Age

Childhood

Suckled, cherished and warm

Blissful frolic to pimpled storm

Time ticks slow then runs fast

Stumbling blind from the past

Experiments with our alien form

*

Youth

Hormone gales cloud the brain

Life is long, much to gain

Time inhibits, much to do

Carefree hands become too few

Past and future collide, no refrain

*

Mid-Life

Inhibitions shrink

Time enables all to think

Second chance ambitions grow

Hands move fast, body slow

Pass the clock with a wink

*

Seniority

Hands of time toil half the day

The other, gravity has its way

Seeds of time sown with care

Golden harvest – time to share

Leaves fall, memories stay

**

The End

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A Lonely Princess

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Where rocky cliff meets stormy sea,

a castle perched, forever be.

Where gray stone surrounds little seen sky.

‘Twas this fortress a young princess cry.

.

The princess post birth, her parents delight,

treasured by day, guarded by night.

Feasting with jesters, ponies, puppets and maids,

a gaggle of servants draw bright velvet shades

.

With sentry of knight to share all her dreams,

her eyes shut tight to hide her screams.

Time wasted limitless, she wished for an end.

The princess was lonely without a true friend.

..

One morning awoken by a kiss from a queen,

sleepy eyes opened to a sight seldom seen.

Golden light sparkles in diamond pane rare,

a sapphire morn burns black coal night air.

.

A tasty breakfast served on tray in bed.

Downy pillows fluffed to rest her head.

The king arrived more jolly than ever,

with riddle to solve, if anyone clever.

.

“What may have wings cannot fly.

Holds a heart yet cannot die.

Shaken pitch laughs off rain.

Having one a princess to gain?”

.

The joyous young girl made many a guess.

The kings’ piddling patience grew less and less.

The queen and knights all had a try.

The king muttered “castle!” with a loud sigh.

.

The room bemused by the riddler’s zeal.

Most unconcerned with how others feel.

A castle repeated in more pleasant a tone,

a home for a princess to call her own.

.

But first a short trip outside the wall,

where grass tickles feet and trees grow tall.

There are lessons to learn from tutors wise.

There are truths to see with growing eyes.

.

Now’s time a princess must prepare,

for the eventual call of a prince to be dear.

A someday king awaits his throne,

whence you shall rest upon your own.

.

The princess knew the day would come,

a bartered prize as was her Mum.

No fairy tale endings for spawn of kings.

“Tis a life shackled with heavy gold rings.

.

Adventure awaits, no time for self-pity,

freedom’s short locked in a stone city.

Knowledge abounds beyond heavy gates.

The princess skips past on worn ancient slates.

.

Beneath a fine bonnet of satin and lace,

excitement glowed on her adolescent face.

Her velvet shoes barely touching the dirt,

a merry cyclone a-swirl in silk skirt.

.

Her mentor soon waves from path by wood.

Magical flora beckons, some bad, some good.

Wonders overwhelm in green forest lush.

An ocean of emeralds painted with brush.

.

With each lash a-flutter bursts a new color.

Light and shades multiply them all more.

With the thirst of a sponge she did explore,

where surprises abound when not looked for.

.

A gentle breeze blew, a little leaf flew,

bright sky filled in the space anew

A ray of sunlight kissed a shiny stone.

Atop a bed of dewy leaf it rests alone.

.

With a tiny tap upon its shimmering side,

the distant fates of two collide.

Surface cracking on this egg thought stone,

a heartbeat wakened with thunderous tone.

.

Out popped a plump lump, beneath wings of scale.

A pat on the rump exposed its long tail.

A final stretch thrust shell shards to leaf.

And there lie a creature beyond belief.

.

Warm smiles shared with a new friend.

A precious little pearl, the girl’s to defend.

The gazes shattered by a howl from the trail,

‘twas the elderly teacher, impatient and frail.

.

The princess knew what had to be done.

The babe hid under her bonnet and bun.

Down the path she ran back to the gate.

Yelled to the guards “The teacher was late”

.

Gates barely open she slipped through the crack,

escaping notice of the tail down her back.

Safe in her chamber they shared the night’s meal,

both sharing puckers with fresh lemon peel.

.

Then swathed in plush robes, kissed on the head,

the fledgling was tucked safely under the bed.

Each night passing, more robes to conceal,

this teething tot with big teeth that’s real.

.

Each day growing from the princess’s scraps,

she grew thinner, now padded with straps.

The servants grew nervous at both the sight,

one lie near weightless, one flew in the night.

.

The princess’s secret though soon was known,

when her expanding friend went out alone.

The knights became dazed by armored flight,

their swords no match for the hunger of night.

.

The king and queen where too nearly maimed.

Pawns, bishops and rooks where all to be blamed.

A wizard was called to tame the toddler beast.

His tenure cut short when almost a feast.

.

The creature now huge, truly loved the girl.

She called her Sunshine, the princess’s Pearl.

Together they frolicked on the castle rooftop.

The king spying danger called for a stop.

.

Shouting “time’s come to put childhood behind,

It’s now time to marry, I’ve someone in mind.

He’s brave, sweet, wise and kind, at least I’m told.

There’ll be time to adjust as you both grow old.”

.

Escorted by king to a royal coach and four,

off to be locked behind another gilded door.

Her fate was sealed by a noble families need,

alliances grown with common regal seed.

.

But with a twist, jerk and a naughty giggle,

the squiggly princess was free now to wiggle.

Breaking free, running fast, past all unaware.

She zigged and zagged toward the rooftop stair.

.

Screaming loudly for her only friend Pearl,

who tried to save the much pursued girl.

A guard with a pike held Pearl on a chain.

Blocking the Sunshine’s escape of the reign.

.

Seeing her friend at the top of the stair,

Pearl snapped her links then into the air.

The petrified guard fled from his post,

grabbing for Sunshine he’d surely be toast.

.

The princess ran to the edge of the roof,

yelling to Pearl, she feared aloof.

The big eared beast sharply turned about,

hearing her Sunshine’s gloomy shout

.

The king with guards, knights and queen,

Stormed to the roof unprepared for what’s seen.

The princess looked back, blew a kiss to her mother,

and a warm thoughtful wave to all the other.

.

Then with a carefree step she disappeared.

Plunging to her sudden death, or so was feared.

The mortified lookers all lunged for the ledge.

Hoping the princess landed safe in a hedge.

.

The king peeked over, not wanting to see,

when up rose his honey like a big bumble bee.

She hung from the neck of her dear friend Pearl,

now bonded for life, this dragon and girl.

.

Higher she climbed with a dragons eye view,

a view to be viewed by a very small few.

Now all surveyed, now all her realm,

Sunshine’s the captain, Pearl the helm.

.

Over forest and mountains, ocean and stream,

free in a world where she need not dream.

Adrift on her Pearl upon the endless sea,

Alone they now be in their realm of fantasy.

.

The king broken hearted wept in his sleep.

The queen stricken ill with never a peep.

They later agreed to bare a new heir,

whether girl or boy was not a care.

.

The next child’s fate was sure to be better,

born free of mind and trappings that clutter.

With a loving heart nurtured by family and friends,

then given the choices to choose their own ends.

.

The princess returned in time for the birth.

The kingdom was full of merriment and mirth.

The princess enchanted with a friend who flew.

And all ends happily as fairy tales all do.

*

The End

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The Seed

~

Colors of autumn, death’s in bloom.

Return to the earth, the seeds’ final tomb,

nourishing yet another season.

We’re all guests of earth for this reason.

~

And thus the surety of life;

prosperity, mediocrity or strife.

All to return to where once came,

regardless of misfortune or fame.

~

For life is but a lesson –

throughout our mortal existence.

A test of our bodies, minds

and hearts persistence.

~

We’re all creatures of the same seed.

Return to the earth, our souls freed.

So let us not perceive death an end –

simply a new life to transcend.

~

For death is the exploration

of dimensions unknown.

And thus the destiny of the seed-

Grown

~

Sck2014/84

When?

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If life begins at birth we know of no tomorrows.

If life begins at ten we know of no ends.

If life begins at twenty there’s still time a plenty.

If life begins at thirty it’s time to get flirty.

If life begins at forty it’s time to get naughty.

If life begins at fifty it’s getting kind of iffy.

If life begins at sixty, then have yourself a ball.

If life begins at seventy you had no life at all.

If life begins at eighty than you better take it easy.

If life begins at ninety then better you than me.

If life begins at a century it’s a life most never see.

Every days a surprise, every tomorrow’s a bet.

It doesn’t matter where you start, it’s how far you get.

The End

 

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Lessons

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The more costly the watch the freer the time

The louder the song the looser the rhyme

Turn on the light half the world’s dark

Smell the gas we see with a spark

Life in a bubble called atmosphere

Poking holes without a care

Drink deep from fragile stemmed glass

Candlelit dreams with time to pass

To guess and be wrong a zero gain bet

The higher the proof the more wrong we get

To prove the proof a wasted equation

Pens against bombs can never be won

Words in the air unheard over fuss

Numbers on paper not to discuss

Lessons of life shared by all; never stand, never fall

Never swim, never sink, never thirst, never drink

Always bright much unseen, blind to details in-between

Never laugh, never weep, never dive unless it’s deep

Never leap in the melting caps ice

A lesson we can never learn twice

The End

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Questions

Which came first?

The egg or the hen, children or men,

now or then, the poet or the pen?

What comes last?

The future or the past, rising high or sinking fast,

a little fizzle or mighty blast, a crumpled sketch or final cast?

What is the end?

Goodbye to a cherished friend, a straight path or twist and bend,

a love note always meant to send, a dark void to descend

or love, joy and happiness to share and to lend?

These questions are the same for all but our answers will depend.

The End or Beginning

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Choices

Colors abound, many unseen

Warm, cold and in between

Good, neutral or just plain mean

Perfectly flat or ultra-high sheen

 

Blackness paints the hue of night

Shades of gray fill the light

Morning comes all is bright

Gaze the sun all is white

 

Breathe deep, share the haste

Air fresh or full of waste

Seas of warmth or frigid ice

Hairs of decision some with lice

 

A spectrum of options everyday

Wheels and dials all have their say

Black or white, shades of gray

But choose we must somehow, some way.

 

The End

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Two to One

Too few natives, too many a chief

Too few police, too many a thief

Too much sun, too little rain

Too much tan, too little grain

 

Too few balls, too many sports

Too many yachts, too few ports

Too few hearths, too many homes

Too much warmth under too few domes

 

Too many shakes, too few hugs

Too little trust, too many bugs

Too little love, too much hate

Too little planning, too much fate

 

Too much running, too little soul

Too much waste, too small a hole

Too many pages, too few to conserve

Too many titles too few deserve

 

Too many thinkers, too little thought

Too many lies, too little truth sought

Too much war, too little gain

Too little peace, too much pain

 

Too many arms, too few fists

Too few battles won to list

Too little time, too much to lose

Two choices remain – which one do you choose?

 

 

The End                                          sck081314

The Art of Living

~

From hand scrawl on a damp cave wall

The stroke of genius to start it all

And then another, discovered recall

A timely chance, the past in freefall

.

The renaissance screams in-between

Painted queens upon medieval scenes

To modern memes of tomorrow’s dreams

Our nows are relative or so it seems

.

Hung to transcend drawn to a friend

Contemporaries’ always free to lend

Future’s descend, questions to tend

Conclusions offend but only one end

~*~

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Poetic Injustice

Afloat in red stilettos, hair, nails and lips

Shimmering in black satin, taught about the hips

Blue green eyes sparkle as they glance my way

Smile wide across her face, yet I’ve nothing to say

*

Subtle hand reaching softly touches mine

Nervously reacting I nearly spilled her wine

Leaning ever closer, whispering in my ear

Sweet sounds alluring, words I’ve dreamt to hear

*

Standing stunned, throbbing chest

Twisted tongue on a tortured quest

A racing mind all aflutter

An uncertain stutter I did utter

*

With this mutter she did chortle

A pen less poet’s just a mortal

~*~

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The Blob

.

I was out to lunch this early fall,

with my sweetheart, disturbed by a call.

Tried not to answer, boss wouldn’t wait.

“Go to the harbor”, he yelled, “before it’s too late”.

Duty calls, I sped to the pier,

swerved through traffic as fast as I dare.

Screeched to a halt at the dock by the bay,

the boat’s motors revved then underway.

Holding on tight I asked what’s the fuss?

The skipper pointed up at the blob over us.

It was big and gray, no particular form,

battered and tattered like a dingy in a storm

It hung from balloons, one at each end,

letting air out slowly to descend.

It kissed the calm harbor with hardly a swell.

A slit appeared then a putrid smell.

Followed by a ladder of rope dropped to the sea,

then an old head popped out “Ahoy thar matey.”

We climbed aboard the blob that fell from the sky.

Inside appeared to be a ship with no sails but masts high.

A portal to the past or future, it wasn’t clear.

My eyes wide open, couldn’t fathom what’s near.

Bos’n whistle blowing, ships bell ringing,

Captain’s on deck, old sailors singing.

Adrift in time for many a year,

brass shone bright, decks scrubbed bare.

Beards grown long, spirits grown weak,

searching endlessly for the end they seek

I asked many questions and he of I.

“How did you come to fall from the clear blue sky?”

He shrugged and answered “balloons in the sun.”

He asked how the war went; I said “you won”

Pleased by the news, great joy was abound.

The captain and crew, spirits were found.

We told him our location, name and job.

He told us the story of his great flying blob.

“I built her to survey the rogue enemy.

Launched in the spring, eighteen sixty-three.

But she rose too quickly and at too fast a pace.

Caught in a current and thrust into space.

She’s wrapped in layers of thick blubber.

Fin of spruce to serve as rudder.

A ship out of water floating in space,

propelled by methane made from our waste.

And in her belly the mighty tree grew;

wood for repairs, air for the crew.

Trimmed to perfection, nurtured with care,

the trees demise is all that we fear.”

“The tree is the living when all else seems dead.

Greens for the birds then eggs we are fed.

Twigs feed the fires for heat and our light,

the roots of survival the engine of flight.”

The captain paused for word from the mate.

A decision to make before it’s too late.

The blubber was oozing in the midday sunlight,

absorbing seawater, soon too heavy for flight.

He called out the order to make all lines taut.

Bid us farewell and shared one last thought.

“No matter how far our souls may roam –

the journeys not over until we are home.”

The blob sailed off high in the sky –

then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The captain and crew homeward at last,

seeing the future, choosing and the past.

The End

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Left Behind

~

Lost in a wandering state of mind,

returning to memories I thought left behind.

A campground awaits from decades of yore,

There’s a lake nearby and nature galore.

 

Summers there filled with family and friends,

as the specter of youth unknowingly ends.

The journey’s now short to a time long past.

My cabin soon appears while the sun fades fast.

 

The sky was clear, blues deepened to black.

The stars shone bright, they welcomed me back.

I relaxed on the porch and sipped iced tea,

my friends due tomorrow the night was for me.

 

With waning moon the damp mist rose,

crickets serenaded, eyes started to close.

Blissful sensations then the start of dreams,

when startled was I by familiar screams.

 

Dolly, Dolly, Dolly! was all she ever said,

her childhood taunts now flooding my head.

She’s the ghostly remains of horrors we’d share.

The truth is haunting when better a nightmare.

 

She would scratch at the screen above my bed.

I’d shriek and shiver and cower with dread.

Mornings would come, I’d report of my fright,

“that little girl’s ghost came to take me last night”.

 

My brothers would tease and mom consoled,

dad says they’re figments of tales I’ve been told.

But when evenings cool and crescent moon high,

dense fog rose and that child would cry.

 

Dolly, dolly, dolly is all she would say,

Her bony hand summoned and pointed the way.

Never dared I answer her mournful request.

Silently I’d wait, ignoring my guest.

 

It’s been many years since last we met.

Time I’ve tried hard, but to never forget.

Now I’ve matured and conscience will decide.

Am I to seek or again shall I hide?

 

I know not what of this phantoms despair.

Yet together there’s grief we seemingly share.

Her woe is death while mine’s the living.

Each is assured though neither forgiving.

 

Our paths have crossed, all have an end.

My choice is made by this spirited friend.

With eyes open wide follow I must,

forsaking not, that lost child’s trust.

 

I rose and leaned forward, held out my hand.

Our fate’s to obey and to command.

We dashed through the field and into the woods.

A moment imagined of pleasant childhoods.

 

Each step echoes with brittle twig snap.

Till the shadows of trees soon overlap.

To guide my way mere slivers of light,

pursuing my phantom into the night.

 

Thicket and bramble claw at my skin,

bleeding the courage from deep within.

The worn paths end at fresh fallen leaf,

this forest beyond, beyond my belief.

 

Spirits roam free where the living don’t tread.

My friend had returned to her life of the dead.

I wished again to hide safe behind closed eyes,

trading this vision for dreams of blue skies.

 

The girl then pointed at boulders stacked high,

interwoven with brush to hide from the eye.

All layers of shadow, grays deepened to black,

foretelling the depth of crevice and crack.

 

Her hazy glow grew brighter, eyes more intense,

repeated cries for dolly now making sense.

She’s lost a dear friend and I’m chosen to find.

To abandon now this child was beyond unkind.

 

Exited are we, our quest’s nearly done.

‘Twas a test of persistence, both surely won.

My mind’s now a flutter, heart beating proud,

grasping in darkness through thick thorny shroud.

 

Our search going well till that last step was taken,

the ground then vanished, I was tumbled and shaken.

I awoke sometime later to whispers, mumbles and cries.

My new friend stood close as I opened my eyes.

 

I saw Dolly held tightly and a bustle nearby.

Mourners had grouped where still bodies lie.

While both lifeless figures familiar in size.

The live too are familiar, all saying goodbyes.

 

The little girl thanked me for my many good deeds.

As slowly she faded having found what she needs.

I begged to be taken for I’ve been truly kind.

When last she said “You need first find needs left behind.”

 

 

.

Sck021616

Forever Brine

Gaslights flicker, but one in three

These harsh fall winds batter thee

Soon the rains will pour and pelt

Yet with heavy heart nothing’s felt

~

Broken brick teeters beneath shoe-less feet

The stench of death fills the street

An island paradise – mine no more

Alas in this city to find a door

~

Thirty years lost at sea

‘Till found rescued, returned free

In search of a life I wish to find

Of futures not had and left behind

~

Now homeward bound to do what’s right

And share my tale of a dreadful night

With freezing sleet and gale, our sails torn

Splintered masts await the morn

~

Screams of mates haunting still

Silence came with the sunsets’ chill

I awoke to a native angel, urged to make a wife

Years of guilty pleasure pass of fertile island life

~

In a search never-ending of a foggy memory

Back to a decrepit city, forever lost to me

A vision of a woman I had no time to know

And a father-less child I never saw grow

~

Now I must roam this morbid place

In the shadows I hide this unknown face

With grizzled hide and toothless grin

Tis I this rotted hull of unforgivable sin

~

First I betrayed a young bride with family

I’ve betrayed my many brothers to a stormy sea

Betrayed my island flowers with my bastard seed

And their many blooms not knowing of their creed

~

In tangled webs of filthy alleys, doors locked tight

Shuttering out the dangers awakened in the night

Seeking boarded diamond pane, broken lintel I recall

My tiny door beckons just down the hall

~

Now steps ahead my future lies, one without a past

Decisions’ pondered long, yet always chosen fast

With a knock a ghost returns to those long at rest

Me thinks a splintered briny deck for all will be best

~*~

sck071615

In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage

Behold this welcome image,
where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay,
in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Pleasant breeze’s most every day.

Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasures abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.

Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill-top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets estate.

He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair,
a quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.

Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze,
modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.

Journeys end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.

He’s just another hazy face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring.

Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found,
in the deep or endless sky.

Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.

Sharing much common thread,
In this moment they’re brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall,
making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.

In a corner where shadows overlap,
the poet searches for his light.
Here the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe for now from his hilltop trap,
layers of darkness, out of sight.

Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides,
now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?

Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
the scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses are strong.

His hat brim low to hide the shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poet’s name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.

When after long hesitation a hasty reply –
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow with faces shaded red.

Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales – all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
He’s hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.

The poet proud – a rather long fellow.
The traveler meek – a short poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.

“With little time to hone a craft –
with a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”

“What dribble do you speak my friend?”
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
“I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.”

Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.

The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered,
his shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind is so free and uncluttered.

His weaknesses many but unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His silence welcome  – forever heard.

Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.

Out of the dark into the night –
bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.

While the traveler tucked snugly in his bunk,
with help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense – drunk.
The favorite carried and a silent poet ran.

His boot heels clack on cobble slick.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
While his stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
If only to have aid from his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.

The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb,
with forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea –
my misery oh-so great – it is oh-so sublime.

Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.

Winter behind, graven plans regress,
fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey’s soon to Main Street for praise to guzzle.

Surveying high atop his magnificent mount,
the poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle – not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler, no doubt –
“In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”

The End

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No Words

An unexpected journey has begun;
it starts each day with the rising sun.
Two fates collided with a rush,
our worries faded into a hush.
~
I wake each day with a smile,
surely to glow all the while.
My first thought is only you,
now silly dreams just won’t do.
~
Our minds, they are in sync,
I sense what you think.
I know what you’re feeling,
our souls now reeling.
~
Our days now made more bright,
we’ll tingle till our last kiss goodnight.
And I, now a poet speechless and dreams won’t do.
And my heart now and forever beats for only you.

~*~
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Damn Slunk

Free will gives us choices.
Souls sort and weigh.
Lust fills in the blanks.
Feet tap another day.
~
When the fates of two collide,
change is felt together.
When hearts and minds align,
pairs will love forever.
~
When one of four is askew,
time will corrode and sever.
Love is not a slam dunk.
The heart and mind know never.

~*~
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