A blank slate of paper,
At birth, no marks to see,
A story yet to be written,
What character will it be?

What narrative to drive
That actor’s soul, and make it thrive?
A setup from the start,
And conflict lurking in the wings,
But how will it play out,
And what resolution will it bring?

We, the fictional,
Take our lines from the Divine,
But the genre we choose,
Is what makes it truly shine.

For me, romance is the way,
Not this horror, please, I pray.
Let the pages turn,
And the story unfold,
Let love be the centerpiece,
And let our hearts be bold.

So let the ink flow,
And let the words take flight,
As we journey through this story,
With love as our guiding light.

:: 03/27/2023 ::

The tongue of sweet spring is your
remembrance of time : an embrace
of springtime is love and memorytime
and veserial sweet time

(the world will die/and Souls live\
the very Spirits singing in lovely
bar chords: as once lovers come
and then go but two perfectly alone
while weeping no one else alive \

breathing the beauty of a sky and
such a sun ; as how we both never knew
that no other ever breathed : so mamy
various forms of love and yes.
That pieces of falling of love as
tiny darting and floating . . .
is the quietly screaming words
saying, “I LOVE YOU.”

:: 09.21.2023 ::

IF peace is largeness within the many chambers

of you i should dream a world of loveness

a n d  m a n y  t e a r s  b y  j o y

to tell you the dream when smallness was

the many vapored obscured heart-tied hands

hanging upon the highest star

There is within me enough room for you

as words from distant cousins lock meaning within

a single stanza the numinous feelings are that much

nearer I — the pupil of Life and my sight

is becoming more clearer.

:: 11.27.2015 ::

Walking on shards of shattered glass,
Heartbreak’s jagged pieces from the past.
Pain’s my muse, don’t question why,
I don’t ask where I’ve gone awry.

Tears in my eyes, a crimson stain,
Soul’s aching in this never-ending rain.
It’s chaotic, yet it feels so real,
Life’s mystique, an electric thrill.

Everybody craves that thing called love,
But few have hearts as tough as a leather glove.
How many folks grow old too soon,
Lost in a world where tears maroon.

I’ve prayed, I’ve lost my mind,
In this crazy world, we’re all confined.
And someone, like fate, softly said,
“You’re as real as the life you’ve bled.”

:: 09.18.2023 ::