A Starbucks without wifi is like a tavern without a jukebox, all fluid no flow.

You're my talisman
Your words my panacea
Your eyes my daydreams

Nobody loves
Her the way I do

Nobody
Loves me

Nobody
To love

Nobody
Loves

I'm in my eighth month of this journey
There have been highs and plunging lows
Many a word has been on the gurney
I've seen poets come and poets go

It was a sixties' high to have readers
For people to comment and like my words
My advice heeders and some needers
Meaningful relationships soon occurred

It has been a place where I've laughed and cried
A world of birthdays and sweet victories
A painful universe, euphoria died
Poets passed, nothing remains but histories

The trip of a lifetime in less than a year
Why do we write, why do we read and care?
It's more than I can emotionally hear
It's more than I can emotionally bare

At one point, I was addicted to this place
Constantly reading, checking, and writing
No narcissist could persist at such a pace
With poets I did some loving and fighting

Life forced me on the highway well traveled
I decided I'd leave this country for now
Yet with this decision, I have often graveled
I always found myself looking back somehow

Oceans, mountains, dales, and unexplored bends
That's this poetic journey desired so
No matter if we're laughing or crying my friends
We poets have or want nowhere else to go

It is easy to peek over the fence when one has it all
Struggles look attractive in opposition with contentment
Drama, passion, and danger appear **** in the comfort of stability

Then why do so many long to find happiness
When happiness isn't the "be all to end all"
Is life a continuous search not for contentment but for for excitement

Still, as one grows older, smaller dangers excite
Contentment is exciting if one searches for it inside the fence
Maybe that's why the old dog stays on the porch chewing the same bone

Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain

Songs of life's injustices and wrongs
Songs of protests, wars, and gongs
Songs of love and life and peace
Songs of captivity's sweet release

Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain

For folks like you and folks like me
For folks who need open eyes to see
For folks who feel a tortured soul
For folks whose lives are at a lull

Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain

O' elder Oak, how thou growest so old?
What ancient yarns thou could spin from each limb.
Wars, drought, what visions thine gray bark doth hold.

Ole Pennsylvanian wood, were thou sewn by him
Whose king's debt owed, founded this sovereign land.
Thine story hath gravid weight, not a tale told grim.

As a youth, thou were a knight's castle grand
Or a dark dragon with fiery breath.
High in thee boughs, thy mastered the farmland.

As years passed and our kinship reached its breadth,
Thy cannot help but to lament the time
That thou spied on thy joyous play. Now thy death
Looms long. To Heaven thine branches doth climb.

Two hearts beat as one – transcend time and space
Kinship and true love crush old paradigms
A siren seduces with just her face
Two hearts beat as one – transcend time and space
Some souls are captured in a lady’s grace
One can fall in love with a poet’s rhymes
Two hearts beat as one – transcend time and space
Kinship and true love crush old paradigms

Intuition not mind boggling

Steak not goulash

Friend not lover

Know not question

Breathe not hyperventilate

(Add more please)

Some people's career
Others' human connection
Others' addiction

It's time I write a morbid verse
Of a necrophiliac's scent
A love sonnet in a dark hearse
The way sick, evil love is meant

It's sure something to remember
The cold night shaped the mood sedate
'twas an eve of dark December
Beauty lured me to procreate

Though cold and stiff, love's not inept
Melody's morose symphony
I do believe with joy she wept
Dead, she deserves no sympathy

Mowing the lawn is endish
The rains nourish
The weeds flourish
The grass growish
I again mowish
Know what I knowish
Such is lifeish
It is plentish
Much is foolish
Others seriousish
Some is hateish
Much is loveish
At times sadish
But the grass always growish
So when it's time to mowish
Smile and welcomish
You're living lifeish
It can be beautifulish
If that is what we wish!

True, you envelop a
Thief in broad daylight
Reaper of Smiles
Apocalypse in private worlds
A sudden eclipse in a glistening light

Yet you are not omnipotent
You are neither the creator
Nor the adjudicator of flesh and souls
Malevolence, stubbornness, determination,
And belligerence is your resolve

I'm a rough rider with a Henry rifle.
You're forced to sling ***** in a smoke filled saloon.
I'm just a cowpoke kickin' dust with cattle.
Whiskey's needed and gamblin' and a fun tune.
Gallop my pinto to Silverado's Star.
Saw the perdiest little thang at he bar.
Order the good stuff, say, "Howdy," take a belt.
I reckon I falled in love, they way I felt!

Payed a visit to God's house today
Thirty feet high stained glass windows
Rows of hand carved mahogany pews
Vaulted arches reaching into the Heavens
Golden candlesticks and high alter

Who is He trying to impress?

Even the Joneses can't keep up with him.

My iPad is almost dead
But I have 13% in my head
It can't be time for bed
The warning light's in the red

No time for perfect rhyme
For meter, patterns in time

     .  .  .  

I erased over half my poem, but with now only 6% remaining and the breath within me draining, the cruel irony is apparent the problems I have are inherent.
In the words of Robert Burns, "The best laid schemes of mice and men .  .  ."  0% remaining!

Sunshine and blue skies
Snow piles refusing to melt
Awaiting fresh friends

My bike has 700cm rims!