Antelope and Zebra!
falling right from the sky,
Into you open eyes
there to recline!
In your daydreaming
your fitful mind scheming.
You'll rant and you'll rave.
Til you're completely undone.
No one can find you,
you'll up and head south!
It's just your temperature,
that's rapidly rising!
A brash indication,
that you'll never be found.
When the wind blows,
your once sandy brown hazel locks.
Antelope and Zebra!
falling right from the sky,
Into you open eyes
there to recline!
In your daydreaming
your fitful mind scheming.
You'll rant and you'll rave.
Til you're completely undone.
No one can find you,
you'll up and head south!
It's just your temperature,
that's rapidly rising!
A brash indication,
that you'll never be found.
When the wind blows,
your once sandy brown hazel locks.
She comes with curlers, bleach, and flair,
a mobile salon is her lair.
Blonde and breezy, wide-eyed, neat,
she knows who’s next on every street.
She trims and talks of those now gone,
of Vera’s wake and poor old Ron.
She sets your hair, you feel quite ill,
she smiles and says, ‘you got a chill?’
The clippers buzz, her scissors flash,
how suddenly you’re counting cash,
that debt unpaid, your Will unsigned,
she hums and twists, her cuts maligned.
What if I gave up
What if I quit breathing
Then I wouldn't worry
What others are perceiving
What if I screamed out
Until my throat bled
What if I let you see
All the monsters in my head
Would you still be my friend
Or would you call me crazy
I try so hard to fight for air
I'm gasping for air, vision hazy
I'm the soldier who fights
The poet who writes
The dreamer who does
The lover who loves
I cannot tell if it’s a longing memory,
or I’m imagining a new conversation we’re having.
I’ll wait patiently for the words to come.
We’ve plenty of time here
in the blurred-line realms of missing you.
One Day in September
The horde attacked,
and the towers fell.
Screams abounded
and bodies tumbled.
The center of defense
lost more lives, and
the country shuddered.
A fourth plane hurtled
toward the capital, and
people rose, offering
their lives for the U.S.A.
“Let’s roll!”
The world didn’t breathe
on that catastrophic day.