Drip, Drip Dribble

Sorry to all for the dribble of late.
It’s been eight weeks since a fateful date.
T’was a muse unamused blew me away.
I left breathless for many a day.
~
Now it’s back to second guessing,
till that’s behind I’ve no caressing.
Bemused babblings, not ready to quip,
till then I fear just dribble from a drip.

~*~
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Egg Waits

Awaiting a shells fateful date,
eggs alone beat in wait.
When a pair scrambles to meet,
futures fertile swim to greet.
~
Pairs joined to each a share,
new is made over easy with care.
Hatched a recipe for pure delight,
sliding from heat, home plate’s in sight.
~
Yet time fragile, forking’s no joke,
bad luck befallen bound by yoke.
Getting fried never rehearsed.
And the wait answers which came first.

~*~
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Can’t Write *ove No More

A stack of sonnets,
but nowhere to send,
their beginning was joyous.
I wept at the end.
~
This stack of sonnets,
sit lonely by my side.
Paper thin memories,
time I’d rather hide.
~
My stack of sonnets,
never to be read.
A future seen,
then instantly shred.
~
A stack of sonnets,
were drawn from my heart.
Now I feel empty.
And wish I didn’t start.

~*~
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A Brief History of Dragons

The earth still brewing,
new life was stewing.
Flora askew and fauna still new,
eat or be eaten was all they knew.
~
The ground untested, sulfur’s in the air.
Crazed creatures wandered unaware;
creepy crawly slithery things,
swimmers of seas and fliers with wings.
~
But tucked cozily in palaces of awe,
dragons feasted and pondered what they saw.
Intruders were meals, some thrown back.
And gardening was their tasty snack.
~
Millennia past but for the dragon too soon,
change was afoot with the handy baboon.
Their hordes grew and quickly spread.
The plundering’s swift but never to be fed.
~
The dragon’s numbers always small,
just a few thousand and that is all.
They’re all very patient and very, very smart.
Some of the elders saw this planet’s start.
~
A meeting was had, all without doubt.
The dragons decided to wait this breed out.
They hibernate now till mankind’s last blunder.
When happily woke to darkness and thunder.

~*~
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News from the Asylum

No news here!
It’s a sunny day,
bright and clear.
Birds sing everywhere.
~
Snuck a smoke on the roof,
I could see the town.
The police came,
they got me down.
~
Now the sunset,
no news yet.
I missed my supper,
cos I’ve no regret.
~
I broke the candy machine,
that made me sad.
But they can’t take breakfast,
for that I’m glad.
~
Bed time’s soon,
no news yet.
I like toast with butter,
But I sometimes forget.

~*~
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New Old Fashion

After years and years of ups and downs,
when value of self’s been pennies on the pound,
love’s been vaulted and disappeared,
old friends lost and new to be found.
~
The body waivers and minds forget.
Wisdom comes and goes in equal ration.
Time’s rushed but waiting improves.
And all’s well when life has passion.

~*~
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Oddly Bioanalytical

A poet doomed I’ve started believe’n.
The odds it seems much better than even.
T’was born on an even day, month and year.
And I’m a Libra to boot, if you care.
~
An INFP, I think that means I feel stuff.
And if that alone wasn’t enough,
I’m fair of skin, odd of weight and six feet even.
A poet doomed and my name’s even Steven.

~*~
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Wows

With these strings, I thee bled,
fingers raw and eyes red.
Sounds of the day fill my head.
Emotion speaks with words unsaid.
~
With six strings I am fed.
Good vibration is my med.
Tension’s tuned and compression shed.
Harmony pledged. To honor bred.
~
With my strings I have wed.
Our ties bound by common thread.
Sweet melodies or what’s instead?
I’ll have and hold till I’m dead.

~*~
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What a Rush

I want to write more love poems
and I want to do it soon.
I don’t want to write of heartache.
I want to snuggle beneath the moon.
~
I want to write more love poems
and express the love in my heart.
I want them to inspire
and be reminders when apart.
~
I want to write more love poems
and share one each and every day.
I want to write more love poems,
but to rush is not the way.

~*~
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Checking Out

Counting the days till days don’t count,
there’ll be no worries or any doubt.
There’s never to be a frown or a pout.
I could stay in or I can go out.
~
Counting the days for my time to sprout,
I’ll get up late with nothing to think about.
I can be really quite or scream and shout.
I’ll always be mellow and never freak out.
~
Counting the days to assume some clout,
each moment’s new with adventures to scout.
Destinations will be celebrations to tout.
The sun will shine with or without
~
Counting the days thought getting stout.
All will be friends, but for the lout.
I’ll need no maps and never to rout.
I’m never locked in or lucked out.
~
Counting days before the days run out,
when never a tear or ever a drought.
Choices all mine, all else to flout.
And blessings counted before checking out.

~*~
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Blips

I’m sick of heartbreak; it’s time to move past.
But this isn’t a love poem, that’d be too fast.
I won’t be pondering heaven or hell.
So where does a recovering poet dwell.
~
Whether writers block or writer’s cramp,
a king of yore or disheveled tramp,
I’ve a reign of reams at my command.
I’ve time and space in my hand.
~
I’ve a rocket ship that’s faster than light.
I dance with spirits in the night.
I’ve helmed a ship through stormy seas,
wrestled a friend in a hive of bees.
~
I’ve felt love and feel it missed.
A new day’s today and sunshine kissed.
And though this poem has no middle or end,
it’s a blip in cyberspace, again to send.

~*~
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The Sands of Time Between My Toes

As a boy I walked the beach every day.
I stared at the horizon to find my way.
Visions of tomorrow filled my head;
days without fear and a true love to wed.
~
Ripples between obscured the view.
Sink or swim’s all I could do.
Years thrashing to stay afloat,
my life preserver’s gone and I no boat.
~
From the storm a distant shore arose.
Memories conjured with sand between her toes.
With a youthful splash and mind in the skies,
yesterday’s future floated before my eyes.
~
Was a summer returned, the same and new.
That time’s now gone but dreams came true.
The boy now grown, ending his wait.
If a past meant to be it wouldn’t be late.

~*~
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The Sands of Time Between My Toes

As a boy I walked the beach every day.
I stared at the horizon to find my way.
Visions of tomorrow filled my head;
days without fear and a true love to wed.
~
Ripples between obscured the view.
Sink or swim’s all I could do.
Years thrashing to stay afloat,
my life preserver’s gone and I no boat.
~
From the storm a distant shore arose.
Memories conjured with sand between her toes.
With a youthful splash and mind in the skies,
yesterday’s future floated before my eyes.
~
Was a summer returned, the same and new.
That time’s now gone but dreams came true.
The boy now grown, ending his wait.
If a past meant to be it wouldn’t be late.

~*~
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No Brainers

One shouldn’t settle so not to wait.
Fair’s not fair and good’s not great.
Red flags fly so not too late.
Half a heart can’t seal a fate.
~
Days pass with us or without.
Some have promise, some doubt.
Some will whisper some will shout.
Some things felt, some thought about.
~
We all have faults, some have two.
Some have more, some quite a few.
So know your own, that’ll do.
Then you know what’s best for you.
~
Strokes broad and canvas wide,
pros and cons help decide.
Time tells us we cannot hide.
Our choices made; behind or beside.

~*~
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On a Roll

Her scent lingers, I flushed away.
I sense the push of another shitty day.
She polluted my mind and soiled my bed.
Leave me alone, get out of my head!
~
We fed our needs and ate our cake.
Her outside sweet, her inside’s fake.
Her taste and touch I felt were real.
Now pinched cheeks is all I feel.
~
My hand shades so not so crass,
this burst of gas I hope to pass.
And groan some notes for a while,
refreshing again this steaming pile.
~
Time trickles naturally.
But stand I must eventually.
A gentle pull will clear the residue.
Her memory wiped but some sticks like glue.

~*~
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Writing on Empty

I worry about writing, I worry when not.
I worry too much, I worry a lot.
The past I feel and the future I see.
Factor’s deduced and nothing’s free.
~
Can it be afforded, an unknowable time?
Can life be spent on rhythm and rhyme?
Can I feel without getting hurt?
Can I grow without eating dirt?
~
Chained to my pen, the outside looms.
In dusty volumes this life entombs.
Can pages torn be chapters shared?
If a binding’s broke should fate be dared?
~
Sheets to the wind, covers tossed.
My quill floats off, I am lost.
Paces excel and alter trips forgot.
Will the sunshine burn, I worry a lot.

~*~
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Ands

She was placed on a pedestal.
And I was kicked I the face.
She jumped off.
I fell from grace.
~
I let my guard down.
And I exposed my heart.
And in the blink of her eye,
I was missing a part.
~
I opened hundreds of doors.
And heard one slammed.
Our time swept smoothly.
And now it’s jammed.
~
To express my love,
I took a chance.
I gave her my song.
And she couldn’t dance.

~*~
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Silence

Can you hear it, it’s all around?
The mind is still, there’s not a sound.
Eyes see there’s nothing new.
But change felt, the outside’s blue.
~
The darkest hours now muted.
Beating seconds, time’s diluted.
In my heart the view less shaded.
In my soul the hue’s faded.
~
Digging deep to find the light,
shadows shorten out of sight.
Echo’s silent, notes scream.
Good nights calling, again to dream.

~*~
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Dashed

Past defeats never forgot.
And new ones start, wanted or not.
The future’s now a little shorter.
The time’s past to reorder.
~
On a line I stand for another race.
Hurdles tripped to slow the pace.
Miles obscure seconds behind.
Marathons won when a sprint’s to find.
~
Running on empty, the finish’s near.
The sun setting, lost again I fear.
Love’s judged, balanced with tension.
Perhaps I’ll sit for honorable mention.

~*~
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