Morning, Morning Go Away

The stars lean on your laugh
for by dawn when light is near
the fading night is a broken crutch.
No escape in sight
they draw nearer still
to the life in your smile
away from morning’s light. 

Trapped Fireflies.

Fireflies flying in a jar are bright.
But since I placed them there
twelve years ago, they are now
nestled at the floor lifeless.
Brittle wings infused with decay
part nothing but the trapped stale air.
Yet when my eyes flutter 
on nights, the crescent moon
unsheathes her pale kiss,
and life finds itself in the fireflies’ wings.
They breathe again
if just for a waning moment.

Walking Back to Home.

Tall tales - I remember those from before
when I was younger and more fortunate.
Now the creaking of new thoughts on old ones
just paint in moving shades of gray and black
echoes of shades strolling through corridors.
The wallpaper reminds me of home.

Absent Reflection

The mirror blank -
my face is absent
from the reflection.
My eyes blank -
my soul is absent
from my reflection.

Pitter patter spatter -
what’s the matter,
It is a surprise to me
how foolish rhymes
can so easily ease.

little bird.

I would capture you,
little bird whose wings
take you away from me.
I would run to you,
I would fly to you,
sing to you I would
for you are mine. 

Where are my keys?

Seagulls croak,
The cold air flutters,
The leaves twiddle their thumbs,
As I sit in a miniature theater
Listening to the rush of traffic
Flash by starboard bow.
I sit and wait and listen -
And hate how the clunk
Of that damned trunk
Left me stranded alone.

walking through the forest.

I wonder by the coffee table in the early morning,
when the crisp light streams through the blurry window,
with my eyes closed listening to the colorful chattering of a waking forest,
fixed on you by the stillness that surrounds me -
of the morning that cups your hand with the gentle dew,
of the breeze grazing your ear singing it’s tempered song,
of the forest holding you in its soft embrace,
as you walk along the trail tracing the steps from the breath of dawn,
across the noon day sun towards the shadow of coming dusk.  

white voyage.

a captain is a adrift,
on a rickety raft, 
his eyes fixed on above
while the seagulls cry.
he wholly admires
his maiden vessel’s voyage
across the channel,
below the whites,
of Dover’s cliffs.
with a mouth dry of words
he mouths a tune
of an old sea dog’s scanty treasure.
Again he takes a swig of whiskey
rejoicing once more
of a captain, his beauty
and his booze.

shattered dreams.

streaks of lightning trail down my torso,
the scars ripple leaving only echoes,
cleaving the flesh from my soul,
in an instant the vapor of light
glimmering so violently at first
leaves a sweet memory of a shattered dream.