I am author
you my poem, arisen,
my informant
fleshing truth
on this life  
epic without hero
no lie between the lines

Lay still, and dream awhile, of orchids in moonlight
neath stars on a hill, taste the juice of elderberries,
fermenting as it spills, though not one thought alone
with a boy who knows no limits, and hands as cold
as stones, once tossed across the river with intent of
breaking bones, the dust crushed into powder then
stuffed into his nose, as he hands you all his misery
he claims to hold a rose, but your heart has known
wisdom in spite of growing old, you have learned  
to keep soft petals from the cold, while in deep starlit
scenes, you imagine thriving forests alive in shades of
green, but remember long before this, when it had all
just been a dream

Dreams of a boy in the body of a man
I try to catch a glimpse whenever I can
of a time long past as I'm well aware
but if I try really hard I can see myself there
on a night like this and the sky like glass
but the colors are fading far too fast
so I soak it all in just as much as I can
the dreams of a boy in the body of a man

After all the sorrows and pain
After striving without any gain
After the years of being in vain
Now I can see the beauty of rain

When I am down and feeling blue
You raise me up and take my rue
In everything,  You are so true
I always see the light in You

And I am glad to see this day
It's different from yesterday
I'm here to thank, to praise, to pray
You opened my eyes to see Your way!

As we stood face to face...
Waist-deep in our insecurities,
the years...
Would continue to
revolve around us with nonchalance.
Soothing the wounds we had traded.

The universe...
Would envelope us.
Like cosmic balm.
Healing us...
Catalysing us,
into melding together.
So we'd emerge out of the fray
as a single entity.

An entity...
Oblivious to each other's imperfections.
An entity...
Capable of discarding past discrepancies.
An entity...
Granted a new lease.
An entity...
Worthy of another breath.

~~~

when between the table and the fridge,
she wishes to pass,
and I,
obstacle roundly present,
am alerted by a gentle squeeze of my ***,
happily acknowledging the purposed duality of her

cheekiest, sweetest,
signal given

~~~

a food array presented,
paprika colored roasted chicken,
spaghetti squash salted,
salad with cranberries, candy walnuts,
even raisins hidden within and
all before me placed

she objects little,
with eyes silent uplifted
like two pie rollers in striking position,
when I commence to sup,
with my just dessert
of apple crisp,
that by coming first,
is grandly philosophized,
that today,

"the last shall be first"

~~~

she wakes me prematurely,
her only cause, the intruding concept
of her successfully doing the telling,
first one to win the everyday claiming race,
the first to say on this day,
I love you foremost and also,
"haha I win"

**** it

~~~

miscreant me,
happy loafer,
habitual offender of other things
that the censors here,
would not permit explicitly disclosing,
for which she looks wise away,
mumbling only
"half of his
addiction to cinnamon raisin loaf,
still, far, far, better

than none"

~~~

I know she loves me cause:

1) she likes unfailingly every one of my poems
(a half truth)
2) she loves best, faithfully,
those she loves the best,
that are the ones that release,
without permission asked,
those that come with a side of tissues,
at the ready,
to be emergency issued

those tissues
I call,
the ladies-in-waiting for

**the gentlest stream of tears

~

your apothecaried words,
your healing blended herbs,
soothe this wearied soul,
reduce the aging in these bones;
like streams of cooling water
flowing down from winter's snow,
light my path and show the way,
dispel the night, usher in the day;
these like soothing raindropped kiss
brings my thirsty soul some bliss;
to the corners chases bitterness,
and nudge aside its lonliness;
you lift the scales of fury's blindness,
furl the sails of life's unkindness;
tis the secret garden where i come,
where in comfort i am home;
free from harshness of sojourning,
thee my haggard soul afirming,
by your apothecaried words,
from this bruising world
my troubled soul is carried
my hearth and heart ignited
with your overflowing warming!

~

*post script.

these walls are my home,
sacred to a few of you,
making sacred paths
for me and thee,
a port of refuge
on life's tempestous days. 
if e're i swerve from being comfort,
please...
send me messages to show my error,
for of my life and of my wit and writ,
i would not be one who seeks
to show his teeth or seek revenge
within these halls.
you and these shall ever be
sacred walls to me. 
these and the words above
are inspired by Pamela Rae,
a gentle soul and
favorite herb blender here!
though there are many others too
who hold the line,
the very best here are
in my humble opinion
those who resist the urge and
refuse to participate
in wordy blood feuds,
or other forms of bringing
the harshness of life,
into these sacred halls.
these know the power
of their pen and
choose the better path,
wisely using their words
to bring healing, life, and light
and of course some
much needed laughter!
to each and all,
you who chose this path,
you i salute!
(: Steve

The Garden Buddha
sits
between
the
Rosemary, Dahlia and Boronia
fragrances in the breeze

Welcoming Accepting
the sun, the rain,
the star lite night sky
fierce frozen mornings
the snow when it comes,
the spiders, the slugs, the mosquitoes, the flies

Garden Buddha
quarter smile
whether or not
I sit beside him,
Unattached to all he sees
a study in the 7 Dharmas.

The Garden Buddha
being is all he knows.

While I worry
about this and that
fearful thoughts in the days and nights
all attached
to
love and loss,
fears and triumphs
births and debts,
what people think
will poems trend
whether there is food on the table
whether work will extend
whether or not I am part of the latest fashion trend.

The Garden Buddha
doesn't care or not care
about any of those things
his eyes
never waver
they always look inside out
outside in.

The Garden Buddha
stone of course
his smile
never goes away.

In the end, though,
nature will always have the last say
I can accept it
or not
Be filled with longing
suffering or accepting

life on life's terms

The Garden Buddha
will be here
long after
my last
dying day.

•

For this moment I still breath,
It is a precious gift from God,
Birthdays are not only the days to thank and praise Him,
But daily should be a birthday to bring Him back,
All the glory and honor He deserve,
A birthday of a new us for the past no longer exist,
There should be renewal of self each day,
A self so worthy in God's sight.

I could not really ask for more,
For when I look at the sky day and night,
It always shows me God's great love for me,
A love unfathomable to man's knowledge.

I already got my precious gift,
The treasure that I cherish a lot,
He is my king, my soulmate, my lover,
With him in my life,
I am already complete,
I could not ask for more,
For God already gave me,
The person that truly fill the spaces in my life,
The man I truly wanted and needed,
The one who is my all,
And for that this is the best Birthday ever,
Thank God, Praise God, Glory and Honor to Him!!!!



with love <3


© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.