Ah, that sea between you and we
What I am to you, and you to me
One of plain symbolism, old ideas and T.V
And I, of relics, abstract sentiment and poetry
Oh suffer so, my values and curiosity
A lifeless intangible unseen
In your psychology
A character, a play I ponder
Your dichotomies
Unfound and indescript I exist
Beneath your society
As two universal polarities
We’re just ghosts, salt air
The dew on each other’s daisies
From way above the earth things seem black and white
Land, streams, rivulets, in marsh are cookie clear-cut and designed
Things are smaller at a distance, as well my resistance
I look at it all from twenty thousand feet above
And from there I make my decisions on love
For ones life is but a pattern, like that earth we tread on
When stuck in the tall grass. The clarities gone
Keep that head in the clouds, as long as your looking down
It’s not impersonal, but sound
And from where I see, we’re bound
Like rivulets through trees, we’re designed to be
Though it seems unlikely, you have to learn to see
It all makes more sense from above
Looking down from up, its easier to find love
Even 20,000 feet above
I feel so grounded with out my love
I never felt so low
Until the time you flew my way, and continued to go
Tell me you are willing to see
What I have found to be
From 20,000 feet above
Our puzzle piece reality.
I read historical novels.
Fantasy books and poetry
One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul
I write sarcastic essays
Narrative and bad poetry
One for the mind, one for the heart, and one for the soul
I watch public broadcasting
Football, and the ocean rising
One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul
And yet, it’s quite amazing
After all these things I divide
One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul
I have
But one woman
One for the mind, one for the heart and one for the soul
It’s that time of year
Chocolate, flowers and teddy bears
Self-conscious fear
Diamond commercials filled
With melodramatic tears
As a man your love and devotion are weighed
As the ladies get paid
To get laid
For a few days
we feel quite poor
having no one to go to Hallmark for
But these are the minds tricks
that put track marks
on a mans dick
So don’t go looking or love
Don’t go looking for sex
It’s heroin and that’s why
There’s track marks
on your dick
Just got to let those things happen
and stay true
it far easier to relax
and let love and lust
find you
Go ahead
And spread yourself like jam
to sweeten the world
but don’t rush to hand your world
to one single girl
Every hole can be a bear trap
And every smile a guillotine
It’s all too easy to loose a head
so take heed to what I said
Don’t go looking or love
Don’t go looking for sex
Its heroin and that’s why,
There are track marks on your dick
Lip’s pucker, brow crumpled downward, then a shy smile side ways,
Later, a glance, a brush of a hand and a slight finch- like nod
Never a word, as quiet as her fair skin
Yet as wild as amber eyes
Speak! Yell! Scream!
Shells can be beautiful
Glisten in a spectrum
Ponderous in pattern
But cannot be consumed
Call it brain food but I cannot be nourished by sight alone
Some need to hear the bones crunch, to taste the marrow of what one is made of
The soul like the body has pulsating flesh, why hide either like
a stunning shell hiding all that makes it that much more special?
Shells are to be left rumbling upon tides
Shells are shelved
or at best worn as a prize.
It’s better to live with a shell than as one.
The minstrel is the ebb and flow of passion
Coloring the air with his devotion to emotion
The poet takes his color from all around
Sometimes all, or everything but sound
For every note, there is a color of ink
Both can make you feel, both can make you think
But the minstrel of all loves himself the most, and the music a little more
The poet lives for love, for the entire pallet, from truth to lore.
Ah, but it is the way for the musician to be adored
The poets are for the muses, the gift, for a place in their hoard
The minstrels mark of sensation, received and henceforth given
Muse’s give and take from poets, their all, their hell and heaven.
What will love you more, the mouth or heart of creation?
But who would risk the ills, of a muse’s cursing suspicion?
You wish to be within my breath
Without my arms around you
Even merely lovers cannot
Adjust to such a false truth
A mans vocation is what they are
What they do
So is the human bond, between two
What they are
What they do
The King never plays Prince
Nor the blacksmith, a horse
It’s a thing beyond nature
That one cannot force
Lovers are not like the moon they gaze upon
Or ocean sway
They are light, heat, the breeze
That either stays
Or fades away.
I cannot be debonair, because there is no romance with out you
I be silent, but not strong
More dark, less handsome
A knight, without the shine
Love is to sacrifice joyously, to hurt willingly, to yearn knowingly, to live selflessly,
all for but a shadow of a kiss.
I cannot be passion, for there is no flesh with out you,
A lover listless
A poet voiceless
A minstrel out of tune
Love is to nurture ones self, as the other, and the pair as a whole.
Love, is a state of being, not a feeling, not a goal
Love, is, if you know it, when you know it, if you accept it, if you fight for it,
if you choose it, if you lose it, worth it.
Fragile feminine fingers lost in the fray on my head
To spider climb the terrain
Slide down my back with a hint of passion
Trim, turbulent, tummy, supporting my head lost in the fray
To hold on and resist slumber
As fragile feminine fingers get lost in the fray
Lethargic, longing or lost in the fray
To retreat to as storms hover above
When one knows of a few safe places to stay
Whether weaken, in love or lost in the fray
Best to sail for safe harbor
in the presence of female company.
Butterfly, with dampened wings
Don’t fly far from me
the droplets that weigh you down
Not only magnify the radiance
But yet the subtle strength
in those soft mosaics
The winds of the world may always seem
to blow a turbulent course
But let my breath lift you higher
From my lips an upwind force
Gliding from leaf to leaf
Your conquest is all but inevitable
But to rest on the breast of ones breath
Can bring peace to the worry
Of challenges still left.
So butterfly
Don’t fly far from me
For ones eyes need such beauty
To give a reason to see
And purpose to breathe
Than simple survival
Through the storms of our seasons
Ones flight
Is to the delight
To those on the ground
Blowing in the wind.
