I.
gravity
helps me realize
where exactly
you are.

and newton,
well newton
for all his
hang ups on
the temptations of
eve,

i guess got
it right
first:

what separates me
and you
and the rest of the world
is not
hope or magic

but rather
the pendulum swings of
chance

(arbitrary force)

the oscillations maybe
of a rickety train platform
on which our
footprints
converge, diverge,
and resonate

like naturalized frequencies.

II.
frankly,

i

don't want to talk
about the physics of it all.

i just want to sit
alone,
on the steps of this train
station,

and gently soak in the
clickety clacks
of these intersecting lines.

i

just want to
watch
as their doors open
and close,

and feel the rhythms
of their machinated dance,
and

sort the footsteps
that sift out
according to shape, color,

distance.

III.
as we speak,
i have already begun
to count
how many
stops

still separate

you.

and i.

Consciousness is a tiny speck
in this vast universe
Concentration and focus
will lead the way
towards the door of eternity
World of worlds
where there is no beginning or end

Machines--
with their gears,
     running on oils,
          doing what they were made to do.

Humans--
With their thoughts,
     Running on beliefs,
          doing what they think they were meant to do.

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

Break me down.
Tear me apart.
Tired of being..
A wall..
Made of concrete
with reinforced steel.
I want to be a green hill
and an old Oak
Where people sit,
read, think and feel.
Where I can see the sunrise
and the ascend of the night.
Where I can welcome you
in my world
and shield you with my branches
and leaves
from the cold rain
in the midst of a starfilled sky.
Where resolve is strengthened or refound.
Where selves are again centered
and doubts dissolved in morning mists.

As the wind whistles
through the remaining leaves of the trees
Her eyes gazed in with a yearning

The biting chills creep into her sleeves
Her cheeks' veins tinged with green and blue
Instantly, they lose their rosy hue
Coiling her toes underneath her ragged shoes
She felt safer as she pulls her legs tighter to her feeble body

Too early, even for the rooster's songs in the morning
Hurriedly, she rushes into the pavements
Stumbling empty trash bins in the snowy covered cement
And along the streets, she awaits for the gents
Not the ladies, for they are miffed just by her presence

In her pocket, her trusted friends
A shoe wax, a brush and a small towel
Far from the ladies cloak of vanity and jewels
She took her brush and greets them
Giving all her might in every stroke,
she mimics a healthy bloke
With her fragile arms she delighted and amused the folks

They gave her a penny
All the angels wishes she has plenty
All those shoes, although they are leather,
with the glint of the sun, they shine like feathers
But in her eyes, they glimmer like rainbows
She was lost in the colors

Suddenly, she was struck by a heavy blow
Awakened by her terror
In a dark veiled room,
with lustful eyes
Three men with merciless arms
She felt the cold cement on her back
and how these hands creep into her sack
They covered her mouth with a towel
Frantic tears flowed to her cheeks
As they stroke her hair with her shoe brush
She tasted the lump in her throat
She closed her eyes and swallowed her crushed soul

And only the winter wind hears,
the laments of these restless child
With a yearning
As it smothers the barren trees
of her lost dreams



-Shiny Shoes, Margaret Austin Go

Dear darling,
I decided to brave
The haunting winter
If only for today.
I took your sled,
The dark blue one
Of which you've always loved,
And marched it to the top
Of your favorite hill.

I sat silently for many moments
Simply to remember
The way your eyes
Would shine with wonder
The second your feet reached the top.

As I looked down the path
We have taken
So many times before,
My heart shattered once again
Knowing I am no longer
Able to look down my side
To see your sweet rosy cheeks
And crooked smile
Aiming straight for my soul.
The rivers seemed to never cease
As they poured from my eyes.
My lonely hands are frozen,
For there is no warmth,
Now that your small hands
Are forever gone from mine.