When I look into those dark seas of green,
I’m drowned in a water so sweet extreme.
The light it reflects; the darkness it holds.
The depths swallow my heart and the current pulls.
Those red waves beneath that seem to be pursed,
Waiting for something to comfort their thirst.
The soft hair of an angel brushing my cheek,
Laying her hand in mine for me to keep.
Her ear brushes my nose and freezes it too,
Enticing me like the cold hearted temptresses do.
She stretches her neck, her most beautiful part.
It wrenches my stomach and flutters my heart.
She knots my stomach and twists my ring.
The ring, a reminder to do the right thing.
Back and forth she brushes my skin,
It’s like a game started from within.
Those strokes groping and calling to me
Release something and the butterflies go free.
I breath in hard, the full fragrance of her hair.
I kiss her ear then stop to stare.
She’s beautiful and I let her know,
But people and time force me to go.
I whisper in her ear that I don‘t want to,
But time only moves with something to look forward to.
13 Febuary 2006
A collection of many short poems about time.
-Time Travel’s Possible
The past is what allows time to be
The future something we can never reach
The present is the point where we wait for it all
And fate’s the part of time that allows things to fall
-The Future
In my mind
I can imagine how I’m already there
Then when I get there
I’m right
We think about how time seems to fly
How we arrive at our destination
Just to say goodbye
-The Present
We live through the present
To reach the future
But once we are there, it’s already gone
On its way to tomorrow
-The Past
The time we spend thinking about later
Adds up to equal nothing but past
Past allows us to remember
But that’s not always a good thing
I’d rather hope for the future
Where I can’t see anything
10 March 2006
I share my namesake with my brother, the nuts one.
Mermaid - flounder - and he is the next one.
On me you tan, and in him you shiver
because I am an island and he is a river.
22 March 2006
If there was a home
For those who had never had one
It would be full of babies
Who were never born
-----------------------
Little hands and little feet,
Two months old in the mother’s seat
There it lays and squirms and kicks
A healthy baby but mother’s sick
A decision made by culture’s stand
Out of God’s hands into man’s
Literally pulled and brutally killed
A passive tone to a murder still
What of earth makes this right
Man’s history defines him wrong, finite
Morals, misnomer, the answer, the new truth
But perfection defines itself the true truth
Souls rise everyday
But many never came to stay
Taken before they’d left the manger
Accepted back warmly with burning anger
I can imagine the feeling
The angry fire spiral-reeling
All held back with nothing ceased
Only grace alone released
Little hands and little feet
Little giggles before (at the feet of) his seat
Home to the consequence of man’s own carnage
Home to the innocent, abortion orphanage
-This is the beginning to a story I am writing.
1 April 2006, 30 September 2007
I’m less and less in love with love and more in love with her.
I’m in love with who she is and not with who we were.
First of all I love my God and he gave her to me.
I’ve been given care of her. My joy’s when she’s happy.
He has promised her content and her joyfulness.
But only if I practice prayerful carefulness.
I love my Lilli always, though we still fight
About stupid things when we each think we’re right.
I don’t miss her as soon as she’s away.
I used to. Now, I think of her all day.
She is the one that keeps me going,
Gives me hope, and keeps my blood flowing.
I know secrets she tries to hide
And all the things she keeps inside.
I’m the one who wipes her tears
and keeps them as souvenirs
Of all the hard times;
The I, me, my, mines.
And later I’ll look
In her huge tear book
And say, “That’s her.
Mine forever.”
While in bliss,
I’ll see this
Detail
Brief tale
Of
Love
16 November 2006
8 September 2008
12 September 2008
10 September 2008
11 September 2008
12 September 2008
16 September 2008
16 September 2008