scribble my years on a square of parchment,

wrap me up tight and secure me with a bow

place me in grandfather's glass bottle,  

then send me down the river row by row

you're my saving grace
when no one else listens
you allow me infinite pages
to pour out my insides
and you never even
speak a word
you're my best friend
when no one else gets it
you allow me to recover
from the mistakes I make
you touch so many people
in so many different ways
in song, in rhyme, in rhythm, in time
you cross generations and continents
you are diverse and honest
you are bad and great and here,
you're always here
and I love you for that
you're my life, in words,
Hello Poetry

what would life hold for me if I were the Sea?
liquid oxygen, so vast; lighthouses blinding me
at dusk the shipyards' ghosts come alive-- they break free
from the fog and silhouettes and all the weathered oak trees

the storms have arrived! you've met Katrina and Ike, I see
planning destruction and chaos and broken unity
throwing whiplashing waves and ***** seaweed,
splashing homes on my shores and debris at your feet

below my rippling surface: a myriad of pure glee
schools of rainbow fish, all swimming in threes
never travel too low-- to a certain degree
you'll be 1,000 leagues under the sea

signs of icebergs and whales, o', "beware of the beast"
stung on the tips of your fingers by my vicious coral reef
mermaids and their fathers' tridents, if you believe
plankton floating away with his secret recipe

guardians of the waters- my coast guards- the naval police
swimmers and divers who devour shrimp over beef
please hop in your dinghy and come visit me
I'm beautiful and deadly, my name is the Sea

the award for 'best sense'
goes to Touch.
let me prove it to you:
I can survive without
/seeing
/hearing
/smelling
/tasting
and though I'd love to see your eyes spark with passion
and though I'd love to hear your happiness when you succeed
and though I'd love to smell your aftershave in the morning
and though I'd love to taste your kisses created for me
I would rather cut off my tongue or gouge out an eye,
than live a day on this earth with no hands of yours in mine.

ah, didn't you know..
powerful imagery better weaves itself
through a simplistic tale of truth
rather than in some poem boasting
                  grandiosity
you know, full of Harvard-taught words
      and, quite honestly, empty
            
                                                    meanings

My cloudy eyes crinkle as I gaze out at the powdery,
newly fallen snow
My thin hands, ever-trembling, delicately weave
designs in the frost on the glass
I absent-mindedly let my thoughts turn
to the kids and their children
A soft smile warms my skin and I slip
into happy memories of days far in the past.

My vanity is cluttered with images of my late husband
Laughing with his friends after a fishing trip,
Proudly holding up the night’s meal.
Here, see us dancing alone to the lullaby of the fireflies
I remember this moment; swaying under the stars
in the coolest breeze of spring
I silently reach out to touch the man I held so dear,
desperate to feel his warmth again
And, clasping the picture frame, I step over to my bedside
Turn down the light and lift my weary body on to the pillows
I start to drift off, my fingers trailing along
the wooden base of our memories
The love and dedication etched into the detailing
by his strong, rough hands,
The hands that held me up until their brittle bones turned to ash.
I pull the picture frame up to my chest,
Then smile in my sleep, heart contented with his face so close to mine.
Believing we are floating away together, one last breath
of a blissful life is taken--
I'm coming home to you.