This pink pen & this pink poem, are born without being on mainland;

this piece's words, and now their home, still written in remorseless sand.

On beaches like these, markers are found; and  at Gibraltar's point it's somehow wound...

...up, so that these words of mine, carefully crafted, maycleverly shine:

May's final beams of copper light,
scintillate, their dancing,
till the water meets the night.

Turn out the light and follow me.
Come along and you will see.
On this night, this one night,
The truth tonight you will see.

Come along, have some faith,
Believe in yourself, believe in me.
Turn out the light and follow me.
Come along and you shall see.

Sunshine and morning’s dew
Spider webs on sidewalks, gleaming bright.
I wish we could see the sunrise
Together one last time.

Breeze blowing through our hair
Souls reaching out, touching ground.
I wish we could feel the sun
Together one last time.

I can recall moments
Lost in time
Very long before I met you.
Images of me and you.

In thee it flies, down thee it sighs
There got thee back to the leap
of graceful nihilism we dwell upon
of forgottened veil unfolds in.
Confessed, the sin invites.

In me it strikes, down me it ties
Cuz’ ain’t you a stranger too?
Absurdity afloating back and forth,
Alienation flattering be and not
Nauseated, the chestnut tree sprouts.

In hell it inane, down hearth it ablaze
Until the sprakle’s all but gone
Not in the way off the grounded What
But on the sheer of That it is
Unhindered, the cradling halo fades.

In blue it prattles, down black it blusters
Can’t the passenger paint a red eye?
Sailboat shivering on the sea
Salvation shotting at the sky
Stumbled, the fallen angel flees.

From a whisper sinking so close away:
Here’s a flight doomed to fall
a leap led to lost
But I’ll show you how

Mount Vesuvius  
I blessed her with jewel's,
please torch my heart
at nature's pace
and release the hour
of her cradled embrace.

A whisper of shadows, where echoes fall,
In the stillness, I await the call,
While others fear the end's sigh,
I yearn for the moment when I can fly.

To slip beyond this earthly veils
To find her again where love prevails.
Just seven minutes, a fleeting grace,
To behold her smile, to see her face.

The crescent dimple that danced on her cheek,
The sea-tinted glimmer in eyes that speak.
To hear her laughter, a melody sweet,
One last goodbye, a heart's retreat.

The strand of hair that she tucked away,
A familiar habit that brightened my day.
The scent of her presence, like blossoms in spring,
In those precious moments, my heart takes wing.

A farewell was spoken, though words felt untrue,
A promise unbroken that love would renew.
Is it too much to ask for a glimpse of her light?
To cherish those memories that linger at night.

for reasons unknown to me,
the urgent need to commence
this one with the words:

Oh man,

this is, this be, challenging,
but these words were found on the drying rack in my
abattoir, my nickname for my unending Draft Day
filings

and kept poking despite another overnight splash,
the product pool is full of creativity's synaptic junctions,
a wild night of up~writing, from god knows when,
and here it is 7:18, there are obligations, needs that
a demand a face to face meeting, tho the troops are
in their boarded beds, gently snoring…

                      so quick, to the sizable task at hand

the search is perpetual, not eternal,
for no one comes forward, willing
to admit, they have been around
since King David's time, practicing
this verbal chicanery game of using
words to guide the perplexed, unless,
of course, unless someone you might
know might be a big fat fibber

right about now, you're exasperatingly seething,
"where the heck is a poem gonna show its face?"

     well, and now,
     some struggle mightily, to ascertain
     who and what is their uniqueness,
     oft turned and twisted, caught between
          competing entities, asking quests that
           take lifetimes to resolute, and when
           you look at the typewriter roll silently
           choking the white cloud surrounding it,
          you, you want to cry/pray out aloud, who, who

shall I be, to make a completion between
the person inside of me. the person I think
                   I want to be, dream of be-coming,

and yes it is too, eternal, for as long as humans
can think dream, create and anticipate, we all
will nonetheless perpetually search for the other
someone, sometwo
in us…

Much better,
Once old enough to lift split alder
To grandfather’s truck bed,
We were taught to retreat
To deeper woods,
Sit hanging over mossy log,
To wipe with fresh plucked leaf.
But beware the nettle
And devil’s club.