High in the hills wends the road to your home
steeped and flowered by lupine towers
after long slumber, the waking hour - warmth of summer comes
our feet grassed and green, we wish on dandelion dreams
watch tiny parachutes glide into the sea
this place is wild resplendent music
we have become more than ourselves and slowed
have stopped to feel our breath grow
making a path cut from last year
we are slipped and sloped toward shore
silhouetted just before the end of sun
when the world sinks silent
but for the deeply toned
hum of whale song.

A hazy sun low in a cloudless sky
Of the most wonderful shade of blue
The only evidence of a cool night gone by
Lies in a blanket of sparkling dew.

Cobwebs glisten in the morning suns rays
Like diamonds in delicate lace
Silky trails sparkle where snails made their way
Sunlight capturing each delicate trace.

A stillness apparent in unmoving trees
Casting long shadows everywhere
Undisturbed by even the softest breeze
As a crisp coolness pervades the air.

Magpies, pigeons, and crows take flight
the first slow stirrings of the morning
Each one welcoming the morning light,
The sunshine bright and warming.  

Leaves of yellow, red, brown and gold
Reflect gloriously the morning sun
Creatures stirring, growing ever more bold
As another Autumn day has begun.

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds

I googled "Love" for St. Valentine's.
Your name appeared six million times.

I put a lock on the clock
tied its hands with rope
if that made time still
halt its fast gallop!

There was an eerie silence
as lay dead the tool
with time now my slave
I could take it cool!

With there nothing to pass
I felt the burden off me
to lie back and relax
lead a life sans hurry!

For a while it seemed so nice
my time was what I liked to be
reading and writing and dreaming
walk hourless freely!

But soon boredom got me
grew a void of unease
a dead clock wasn’t that good
closed time killed my peace!

Time’s passage the timekeeper speaks
so we aren’t complacent too free
but keep the flow somewhat disciplined
by following a tool friendly!

stair w
        a
        y stair w
                   a
                   y stair w
                              a
                              y stair w
                                         a
                                         y stair w
                                                    a
                                                    y stair w
                                                               a
                                                               y sta
No escalators to heaven , no free rides .
Just one long hard climb , one step at a time .

I wear my heart on my sleeve but I have no shirt just thoughts of healing.
It is red and hurts so much in pain this heart I speak of on my sleeve.
Love hurts it always has and lately it can also **** you and me.
*** is a sentence a death sentence *** is a threat to your short life.
*** makes your toes curl with the right girl *** can be something that is nice.
Show my pain and people panic show kindness they spite my existence.
Love is pain and *** is pleasure *** is love when love is together.
It is a painful pleasure this love/*** thing a lot like everything.
Pleasurable pain that lasts forever whatever forever is.
This heart on my sleeve it burns like fire satisfy my desire.
Sometimes *** is love to die for forever always suicidal.
Burn this paper heart of mine in fire cry inferno desire.
And from its ashes it will learn to begin anew and love again.
Love again and begin anew these paper hearts of fire of mine.

[ re written]

have you collected seeds
of many years, packed,
labelled, dated.

have you died, and left
the table unprepared.

i have them now in boxes,
a gift, from those who love.

they will bring me work, joy,
an independent air, profound words,
from those who care.

sbm.