I look at my poems
and find
that they are
worth writing
but not
reading.

and so the moon weeps

for the millionth time

as it is the millionth night

far too few souls

are willing

to dance in her light

The leaves of life

Oh darling, oh girl, or sweet, or sea,
Oh please look out upon our world,
With the mist and fog that curls around my ankles,
With the sonnets and books that sit on my shelves,
With the great blankets of grey that cover our sun at night,
Or with the trees that reach into the clouds for something they cannot find,
With the gold that lies beneath our feet,
And the snakes and birds that cover our leaves
Oh darling oh girl, or sweet, or sea,
Life is not the things that you see, but the things that sit in your soul long after you close your eyes
A.J.Busse

Don’t look away
When the man weeps
When the woman dies
When the child wails
When the dog whines

Cruelty is the universe moving
Suffering is the feeling of life

Don’t look away
Into the happy times
Into the fearful memory
Into the conceited depression
Into the fake gods

You can’t escape your fate
You won’t evade death.

Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.

The heart
is silent poetry
the incubator
of most-felt words
and sentiments
which are their time biding
for ripening-

even the deepest love
should know that waiting
strengthens every affection
as the flowers know
their right moment
of blossoming-

there shall be
no forcing
the heart-
it's subject
to no one's bidding-

experiences set in
of joy and pain
of living and hating
all life coalesced
in every mood
and feeling

herein
is the breeding
and crystallising
of the most sublime
where the deepest suffering
goes into dissolving
with the heart's sanctifying


and there shall end
the bleeding and sorrowing
when the voice of silent poetry
finds herself in the writing.

Every day I get up
To go into myself,
Getting lost there,
And finally giving up,
To begin tomorrow
From the start.

she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.