As a man I question my greed.
As a poet I question my need.
As a professional I question a lot.
As an artist it’s questions I’ve got.
As a pessimist my questions are tough.
As an optimist I question not enough.
As a slacker I question overtasking.
As one with answers I question the asking.
As a thinker I question the question.
As a lover I question the suggestion.
As a person I question my will.
And as of today I’m questioning still.
A late morning pleasant surprise,
when a chance glance spied loving eyes.
Hands soon touch and our lips soon meet,
our brains tingle to our heart’s beat.
Dancing feet scale heavenly stairs,
heights achieved lessen our cares.
Breathing’s heavy, our pillows soft,
troubles behind when two’s aloft.
The clock will run as we both lay,
pleasantly surprised for today.
Age needn’t be a time to whine,
just take a nap and you’ll be fine.
Hands held feeling skin,
emotions touched deep within.
With every breath hearts melt,
lips meet and warmth’s felt.
Candles flicker, embers glow,
lovers cuddle and both know.
Two minds seeing the same thing,
eyes open to the joy they bring.
Awakened by a dream of dawn,
sunshine beckons a brand new day.
Alas to find my words are gone,
a nightmare dark has found its way.
My darling slumbers peacefully,
awaiting her daily verse.
There my joy’s writ for her to see,
yet I suffer the poet’s curse.
My only wish is to make her smile,
returning the love she’s given.
And to make her laugh for a while,
curse be damned, this heart is driven.
In a cozy venue silence is heard.
Emotions touched without a word.
Waves of music fill the air,
a special time for two to share.
Fingers dance on ivory keys.
Warm hands rest upon our knees.
Briskly walking beneath stars bright,
harmony’s felt throughout the night.
Returning home our mind’s a daze.
Then upstairs our heart’s ablaze.
With a goodnight kiss we’re soon to sleep,
there to dream of this love so deep.
A story’s brewing; it’s felt in my heart.
Yet I’ve to find the end, middle or start.
I think it’s close but it could be far.
The damage done and left a scar.
The image is blurry and makes no sense.
I’m hangin’ out with a guy named Pence.
We’re trapped in a cell with fancy drapes.
There are no cigarettes but everyone vapes.
Our lofty guard is seven feet tall.
He brings us bread and that is all.
P’s is white and mine is wheat.
But we don’t mind, it’s something to eat.
P tells stories of his glorious time.
I write fast and make it all rhyme.
He worked for a king, second in charge.
His duties were light but his paycheck large.
The lights go out at ten o’clock.
The guards go home and we all rock.
Music starts jammin’ in a cell nearby.
The place gets smoky and we all get high.
Our eyes grow heavy then we all dream.
We awake at sunrise to coffee with cream.
The king too presides in a cell downstairs.
It’s dark and damp but no one cares.
The king has a wife he no longer sees.
She crawled off to Russia on her hands and knees.
Though his kids live here, their just down the hall.
They all got snatched while attending a ball.
Now tuxedo’s in tatters and gown’s a mess,
the truth was clear, no need to confess.
So maybe this story’s no story at all.
It may be a nightmare, I can’t recall.
Though being in jail I wasn’t keen.
But comfort is felt when the future’s seen.
I did get released, no word of the rest.
And all ends well, their silence being best.
Every glitch finds a way;
to fix itself or wreck the day.
Sometime things don’t work as planned.
Sometime plans must be panned.
A cat with fleas is truly bad.
A ruined trip is surely sad.
Heads in a tizzy, tensions on high,
sometime maybes just won’t fly.
But some time things do work out.
And all ends well where there was doubt.
The cat’s O.K. and the kid’s on her jet.
And a story’s to tell, this I’ll bet.
My poet switch has gone awry;
I want to write, so I don’t know why.
In sit in the chill this Sunday morn,
my thoughts warm but I’m torn.
I’d rather not force the words to go;
I prefer a natural flow.
Love abounds and all is well.
My brain’s working, as far as I can tell.
My darling sleeps whilst I scribble.
But today she’ll wake to only dribble.
Maybe it’s just this change in time.
And tomorrow I’ll return to standard rhyme.