flourish

Flourish- 6/20/2020

Walking tall
these summer wildflowers
sprouting small
yet growing devine
every single day
a new hourglass
of growth
waiting on the wildflowers
to just walk tall and bare their arms and limbs
into pastels of petals
just open their wings
to the butterflies
Walking tall
these summer wildflowers.

I do

I do- 6/20/2020

The daily grind
the time we’ve spent
ever since we first met
this everyday romance
a situation created by chance,
the love we share
the ways you care
always by my side
forever we decide
to spend together.

It’s in the touch of your hand.
It’s in the stare of your eyes.
It’s in the vows and wedding band.
It’s in the little things you do.
It’s this romance I have with you.

It means so much
every single touch

It’s in the daily grind

It’s in all of the time

together

forever.

ignition

ignition- 1/5/2020

Ignite the flame
it sparks with a spark

glowing candle
bright within
burns to create art.

Go down deep
deep, deep, deeper still
deeply breaths
but your drowning softly
and cannot swim.

Go deeper still
Do not fear
Find the sand

and

learn how to

kick
swiftly, carefully, until
you mange to flip

there

yes there

on your back

begin to float

you body knows how

you’ve just forgotten

water

air

fire

earth

Turn backwards, before the lit the flame
before you blew it out and threw yourself

into

oceans

we are combined of oceans within us
we each have an eternal flame
we wear the skies of stars into our hair
yet we do not bother to look up enough to notice them

our feet embraced the grass, dirt and roots
as the wind crashes into our breath.

Look to the Ancient ones, the old Gods and Goddesses of lore.
Look to your Ancestors.

Lastly look into your heart
and then light that

inner flame.

Ignite that inner flame, that speck of color or bright white light
breathe in breathe out
relax

be one

with

everybody

all

of

humanity.

An ignition is sometimes simply
a spark that starts a fire.

ignite

your flame

and

keep what’s

secret

to yourself.

Flight-

Flight- 1/4/2020

It’s just a flight of fancy
these written verses
not meant to be
heard or seen.

It’s just a forest
without any bare trees.
It’s just a flight of fancy-
tangled branches and heresy.

It’s just a Pond
without any Koi
It’s just the empty soul
without any Joy.

It’s just a January
without resolutions
these written verses
bare no solutions.

It’s just a flight of fancy.
It’s just a forest.
It’s just a pond.

the words are nothing
but a
glimpse
beyond.

Apologies-

Apologies- 1/4/2020

I smoke too much.
I talk too much.
And I drink way too much coffee.
I eat too much fast food.
I rarely listen.
I have too many vices
to count.
Sometimes, I’m a bit of a liar.
Other times, I make shit up.
I’m a storyteller.
I’m a manic-depressive.
I’m definitely not-
everybody’s cup of tea.

but in the end
all that matters
is that I am

always the real

me

No rhyme or reason.

No rhyme or Reason. 1/4/2020

My poems don’t always rhyme,
sometimes my words
lack the time
to frequent verse
to always rehearse.
Words can be fickle, bounce out
or they trickle,
like the beating drum
my words can cut loose,
become undone.
My poems don’t always rhyme.
Sometimes they tangle crooked
and get caught at an angle.
Sometimes, they don’t flow,
because they lack the knowledge
of the direction

of where they should go.
Words become trapped,

tangled
up in similes and metaphors

not all imagery

lacks form.

A gift

A Gift- 10/28/19

You are a gift to me.
Your strength gives me
courage.
You have always led the way,
in my darkest times,
You have tried to share your light.
You are my beautiful brillant
big sister and a gift to me.

You are my younger brother
and have also been there by my side.
Your wicked humor
is wonderful
and you can always make me laugh.

You have a maturity beyond
your years. You are also a gift to me.

The three of us share
the loss now
of both parents.
But I am so lucky to have you both.
We will get past the loss and the pain
because the three of us are still
together.

Sometimes

Sometimes- 12/3/19

Sometimes
I wonder
why
it feels like Poetry
has chosen Me?

Why couldn’t I
be something less
complicated?
Something easier to
swallow
than this handful
of scrabble tiles?

this fistful of letters?
this whisper of madness?

Sometimes
I wonder
why it feels like Poetry
has chosen Me?

Then I remember so long ago…
I choose it instead.
Falling in love with language
instead of something
easier.