Poetry Thursday

A poet might say___ 
___bend your heart towards mine-let your breast touch mine as nature causes heart and heart to match rhythm and beat as one. 
I stare in to eyes of passion as they radiate love immeasurable. 
I touch hair that radiates and is soft as down. 
I smell the sweet nectar of your beauty as my senses reel. 
I feel the warmth of your body as it caresses mine. 
I hope that the minutes will morph into hours into days into forever.

Tidal Merger: Wind

Tidal Merger: Wind

Swirls of hair evidence winds intensity,
motion claims the buzz cut, or like
closely knitted thatch or mats tremble
creating an individual loose extremity.

Mindless at winds mercy, strands
dance or resemble the beautiful
boughs of the great willows that
hug faithfully the waterways.

Rising falling twisting turning the
wind owns all. With buildings the
effect is increased where the cities
decay may fill one corner of an alley
leaving clean the other side.

Hair waves majestically, while upon
another shakes sporadically.

Hair strands clash sometimes
violently, always sensually;
remarkably wonderfully tantalizingly
adept at leaving the owner beautiful.

Hair as lovers embrace becomes a
fluid or comforting focus for face
fingers nose eyes ears arms tongue
lips combining every sense to
heighten the awareness of
interaction between lover and loved.

Hair wind-borne as it kisses
your face, and to your beloved, enjoy
the power as hair chased by the air
movements tickle, blind, and enhance
passions experience.

Wind creeps around the collar or
openings of the shirt, blouse or
sweater; powerful enough to
pierce the bones when wearing
materials like leather.

Wind waves flags, banners or
bunting, it shakes the houses, barns
and concrete buildings; our very
wallets or purses have fallen prey
emptied – often leaving one wanting.

Wind cleanses our air in valleys, in
cities, in towns. Some times leaving
some  with relief or dread or sorrow.

While we read or speak or as time
passes, the nature of wind will
always impact the masses.

You define winds beauty perfectly,
your hair shifts with subtle abandon
or streams like underwater grasses
while the invisible powers caress,
stroke, and manipulate your beauty
as I watch, grateful to be as close as
I am while watching nature’s
environs do that which I desire to do
but, am limited to sonnets, poetry or
songs.

Street Touches

Running through the middle of the street, seems safer,


no shadows, less fear, the sense of pain no less i fear.



Running from the lie, peace not found; death does


not care if you stand up or lie down.



Running from the hurt, agony and dread, bullets


in the chest makes constant my blood that is shed,


as the body’s actions wind down, I whimper; No more


running for me, as i sink to the ground.



Street is wet from a newly fallen rain; the sweet taste


of the street is like nectar to my brain. Running down


the seconds like a childs wind up toy; my life ebbs from


my chest as water down the drain. Death is a friend so


close, and now there is simply no fear; for the end of my


life as it draws steadily near.



Running from the pain gave me no sweet relief;


anger, then hope, sorrow, finally; just total release.


So i fled for my life which was already taken. Running


was wise; for her it is why i died, so her kisses not tasted;


perhaps in another life might be mine.

does life owe us


does life owe us
what does life owe us? nothing.
where is the answer to life’s riddles? in our minds?
if this were that simple, i would be happy.
we see with our eyes,
hear with our ears.
we understand with our minds,
we taste life with our senses.
but, we learn, grow, and thrive
through the love in our heart.
hold fast to love because it is often like the mist.

Last Run

Running through the middle of the street,
seems safer, no shadows, less fear, the sense
of pain no less i hear.

Running from the lie, peace not found; death does
not care if you are standing up or laying down.

Running from the hurt, agony and dread, bullets
in the chest makes constant blood that is shed,
as the body’s actions wind down. No more running
for me, as i sink to the ground. Street is wet from
a newly fallen rain; the sweet taste of the street is
like nectar to my brain.

Running down the seconds like a childs wind up
toy, my life ebbs from my chest as water down
the drain. Death is a friend so close and now is
simply so clear; for the end of my life is finally
here.

Running from the pain gave me no sweet relief;
anger, then hope, then sorrow when found without
help. So i fled for my life which was already taken.

Running was wise; for her it is why i died, so her kisses
not tasted; perhaps in another life might be found.