She's not a poet
She who was lost though sometimes I've found,
whom decisions are caged and bound.
who lives in life full of poison,
who knew how to rhyme a misery,
who was in the midst of emotion to carry.
She's not a poet,
She's just a sad soul
who wants to express
and spill metaphors.

In Autumn river, my thought drift and came.
The people are flaky as withered leaf,
their fickleness that put my past to shame.
A once vibrant pears is now not so green.
Name lost in time, face forgotten;
the person is now foreign.

A childhood of blackberry stained fingers and butterfly kisses
That turned into cigarette scented Sundays
Mondays alarm is hardly the birth of a phoenix
Everything is so loud
So you make playlists to block the days out
Talk to therapists so your voice drowns the sounds
Of hearts beating to the symmetry of structure
Evenings spent drifting through conspiracies
That put your mind in and out of ease

I have a shortcut, I can show you

Into a world of leaves
Your hair will tangle with the trees
The rain will batter you
Wet silk and scars
Mark promises on your legs
But smoky seasoned scrambled eggs
And a woodpecker at a pine
Is now your divine alarm clock
It will curve your mood
Become your instinct
You’ll be able to tell
When thorns become soft
You dress to un-impress
Ragged ankles of an empress
Enter your utopia

On carpets of brambles
To be danced above
A crumpled tent hosts
Seven sweet sisters
Fresh from the flames
Soul mates are on auction
Interviewed by ghosts
Who decide your wedding gown
You are never unqualified
Don’t let the cold get you down
Don’t let the past nourish you
The way you forget to let the sun do
Hidden in the woods
Branches block the dreams out
Climb to where the schemes rhyme
Disregard your sodden socks
The needles of a helpless hairbrush
Accept the untameable
As you stumble, wild
Your soles bare
You know your worth
Your place upon the earth
You curl up in the dirt
But there’s a nice view
And it’s a green that patterns the cosmos
Subsides the madman’s blood lust
It’s the eyes of your mother
And the scent of an absent lover
Let it cushion you

At least until Monday

Drinking
Dreaming of Ireland
Dreaming of freedom
The kind of freedom America only promises
Green Fields
Coffee
Whiskey
Red headed women
Dutch gold Dublin dew
Wrapped in a brown paper bag
Ireland
I wish I was there with you
but the world had other plans
My love
My home
Ill see you soon
Or die trying

Isn’t it funny how
Earth, forged from the universe
Will die by our hands?

water lilies float
atop the water, serene
blooming; pink and green