My mind is still, I know not why.
My eyes are open, I see the sky.
My ears are working, I hear the birds.
My mouth hangs open, but no words.
My hand fidgets with paper and pen.
Something will happen, but I know not when.
Perhaps some time is what I need.
And when it’s done more ink I’ll bleed.
But till then I will pursue,
all the feelings, but the blue.
I’ll live my life and I’ll dream.
I’ll have adventures, but none extreme.
Memories I’ll draw on a canvas bright,
stars will guide in the dark of night.
And when my thoughts again do flow,
it’s harmony I feel this I know.
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.
This poem today could be my last.
Seems all my worries now are past.
Grief all-around still gets me down.
But a man in love can’t wear a frown.
This world’s not always a happy place.
Misery’s seen on many a face.
I’ve seen death and felt the pain.
Years have passed to find I’m sane.
My feelings spewed on sheets galore.
Forever I searched for an exit door.
Though light trickled through cracks unseen,
time now as bright as it’s ever been.
In a warm embrace I now awake.
If given a wish I’d none to make.
But a dream remains of peace on earth.
So write I must for what it’s worth.
Though the poetry of love may come and go,
the love you give is what you show.
There’s the little smile with every glance.
And with every touch a little dance.
Hugs are abundant and given free.
And kisses returned with equal glee.
With every joke there’s a little laugh.
And wrongs admitted with every gaffe.
Hands are held on every walk.
And ears wide open when we talk.
The future’s seen as time flies by.
And the only blues are in the sky.
Sunshine’s felt on a chilly night.
And eyes twinkle beneath starlight.
There’s snuggling close before we sleep.
Then the sharing of dreams we wish to keep.
Every morning our day is new.
Every day our troubles are few.
Our hearts beat and emotions swell.
The words a show but the actions tell.
It begins a story without an end.
It’s a tale untold but it will be penned.
There may be no heroes or villains to see.
It could be written for you or me.
It might be a song or poetry.
It may be undervalued but never free.
It could be too short but can’t be too long.
Perspectives vary between right and wrong.
While some chapters weak others will be strong.
Some may possibly rise above the throng.
Some parts will be happy, some will be sad.
There will always be both but that’s not so bad.
Note always the things that make you glad.
Notice the trends that aren’t just a fad.
Honest words lived you’ll need never defend.
And when the cover closes you will transcend.
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.
Hurry up it’s getting late,
the morning’s nearly past.
I missed today’s sunrise
and the roads are filling fast.
It’s not that I’ve a place to go,
or anyone I need to see.
I just like the early morning time,
it’s when my mind is free.
I prefer to write at first light
and be ready when my darling wakes.
She’ll sip a coffee and read her poem,
with a couple of kissing breaks.
Our day then starts happily
and continues through the night.
Then we’ll snuggle once again
and know that all’s alright.
Whispers we’ll share and more kisses too,
until our eyelids weigh.
We’ll dream about each other
and yet another wonderful day.
I think I had a hapiphany,
an epiphany of living happily.
It’s the manifestation of all things good.
And living the life I know we should.
Surrounded by loved ones and good friends,
my face hurts a little cos the smiling never ends.
I wake each morning eager to rise,
I watch light fill the starry night skies.
But with the good comes the bad,
I read the news and feel real sad.
So I write of love, joy and bliss.
Then I run upstairs for the day’s first kiss.
While my angel slumbers peacefully,
I rearrange animals to make room for me.
Then I slip back in bed with never a peep.
I’ll kiss her shoulder till the end of her sleep.
“Good morning, I love you” are the first words she’ll hear.
She’ll then pull me closer with warmth to share.
She’ll open her eyes and “I love you” returned.
And a great day has started from all that I’ve learned.
I’ve come to notice a problem today.
The problem’s a word that poets say.
It’s actually a word we all overuse.
So I’ll create a new one as I choose.
This word, off course, is love you see.
It should be precise, but it’s used differently.
We all can love many, many things,
like puppies and babies and backyard swings.
But love is different when shared by two.
When the love you give comes back to you.
When every kiss is whole body felt,
when making love makes your mind melt.
When saying goodbye you can’t let go.
And time apart passes far too slow.
When holding each other’s hand feels just right.
And you fall asleep cuddling every night.
Now this poem’s getting long and I’ve still no clue.
But my time’s now for pondering, that’s what I do.
So I’ll share this thought with my lovely sweetheart.
And we’ll kiss and giggle then it’s back to the start.
I lay awake throughout the night,
ponder do I of what to write.
The morning comes and again I rise.
The page sits blank before my eyes.
My head’s foggy the skies clear,
air’s cool and autumn’s near.
My love slumbers, her heat I feel.
My heart warms to what’s now real.
A morning ritual loved so much;
I kiss her forehead with a gentle touch.
Hours to pass for her to rise,
a poem awaits her sleepy eyes.
Smiles and kisses we then share.
Our need for each other we’re much aware.
My mind now settled and troubles cease.
Another day’s begun with love, joy and peace.
“I love you” can’t convey these feelings inside.
As the ocean’s deep at moon tide,
or the grandest of canyons forever wide,
my feelings swell and will never subside.
In your eyes I see a world that’s new.
From your lips I feel what’s true.
In your hands I’m stuck like glue.
Our bodies entwined, the moments too few.
My thought’s now calm and crystal clear.
The future awaits and we have no fear.
Time is ours and Oh what cheer.
Words never ending for the love I hold dear.
From dreams inspired overnight,
her morning poem I long to write.
I wake at dawn feeling bliss,
thinking first of the day’s first kiss.
The kiss returned and we snuggle close.
Our ritual’s begun with a timely dose.
Her touch is felt from head to toe.
I love you shared and feelings grow.
Our room brightens, the future’s new.
The sun wakes to skies of blue.
I hold her close till dreams return.
I then rise with none to yearn.
Passion flows and coffee brews.
Words perk from flavors to choose.
Visions recalled, emotions poured.
Ink boils from the one adored.
Shadows dance to a beating heart.
Her eyes open to another start.
Another day filled with love and bliss.
Another ode welcomed with a kiss.
Another blank page looks back at me.
Dreams now sleep and the sun’s to see.
My love slumbers a flight away.
When she rises I’ll start my day.
I long to see her glowing smile,
I smile back and stare awhile.
A kiss is next and our day’s begun,
our mornings together always fun.
We sip our coffee and chat a bit.
Work is looming but little’s writ.
Minds now settled and thought’s clear.
Then the page fills with love we share.
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.
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.
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.
The house is quiet and the pets at ease.
The yard awaits, says “mow me please”.
But I’ve things to think and words to rhyme,
because love comes first all of the time.
The grass can wait and those dishes too.
There’s much to do and hours so few.
So busy I’ll be in La-La land,
love in my heart and pencil in hand.
I’ll pen her poetry of love, joy and bliss,
recalling how quick was our one millionth kiss.
I’ll wax poetic and melt in her arms,
though her hotness not needed, just her charms.
I’ll say “I love you” in every possible way.
And I’ll say it often every single day,
but words meaningless when actions speak.
So I’ll finish this poem and start my week.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.