Clever. Sometimes I'm just too clever
for the logic of my pen. My hands better in supplication
than the subtraction manifest in solemn rites of division
though I am not yet conquered by the aftermath left in
the spongy wake of lovers and starfish, trying out
walking feet in the crazed
boat of despair.
Why do I get the feeling
that all is lost but the sea? You say I am full
of myself. Well, who else would share your bed?

IN A QUIET PLACE

I took the words that tell
my thoughts and fears
locked them with a key
in a quiet place
where no one will
see them
again.

I’ve opened up my heart
bore my soul
to set my spirit free
from the demons
that are hunting me
down.

but the world can be
a cruel and unforgiving
place for some…
for most.

Have you ever stopped and wondered,
Just why a tear drop falls,
Or ever sat and pondered,
The existence of us all,
I have often sat and thought this through,
There atop my horse,
It is my belief that life is like a river true,
One that must run its narrow course,
Irregardless what we do,
To stem its flow to sea,
It dances toward the blue,
And we won’t just let it be,
Always trying to stop it,
To slow its progress down,
Never thinking to take a hint,
As it runs us to the ground,

You Poet

I can imagine you walking along side the boulevard
all alone, in the lap of nature,
which does each one of us nurture,
to the quietude of some symphony
in the far off distance,
perhaps Nigeria,
playing a tune of dismal melancholy,
awaiting the snowflakes to melt
upon your shoulders
as others all slumber in peace,
within their cozy comfy vaults
and
dreaming of what looks outside
like a storm,
as you traverse in real form.