writing

A Click Away

The poet’s journal’s an open book,
so come on in and take a look.
There are all the emotions to be found,
there’s also thoughts on sight, smell and sound.
~
Pages are filled with love and heartbreak,
with lots more between for give and take.
There’s sunsets galore and sunrises more,
starlit nights and seasons for sure.
~
Sometimes funny, most times not,
it might not be good but there’s a lot.
Bring your glasses and forget the phone,
with a poet to listen you’re never alone.
~
You might be a muse or giver of clues,
I may write a poem about your new shoes.
We’ll sip some coffee in the shade,
the day will end but a friendship made.
~
Our time will be logged with notes on the side,
with a flourish embellished or at least tried.
But if you can’t make it that’s OK too,
it’s all online to be shared with you.

~*~
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Awakened

I woke today a poet, dreams now in view.
The sun’s soon to rise on a world truly new.
My eyes open wide, heart beats on high.
Senses all a tingle, colors fill the sky.
~
Birds spread their joy, they sing me a song.
Their sounds inspire feelings pure and strong.
A cat sleeps on a table-top, seemingly unaware.
My darling’s soon to wake, morning we will share.
~
Thoughts and emotions again will flow.
Hugs and kisses let us both know.
The future is beginning when we rise.
Our time is surely now, why compromise.

~*~
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To Write

towrite

To write of birth is a one-sided view

To write of the past when all is new

To write of life when opinions are plenty

To write of youth that ends at twenty

~

To write of joy is to write of grief

To write of pain is of no relief

To write of boredom is to never be bored

To write of lust like sports is scored

~

To write of love is to love first

To write of hate your mind will burst

To write of fear the fearful not dare

To write without fear is to write without care

~

To write of lies is to confess

To write of death is just a guess

To write of nothing is no life at all

To write is to write is a writer’s call

~*~

 

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Indecision

I think I have an issue and it’s been a while.
But I’ll be back soon to help you all smile.
I need some time off but I’ll be taking notes.
Maybe I’ll shoot some snaps or study ancient quotes.
~
I might write a tale of a dragon and a knight.
But they’ll be best friends and never ever fight.
Perhaps I’ll pen an essay of all the worlds’ ills.
Better yet, pornography that might pay the bills.
~
The choices are seemingly endless but I can’t decide.
I’ve dove into my brain cells searching far and wide.
It’s a dark and squishy place where the palette dwells.
It’s connected to the heart by strings, whistles and bells.
~
Delving ever deeper ideas come into view.
Words drip from my head, on the page they’re spew.
Their order or direction makes no sense to me.
Then my eyes begin to close and the clarity I see.
~
The outside world’s distracting, as you are aware.
If there is just one thing, that’s the one we share.
I think I’m waking up now; it must be time to go.
But when I write again I’ll probably let you know.

~*~
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Webs in the Attic

I sit at the kitchen table waiting for thoughts to come.
So far none’s forthcoming; I’m hoping there’ll be some.
Time is quickly passing as I stare off into space.
If wasting time were a sport I know I’d win the race.
~
But words don’t run on tracks and thoughts know no time.
But if patience is a virtue then waiting is no crime.
Procrastination is a different thing, results will find away.
It’s a choice that we make to give away our say.
~
Yesterdays’ may be gone but our actions will remain.
Mistakes made along the way will leave a lasting stain.
We wake each day to change, thinking everything’s the same.
But time moves only forward and tomorrows’ we cannot tame.
~
We’ll take our deepest breath and dive in head first.
We try to make the biggest splash to satisfy our thirst.
The volumes fill up fast, their content is our own.
The good we see in others reflects on how we’ve grown.
~
The time is getting late and I’m fading fast.
Why must the future wait while sleeping off the past?
So I’ll wait another day for something new to write.
The winter blues are passing and mornings looking bright.
~
Optimism’s on the rise though heights often chill.
Pessimism is an easy fall but the bottom is no thrill.
Windows will soon be open and fresh starts will appear.
And those webs in the attic just need the spring to clear.

~*~
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Reaching

Yesterday’s thoughts written today,
is tomorrow’s poem on display.
Feelings recorded and colors felt,
the past is gone and hand’s dealt.
~
So I sit with a pad and pen,
soon I’ll write but I know not when.
Will it be happy or a little bit sad?
It may not be good but something’s not bad.
~
My heart beats and music is heard,
the world’s often dark and time’s blurred.
Life and art blend together as one,
eyes open the bleedings begun.
~
The flow consumes and words appear,
for now scattered but without fear.
Steps taken are sure to teach,
that love abounds at arm’s reach.

~*~
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Always Time

I could write another love poem,
but all the words I’ve used.
Maybe a poem of friendship and intimacy,
or perhaps how two souls fused.
~
I might write about a sunset,
or maybe the new days’ dawn.
I could weave a tale of unicorns,
since it’s fantasy I’m drawn.
~
I could share more about my dreams,
as it is a third of my time.
But I’m sure I’ll write more love poems,
she being my most passionate rhyme.

~*~
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Dawn’s Rap

I listen to the wind chime,
writing down a new rhyme,
like I do all the time.
But don’t dis me, it’s not a crime.
~
I’m thinking of my best friend,
the one I’ll love until the end.
She’s to cherish and defend,
her love of me I depend.
~
I pen a poem every day;
I say the words I cannot say.
Sometime blue and sometimes gay,
I write a lot but not for pay.
~
We talk a lot every night;
we laugh a lot and never fight.
We kiss a lot and know it’s right.
I stare at her in the morning light.
~
I get up early, no time to waste,
I need my morning coffee taste.
No need to hurry, no need for haste,
she’ll wake soon and I’ll be graced.
~
The hour near, I make the climb.
I’ll slip back in bed just like a mime.
Her eyes will open and my day’s sublime.
Then we’ll listen to the wind chime.

~*~
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Foggy but Clear

Counting the seconds before the rain,
morning fog has fogged my brain.
The hour early but work is waiting,
I have to go there’s no debating.
~
My love slumbers while I think.
Her morning poem is on the brink.
Minutes pass without a word.
But not to write would be absurd.
~
I see her sleeping in my mind.
A more equal love I’ll never find.
Nightly visions I wish to keep,
I dream of her when I’m asleep.
~
Another hour just slipped past,
she’ll soon awake so I’ll write fast.
Though nothing deep in her poem today,
fortunately words aren’t love anyway.

~*~
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Serendipity

A busy day has just begun;
I got up late, no time for fun.
So it’s off to work in a flash,
I’d rather not but I need the cash.
~
The time is near when time’s my own.
I’m not too old but surely grown.
Retirement’s to be my second chance.
I’ll write all day and enjoy romance.
~
I’ll still get up early, I like the dawn.
I’ll take out the dog to pee on the lawn.
The sun will rise and words will flow.
There’ll be no rushing, I’ve nowhere to go.
~
But that time’s a few weeks away,
my feelings then I cannot say.
But I’m thinking I’ll yell YIPPY!
Then go home for a life of serendipity.

~*~
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What a Rush

I got up late and have no time,
no time to ponder or to rhyme.
But I got some rest and that’s good.
But I didn’t write like I should.
~
My love won’t wake to poetry,
no token of love made by me.
Just hugs and kisses will have to do.
And the simple words “I love you”
~
I’ll hold her tight before I go,
then some more to let her know.
Words are conjured in the mind,
then sculpted on paper when time’s to find.
~
Time is precious and not to waste,
love endures no need for haste.
Sometimes heads are full of mush.
But the future’s ours, no need to rush.

~*~
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A Hint of Poetry

There’s poetry for hate and for love.
There are poems for hawks and the dove.
Some are short, some quite long,
some add music and make a song.
~
There are poems that are happy but many are sad.
There’s poetry that’s good while none really bad.
Some poems rhyme and others not,
some just a little, some rhymesalot.
~
There’s effort made to make you smile.
There are jokes thrown in once in a while.
Sometimes yes and sometimes no,
some get posted and others go.
~
There’s poetry that’s biographical.
There are funny poems but this one laughable.
Someday I’ll write a book for print,
someday when I get a hint.

~*~
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Never Too Late

I woke up really late and had no time to play,
so I couldn’t write your poem today.
But tomorrow is another day,
maybe then my brain will play.
~
My heart is full of love;
my soul is filled with bliss.
My thoughts are now in shambles;
with each blink I feel your kiss.
~
Time now has no meaning,
we’re together or I wait.
Tho my age curve’s now receding,
some things are better late.

~*~
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Time’s Up for Down

Days spent in mourning,
nights spent a daze.
Sleep brings no solace,
awaiting morning’s haze.
~
Time has no meaning,
when only ends are sought.
Life has no feeling,
when the mind distraught.
~
Pleasures now elude,
the walls are closing in.
Darkness’s soon to follow,
trapped beneath this skin.
~
Hopes and dreams dissolved,
a mix of bad and worse.
And all that will remain,
yet another mournful verse.

~*~
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Whom Me

There’s another me I’ve yet to see.
And this other me won’t let this one be.
Both see with my eyes and screw with my head.
But only one’s good, the other better off dead.
~
Never certain whom will wake,
or the trouble they will make.
Their highs often go way, way too far,
their lows always leaving a scar.
~
I need to know from where this comes,
who eats cake and who gets crumbs?
This rollercoaster must soon stop,
but then a merry-go-round I will hop.
~
I’m forcing this poem for a change,
may not be good but surely strange.
And maybe someday we can all agree,
whom the f*** is the real me.

~*~
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Just Barely a Story

This is just a story so please bear in mind,
I’m barely a writer so please be kind.
I’m trying not to write of beer, bears or being bare,
though a nude, drunken bear a fun story to share.
~
Sometimes inspiration flows.
Other times it’s I don’t knows.
Some days the sun shines bright.
Others, it’s forever night.
~
Now back to bears, just a quick sidebar.
It won’t take long, I won’t go far.
Once upon a time there were surely more than three.
And some lived in houses like you and me?
~
The thought of that requires consideration,
but better still observation.
So with the flow starting to show,
it’s off to the forest I go.
~
Hours pass and sleep consumes.
The night unseen and sunshine resumes.
A hearty breakfast with tea and honey,
yesterday’s dread now seems funny.
~
Oh! I have to stop; I’ve run out of time.
I found their beer and I’m full of rhyme.
But now imagining fear because near are the bear.
I’ll find my clothes later, I don’t care.

~*~
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Comfortably Perplexed

Today’s poem’s not a poem at all.
Seems the flow has hit the wall.
The change in season’s what I suspect.
A change in me I don’t detect.
~
The blues behind, green’s on its way,
what happens next I can’t say.
Sometime a stick of wood is just that.
Or it can start a fire or built a habitat.
~
And with each box we’ve many strikes.
Some were used when we were tykes.
The rest we save for those rainy days,
when again they’ll guide our ways.
~
Jumbled metaphors run through my mind.
A start or end I can not find.
Perhaps now stopping is best.
It’s getting late, I need some rest.

~*~
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