Internal self narratives dreaming and waking
The well runneth over and dry
The only thing easy is so complicating
As luck sees fit not to comply
I've two left feet, and I stumble so clumsy
My rhythm defies elegance
Define to deny your indecision
Take a mistake, make a chance
Watching or riding enlightening lightning
While striking throughout every gale
Finding a smile, even in something frightening
True beauty will always prevail
A laugh and a tear in each strength and each fear
Sometimes falling can feel oh so grand
Plain as day or unclear, only always sincere
Who am I? I am who? Who I am.

I took a far peek at your seek
and glanced into your eyes
Eyes wide shut.
You  sunk me in and inaugurated me
I peep in slightly to  be magnified
Star gazing at life's mystery ,  
Your Sky is ever so gracefully true of mendacity
Taken away by your master mind
                                      sailed away majestically ,
Accompanied my heart of blue
I look up, the twinkles run my mind and anchored ,
Settled to disappointment too.
I wondered why so down while life waves aimed up hi
I conceived a facade love story that just began in my mind ,
will this nightmare end in horror or in sweet serenade.?
A  question that ignited our flame
searching and fouling out with words of shame
Attending to this nautical phase,  unquestioned !
Redirected attention and navigated back to my heart.
I sail away back to the start and peep in your telescope once more,
There i realized
Distracted with sparks and accumulated the mind with blind truth.
I fooled myself in falling in love with a fool  .

Fantastically fashioned fingers,
  running smoothly through hair;
past present post-
  Father Time struck by Sand Man's stare.


Heavenly hanging hair,
  draping gently over lips;
tantalizing teasing tendrils-
  Aphrodite's mien, Venus' hips.

Lusciously loving lips,
  smiling softly at wandering eyes;
delirious delighted daze-
   Pyramus and Thisbe's kiss--butterflies.

Efficaciously effervescent...
  enchantingly endearing...
    enticingly euphoric...
      exultantly excited...
[Simply] ethereal! Eyes,
  diamonds, starlight, life, of Earth, sky, and sea;
bejeweled boundless bless'ed-
   If thou were Medusa, stone I'd be so readily.

Simply said Shakespeare,
  thou art the sun;
falsely framed fairness-
  for the sun is not brightest,
    tis You tis You,
      my wonderful, beautiful One.

Like half written symphonies I wait for you.

I wait for you
like an empty house
so you come and build yourself
in me.

I wait for you
like the flowers wait for spring
to bring them
back to life.

I wait for you
like the rush of blood
my head needs
to feel alive.

I wait for you
like the warm earth
needs the kiss
of soft rain.

I wait for you
like the souls
that walk this earth
waiting for release.

I wait for you
like the heart
that needs a score
to play.

Like purity for
true love,
I wait for you.

I wait for you.

LAUREL AND THE MARE

It was spring and Southern Ontario air tasted of trees.
A pregnant mare escaped to the woods from her prison on the estrogen farm.
She had long, curled hooves and cracked skin.
She came to Laurel and her two children at the edge of Beamsville.
Laurel had no work, a jumble of painted canvasses in the porch, her father's
Hired man's stucco cottage. Laurel, Hadley, Malcolm wore ski jackets and jeans.
The horse loved to exercise at night in the yard.
They combed her and gave her oats. They couldn't afford a vet so they

Called a farrier horse dentist and she fixed the skin and hooves and filed the teeth.
They hung a trouble light on a nail and talked to the horse at night.
The farm smelled of animal again: you know the power of grass breath.
They read library horse books and what's left of the family
Sang with the radio in the barn. Those might have been holy days,
They were feast days, and the children were pulled away from
American television by the strong and willing horse.

Torn French bread and good cheap Beamsville Magnotta wine on the picnic table,
Wine for the children, too, and they all read in their beds after dark.
Laurel went to bed thinking: "It's La Vie Boheme for us."
She gloated at the return of ******
Feeling and the possibility of love and laughed her
Coarse, sweet, hee-haw laugh.

        Paul Anthony Hutchinson    
This poem was published in Canadian Poetry