There is a dark secret that I hold

When I think of it, I get so cold

There is no one that I know I can tell

I keep it buried deep inside my well

If anyone ever found out, I would die

So I keep it inside, and I just cry

This dark secret haunts me from past

I know it will haunt me to my last

I see no light; I see no way

I see night; I see no day

Eventually, every secret is found

No matter how deeply buried underground

When my dark secret is discovered and told

C'mon, fellas,
said I,
meaning that the moment
was gone, and it was time
to move along,

wrap our protests
in wilted banners
and homemade signs,
then carry them
up and over the hill,

past the mega-church,
the All-Your-Crap storage units,
the 24-hour pharmacy sitting next to
the deluxe, salty, fat hamburger joint -
all located at the intersection of

Main and Meridian, USA
where Mother Earth
once adorned her bevy of
periwinkle vines,
crimson clover,

In spring, I wake with rosy-fingered dawn,
and pen my lines as dew drops grace the lawn.
By dusk, when blood-red moon begins to bleed,
my sorrow-laden lines I dare not read.

In summer, poems pour out of my soul,
released from county jail - out on parole.
They lie, like lines of laughing liberty,
hysterical to be at last set free!

Autumnal lines may fall, but will not flow.
They rot inside me, then mutate and grow,
until I’m large with child of pregnant prose:
these still-born poems, damned, do decompose.

Silently she creeps to the corner of my darkened room,
Picking clean old pockets and the emptiness of gloom.
Her enquiring spark shakes me into bleary-eyed sight,
And pulls me from my bed, to arise in illuminating light.

The gibbous moon her fingers spread, grasping hold of earth,
Within a month she echoes her lifecycle, or a promised birth.
The ebb and flow she holds over nature and upon the tide,
To call a pack of wolves or in women’s blood does she reside?