''How wondrous it is to be read by someone
who appreciates this gift given,
A kiss, a tear, a poet's religion.
A friend made, words displayed, a song, a poem, hello, goodbye, or maybe Shalom"
patty m
<>
look, it's not like I lack for inspiration.
138 butterscotch chips
already exist,
full poems, titles, couplets, bare naked (ladies) notions,
(men, women, children, asordid genders ageless-survivors)
all demanding rescue,
their cry of SOS, undeniable, but their
lamentations defied, asided, when miz patty m writes,
and oblivious to all else,
attention must be paid!
even when it is 2:55am
even on a Tuesday! (1)
<.>
to the meet, to the mess, to the beating heart that refuses to keep,
a doctor's orders of de minimus seven hours sleep,
when commissioned, when ordered without permission,
you drift into the sunroom, where the night outside
is holy dark, the silence raucous and overwhelming,
and utter inaudibly in his mind,
and piety and poet repeats:
"Yes Ma'am, Yes Ma'am, sir!
<.>
we write for no one in particular
for there is no one who is not particular,
all!
special, sharp edged, distinctive,

and there is no limit, yet,
to how many poems
can be created in a day,
except for the foolish delimiting, irritating
science of 24/7/365+1;
but mercy and insight is demanded,
when miz patty m
does not insist, but commands it
<.>
''A kiss, a tear, a poet's religion..."

indeed, in deed, in deep,
these the elementals of the one true religion,
perhaps the shortest excerpt that ever summarized
the humanist's
faith and the One Commandment,
that summons us & Grace to the table
where we compose and create,
not by fate tempted, but by a fate commanded,
by a faith so grounded & profound,
that every human
regardless of identity or language
each has in their possession, a heaven sent
something important to say,
which is why,
''A kiss, a tear, a poet's religion..."
is the largest tent ever constructed
after the Tower of Babel
where languages were created (4)

a half hour has passed,
a period of absolute measured time,
that cannot be recreated, recsptured,
but like energy,
nor can it be destroyed,
for this
poem, this kiss, this tear,
marks the moment, the neuronic iconic synapse (2)
of our interactive minds believing and breathing
as one,
and even the atheist  among us
must to no one in particular
(well, maybe to the Angel Leonard)
must whisper most utterly,
hallelujah

'''''''''''''
poem dispatched
at 3:44 am EST,
from the
current latitude and longitude for where natty is,
approximately 41.05° North latitude and -72.33° West longitude.

Within the mirage, I had a fantasy, it was only a refraction of my imagination, not quite an illusion. I took another **** and sifted through the seeds of confusion.

I tumbled
deep into
the garden’s
throat in
a dream,
  where scent
was thick
enough to
breathe
like water.
When i
tried
to lift my
body out,
roses
clutched
at me
tendrils
looping
my wrists,
stems
curling
my ankles,
petals
cupping
my heart.
Some
amputated
their roots
from the soil,
'howling'
refusing to
snap me off
  themselves.

~
A firefly, me,
Trudged with a burden of light.
A fortuitous break
Came with my sight.

A blue cosmos
Bloomed along the trail—
An ephemeral ocean,
An insect’s sail.

So blue of love,
His innocent ways—
Through filmy eyes,
They melt in waves.

A mini sun
For a patch of blue;
Or so I wished
Would come soon true.

For I followed
A honeybee,
And through her wings
Floats thoughts unseen.

How cruel of me,
To betray my friend—
Through silent speech
And frowns I bend.

To compensate
The guilt I feel,
I'll become the all-seeing eye
Of the light she needs.

After all, she needs it
More than me.
I feed on rot—
She feeds on nectar sweet.

I am but a mini sun
Miles from an ocean blue
I’ll be your flask of light
Bond in emerald hues.
~