writing

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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Backdate

Been writing introspectively of late,
it’s been months and months without a date.
How much longer must I wait?
I need a break, that’ll be great.
~
Soon the winter will dissipate.
And a sunny forecast I anticipate.
But paths will always deviate,
the twists and turns we can all relate.
~
Questions arise without debate.
Answer’s befallen of luck or fate.
Time uncharted I blindly navigate.
My soul wanders without a mate.
~
Sonnets await the love to create.
Feelings and desires never abate.
A head in the clouds carries their weight.
But a heart enlightened is never too late.

~*~
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Made Up Fiction

I think I feel a story coming on.
I’ll need a character, I’ll call him John.
And of course he’ll meet a girl.
I guess I’ll just name her Shirl.
~
I only did that for the rhyme.
But I’ll try a little harder next time.
The pair will meet on a lonely street.
John will ask where there’s a place to eat.
~
As luck would have Shirl’s on her way.
They ate, talked and laughed the rest of the day.
The sun long set and the check long paid.
The time was now for a plan to be made.
~
John thought to himself, what should I do?
His reasons for reservation are more than a few.
Shirl too was thinking exactly the same.
When the pieces are alike it’s no longer a game.
~
The conversation faded and they drifted apart.
Was it the fear of the end or of the start?
I wish this tale had a happier end.
But then again it’s all just pretend.

~*~
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Dig It

Sitting in silence alone with my thought,
thinking of time when quiet’s sought.
But time it seems does not align,
to my plans or grand design.
~
Intersections come to bear,
a train of thought gets us there.
Whistles and bells are sure to please,
with some steam we’ll never freeze.
~
We’ll shovel shit to eat some bread.
Or dig ever deeper into our head.
Pain’s always felt to reach the goal.
The track we choose carries our soul.
~
I play with words cos it’s fun.
And when I’m hollow, I’ll be done.

~*~
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Untitled

Behind every smile a hidden face.
The truth beams or without a trace.
An image forged dissolves with heat.
Lies spewed oozes defeat.
~
Laughter forced not funny to hear.
Lines punched soon disappear.
The folly of life is the reality of death.
Friend or foe we share their breath.
~
Digging deep for words obscure,
most buried others with allure.
Infinite combinations unlock a soul.
But the twists and turns take their toll.
~
To pirouette or to crawl,
balance sought so not to fall.
Random memes are filling my brain.
The line is fine between output and insane.
~
Random thoughts not easily penned.
Not all poems have an end.
So today I’m a poet with a smile bright,
though reality beckons fantasy’s in sight.

~*~
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Down for the Count

Sunrise’s heard, they paint with rain.
They feel joy and others pain.
They fall in love with the greatest of ease.
They sculpt our dreams as they please.
~
Sunsets beckon their stars to shine.
Heartbreaks linger, the rush divine.
Past souls tread to futures new.
Their blood’s read erasing the blue.
~
Their time shared with all, but few.
Though recounting seconds is what poets do.

~*~
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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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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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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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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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Edits

It’s a neutral day, no ups or downs.
Not many smiles but fewer frowns.
The vibrancy of the past’s gone away.
There’s little to color when mind’s gray.
~
I woke today, dreams expired.
Futures drag when uninspired.
When words the medium, life’s art.
I feel a need to write a new start.
~
Tomorrows verse never complete.
Pictures in the heart with time compete.
Why should I run when I can rhyme?
Exercise is always worth the time.
~
I’ve written of dying, it doesn’t end well.
I wrote of death, questioned heaven and hell.
I scribed my love but that got old.
And of course heartbreak, a story retold.
~
So I’ll collect my notes of yesterdays.
I’ll rearrange them in other ways.
And with my yellow wand I’ll wave my hand.
Then reappear to see where I land.

~*~
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Write On Time

Trapped in a shell fragile and weak,
the mind open, lips leak.
Hands scribe screams unheard.
Hearts echo every word.
~
The past flows, futures dribble.
The when’s now the head scribbles.
Cracks appear with thoughts to speak.
Trapped in a shell the darkness is bleak.
~
But the light is sensed without eyes.
Truth is felt through the lies.
Shells hatch and something grows.
And that’s the way the story goes.

~*~
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Dwelling

Bed soon awaits this dreary day.
I wish sweet dreams would come my way.
I don’t want to fight or need to play.
I just hope tomorrow’s better than today.
~
I know this sounds gloomy, but I’ve only begun.
This poem could get worse or might be fun.
But we’ll have to wait until I’m done.
So let’s start again, this is line one.
~
Bed soon awaits this dreary day.
A day so dismal I’ve nothing to say.
But I didn’t get beat up or have dues to pay.
And that’s a lot better than it was yesterday.
~
Sad days are passing and heart’s mending well.
Tomorrow holds no promise or soul to sell.
My heart will beat again then I’ll joyously yell.
Now that sounds better, I’ve no longer to dwell.

~*~
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Tis

Loving’s easy to fall’s hard.
“Tis the life of this old bard”
Futures await a new sunrise.
Honesty’s seen feeling lies.
~
Eyes gaze upon another’s soul.
Walls unscaled take a toll.
When “I love you” whispered,
volume’s to oft heard.
~
The vision’s carried in the heart.
We’re to shed with care, as an art.
A curse, demon, gift or friend,
a love of love can never end.
~
Wheels turn, neutrals unknown.
Reverse a journey and forward’s grown.
Loving’s easy, to find’s hard.
“Tis the life of this old bard”

~*~
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Art for Sight

Second guesses are twice wrong.
If you don’t like the music don’t write the song.
When a heart has a question the answer’s foregone.
A canvas stretched can’t mimic the dawn.
~
Too much thought can be a curse.
A little more can be a verse.
Half the time we’re half a sleep.
We feel safe in the dreams we peep.
~
100% per try comes once.
50/50 you’re a dunce.
Start from scratch, shoot for the moon.
You may miss but you’ll know soon.
~
Primal intuition on cave walls bear.
The futures instinct paints ones fear.

~*~
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