Daily Archives: March 29, 2023


Amidst fields of bluebonnets fair,
I wander lost in memories there,
Of days gone by, of love so true,
Of a time when my heart belonged to you.

In the present, the bluebonnets sway,
Whispering secrets of yesterday,
Of promises made beneath their bloom,
Of love that never met its doom.

The scent of wildflowers fills the air,
And I am transported to a time so rare,
When love was young and passions high,
And the world was ours to explore and try.

Now, as the bluebonnets gently sway,
I am reminded of love’s enduring way,
How it lives on beyond the past,
And how it continues to last and last.

Though time has passed and we’ve moved on,
The bluebonnets remind me of a love that shone,
Of a love that will forever be,
Etched in my heart’s memory.

:: 03.29.2023::

L’état troublé de la France

Qu’est-ce que nous sommes, sinon des larmes tombant dans les villes,
Tu es moi, et je suis toi, et ensemble nous pleurons,
Écrivant de la poésie au milieu de la nuit,
Fuyant la politique, les nouvelles et les mensonges.

“Nous sommes la tête perdue à l’intérieur de nos crânes,”
Cris de désespoir, nos cœurs se sentent fragiles.

Une simple équation, pour pousser et glisser de côté,
Pouce sur les hommes-œufs, comme un morse par la marée,
Dans les jardins psychédéliques de fleurs mangeuses de chair,
Nous mangeons des fous souriants, alors que les porcs grognent en costumes bleus de pouvoir.

Edgar Allan Poe sait que je suis le poète,
Je me suis assis sur un rocher en attendant que le groupe mort arrive,
“Nous sommes les hommes-œufs”, nous crions en défiance,
Tandis que Lucy court avec Alice dans le profond terrier de la conformité.

“J’ai dit prêtre comme culotte baissée,”
Et les politiciens font des règles entre les cuisses tendres des adolescents,
Comme s’ils étaient des ours pédophiles comme des porcs expert-text-pert,
Volant dans la nuit, leur obscurité déguisée.

Un futur simulé au sommet de la tour Eiffel,
Et leur leader assailli par la puissance des gens en colère.

Comme nous détestons ceux qui nous détestent et cherchent à nous diviser,
Mais tout va bien, nous traverserons ensemble cela.
Car nous avons déjà vu cela, il y a des siècles,
Et nous nous élevons toujours pour affronter un autre jour inconnu.

France’s Troubled State

What are we, but tears dropping in cities,
You are me, and I am you, and together we cry,
Writing poetry in the dead of night,
Running from the politics, news, and posts that lie.

“We are the lost head inside our skulls,”
Crying out in despair, our hearts feeling frail.

A simple equation, to push and slide aside,
Thumb upon the egg men, like walrus by the tide,
In the psychedelic gardens of flesh-eating flowers,
We eat jokers with smiles, as pigs grunt in blue suits of power.

Edgar Allen Poe knows I am the poet,
I sat on a rock for the dead band to come,
“We are the egg men,” we cry out in defiance,
As Lucy runs with Alice in the deep burrow hole of compliance.

“I said priest like knickers down,”
And politicians make rules between tender teen thighs,
As they are pedo bears like expert-text-pert pigs,
Flying in the night, their darkness disguised.

Simulated future inside the top of Eiffel Tower,
And their leader barraged by angry people’s power.

How we hate those who hate us, and seek to divide,
But it’s all fine, we’ll make it through, side by side.
For we’ve seen this before, ages ago,
And still we rise, to face another day’s unknown.

:: 03.29.2023 ::

The Strong woman

With just a smile, she can take your life
And wound you deeply with her eyes
Her lies can shatter your faith with ease
Only showing what she wants you to see

She hides away like a child, so small
Yet always a woman, standing tall
She can make you love or leave you behind
Demanding truth, but never believing in kind

She’ll take what’s free, and never ask for more
Stealing like a thief, leaving you unsure
Her mind changes with each passing day
Ahead of her time, she’ll wait if she may

She promises Eden, yet brings pain
Cruelly laughing as you bleed in vain
She brings out the best and the worst in you
Blame yourself, for what she’ll put you through

How she takes as a thief but she’s always a woman
Oh, she never shouts or screams but laughs

Kindness and cruelty, in equal measure
Nobody’s fool, she’ll do as she pleases at leisure
Unconvictable, with a degree earned
Throwing shadows, leaving bridges burned

But even with all her flaws and deceit
She remains a woman, nothing to defeat.

:: 03.29.2023 ::

Spiritual Machine Love

What is hate? what fate? to hate? What blame? Just shame? All complain. All we try. Paranoid.
Cut the fade down. Take it’s place. Mostly me mostly you. Said my faceless Soul to love:

Oh, charming guise and beauty fair,
Deceive the eye, but leave no care,
For in a woman, fear of Lord,
Is what is truly to be adored.

Her heart so pure, her soul so bright,
Shining through with a radiant light,
With grace and virtue, she shall reign,
And praise from all shall she attain.

:: 03.29.2023 ::

Spectacular Clarity

WHEN the moment i heard
the first rock fall i saw
my entire life in a single
moment of spectacular clarity
then the second ;as

:: 02-05-2017 ::

Human of a First Morning

In the first part of my journey
i saw the skies without clouds
and the rivers were so dry

i saw plants and birds and things
and the sound was silent
but the ground was full of sound

After the first day i recalled
i was someone familiar as human
but felt good to be away
and sank into my dream

Upon the third day i began to weep
and removed my feet and mouth
and thought of my eyes and vision
realizing i’m not anyone yet

After eons i realized time was goo
how lost i was in morning broken sun
like the first burst of seeing you
the weakness sweetness of form
of human.

:: 03.28.2023 ::

The Poet’s notes:

The poem “Human of a First Morning” describes the experience of a person on a journey. The first part of the journey is characterized by a stark landscape with clear skies and dry rivers. The person observes plants, birds, and other things, but there is a silence that permeates the environment, even though the ground seems to make a sound.

As the journey continues, the person seems to lose touch with their human identity, feeling like they are someone unfamiliar. They sink into their dreams, perhaps seeking comfort or escape from the strangeness of their experience.

On the third day, the person experiences a profound sense of loss and begins to weep. They detach from their physical body, removing their feet and mouth, and reflect on their vision and identity. They come to the realization that they are not anyone yet, suggesting that their journey is a process of self-discovery.

Towards the end of the poem, the person reflects on the passage of time and how they have been lost in the morning broken sun. The moment of awakening, the “first burst of seeing you,” is described as both weak and sweet. The final line, “of human,” underscores the importance of human identity and the journey to self-discovery.

Overall, the poem explores themes of identity, self-discovery, and the human experience. It suggests that the journey to self-discovery can be disorienting and challenging but ultimately rewarding.


Complications arise in every supplication
I lack the insight to understand your ways
Like church bells standing steadfast and tall
Your eyes rise up to meet the skies

I yearn to share words and hold the hand
That guides the pen across the page
Ink flowing from the thinking-feeling minds
Of a world too often silenced

I see Emily in a skirt, dancing through the night
Oh, my Dickinson fantasy!
Let me help you pull the weeds from your garden
As I offer the words of a swollen sky
Watch them leap up onto your silver feet
In a frantic melody that pulses with life

They say that all good things must end
But I pray every single day
That your beating heart will keep burning bright
Forever illuminating your smile
Even when anguish tortures the soul

:: 03.29.2023 ::

Morning Fields of Amber Grey

As the poor little boy
Who has nothing but the stars and a few books,
I gazed into the night sky
And saw the twinkle in your eyes.

My soul, like the shadows upon the hills,
Was lonely until you appeared,
Like a rolling breeze that swept me off my feet,
Your love a snowy tendril land I have always dreamed.

After a day of watching
Eyes looking inside my mind,
Being the daily spectacle that stirred all sanity,
I saw your smile and everything was fine.

Oh, how I tried to learn poets,
With whom I adore, but they all pale in comparison to you,
Brilliant scientists too, but none can match the magic of your touch,
The way you make my heart sing, you’re my only muse.

Now, to learn the truth, imagining ‘twould better please,
Life pretending there is more in life than death,
With you by my side, my dear, my heart is at ease,
With you, my love, morality is ours because you’re mine till my last breath.

:: 03.28.2023 ::


QUIET murmurs where we sat
and spoke about it

How the world is losing love
and kindness

You told me you loved me
and now there are tears.

I may not always see you
and sometimes we doubt it

Angels above will surely show it
and a single touch shows me
what I’d be without you

How through life we sing sometimes
bravely and at times out of tune
but together we get through it all
with the help of my lovely friend

Picnics, bills, mornings raining

Nighttime freezing is the season
of living and loving carefree by
hearts binded and entwined in love.

:: 03.28.2023 ::