I fell in the sea
and it was made of love
And the love became the taste
Of saltwater on her neck
And she taught me to dive
With my eyes wide open
Looking through the water at the sun
Breaking the surface.

"It's like just like dying," she said.
And I heard "diving"
Because it was like diving
But it was also unlike diving
And so it didn't seem a silly thing to say
Though all the things she said
Like them fishes in a sea of love
Hooked by a line at night
That came out of a boat
And made us shure
That the unsaid things
Were both unsaid
Were silly.

I forgot my shoes.

We made love between the boats
Gently pulling ourselves along the rope
From one wine dark evening
To the sunlit morning below...

And even my lips
Remind me of her
Waking so close
Her eyes could touch mine
Nice dream
Like the lift of sunrise
Between us
And the need of nothing else
But these warm shivers and...

Blistering Barnacles!

I just fell in the sea
And it was made of love.

it takes a real proud man to make a girl cry hard. most things a girl can cry off in ten minutes. Tough things. Like giving birth to big *** babies with their big *** heads and ****. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the deepest cries. Ones that come from the most hurt-felt part of a woman's soul. Ones that make your eyes close and your stomach sick. Ones that make your whole body freeze, and all you can think is, "i am responsible for this unbearable pain, on such a gentle woman's soul."

i am a master of this art. i have learned the call of the lone woman; almost a swan song, of a dying gentle soul begging to be heard. Begging, for the one who can save her to act before she drowns; to do anything but stand there and stare. Anything but let her die this lonesome death just out of reach of his arms.

i have a recipe for hurt. tested and tried thoroughly over the years, i can now say it is perfected. i can hurt beautiful souls and shatter their wonderful dreams, then so simply turn it around to make it sound like it was their fault. one may say this is a fine delicacy. i say it is the recipe to feed lost souls. ones who will be lost in limbo for all eternity because even in death, their pride was still too big for the afterlife.

there is a special talent i have that is unique for mastering the art of hurt. like x-ray vision it is a power to bring out, in other people, what they don't want anyone to see. i can bring out the worst in a beautiful soul faster than you can look in someone's eyes. i can make monsters of magnificent beings, then call them crazy and be on my way.

Leaving behind a faded tye-dye that's left to hang dry in the sun, knowing that her colours will never shine as bright as they once did, ever again.

.

It's all in your head
Those whispers of revenge
That soothe your racing heart
Making it hard to swallow

You’re safe and sound
While you watch your friends
Hit the ground
You let them down again

Raise up
To your call of praise
To hand out those weapons
Which make them feel brave

Forget who you really are
Wear the mask of your disguise
Turn your head before you shoot the gun
And never look them in the eyes

You played the game once again
But the game is now your goal
You can take lives, but the victims instead
Take a bigger part of your soul

Your eyes of stone look soft to me
I can read what’s on your mind
It seems you’ve decided once again
To **** one of your own kind

It's all in your head
Those voices who ****
Who draw out your weapon
And give you their will

They’re safe and sound
Resting face first on the ground
Who dug this early grave for them?

Stand tall
Hold your head up high
Hold that gun in your hand
Bear no life in your eyes

Forget who you really are

It's all in your head

Oh lovely woman standing still
In a trance at the window sill
Staring at a grave with deathly thrill

'Why at night do you stand alone?
Staring at rotten flesh and bones
With lifeless shine which since has grown

Ah-He was the one you loved the most
And now wait for his autumn ghost
With silvery tears you held him close'

'No, he was the one who broke my past
the one who burned my yearning heart
the one who carelessly tore me apart.'

Avoiding words
Embracing feeling
One particular way
To precipitate healing

Little was said
Yet both of us knew
As the hands on my watch so treacherous flew
Leaping too gleeful between stolen glances
Obscene in their haste
Making light of our chances
Still the word would not come
How could that be so?
When it seems twixt our meetings
Whole worlds come and go.


Ten lifetimes could never do justice to you
Yet scant moments are all I can treasure as true
When my hand touched yours
Then all earth stood still
With a jolt of raw power
A tectonic thrill
As if Physics had said,
“This time is theirs”
“Forget for one moment responsible cares”
But too soon did the sun race low in the sky
Our own thief of time that demanded “Goodbye”
So with fortitudinous smiles we both did depart

And that word left unsaid
Still sits deep in my heart.

Metaphors like similes
Alluring alliteration
Onomatopoeic sounds
Swish swash through its creation
Full of figurative constructions
To skyscrapers of the soul
That rise to a crescendo
Then with bathos quickly fall
So what is it I have written?
Just a stream of consciousness?

For if I claim a classic poem
Then you’d be right to take the …. :)

How can a hollow ache?
Or a poet write?
When the part that felt is cut away
Excised with a razor of reason
Bandaged with the dressings of the Sensible
To be healed, so it is said, with time
Yet like the morbid curiosity of the child who picks at the scab
Or perhaps more akin; the itch of an amputee's phantom limb
There is still an ache
How can that be so?
How can a hollow ache?
Or, come to that,
A poet write?