Poetry Wine

Who has cometh to wine and dine
upon thy simple words?
And would you care to cometh back
for seconds, even thirds?

Luscious grapes, fruit of thy vine,
perfecting on thy twine.
Stay and linger on thy lips,
sweet poetry and wine.

I knew thee well once long ago,
our words danced 'neath the moon.
I gave to thee, thy dewy heart,
that bloomed in early June.

Luscious grapes, fruit of thy vine,
perfecting on thy twine.
Stay and linger in thy mind,
sweet poetry and wine.

Celerity

Why is the pen always out of ink?
Is it really a wonder;
Have you not read all that he writes,
in the shadows of the wee hours
whilst I sleep?

The moon is on the rise
and the mood is warming
the breath of the night.

The cravings for sweet metaphors
come alive in his poetic mind
as he calls for me to come
and play once again;
to be his angel.

"Come to mind" he says to me.
"Come, my muse of the night".

I am but an innocent reader of his poems,
a captive audience of one, by day
and an unknowing seductive muse by night.

How is it unknowingly that I invade his mind
and become the muse of his desires?
Like the depths of a dark ocean, have my
eyes revealed my most womanly secrets?

I am but the grass that only looks greener
on the other side of the metaphor.
I am but the rhyme that fanned out her
tail feathers only to fall flat on the floor.

Still, he calls me to mind in the cool dusk.
And once again I am his muse of the night.

The lines on the paper heat up with each
stroke of the pen as ink flows with celerity.
He can't help but express his male excitement
and in his nervous state...forgets my name!

Poem in D minor

I've seen, I've heard this play before,
two restless souls a fire.
Invite, excite, to come explore
to see what will transpire.

But star-dust soon will leave the eye
I'm sure you will agree.
Another beauty passes by
and then I'm history.

Recite to me a ballad free
of broken hearts galore.
Don't lust for me on bended knee
for I will cry no more.

un-red valentine

your love is like
wild winds whipping my heart
staining me blue

January

Whistling wind weasels
beneath lose fitting covers
Winter is not shy

Linger

Stand with me beneath white birch trees
in early morning dew.
Float upon a fresh green thought
that travels country wide.

Let’s blend together hues of ink
as hand in hand we walk.
We come alive like feathered ferns
in autumn shades of gold.

And should we linger long enough
we'll catch the rising moon.
It watches over everyone
especially those who hide.

The Brilliant one

His thirsty mind drinks down more brilliance
as the spell checker pardons his mistakes.
He lives in his own world of numbers and light
seeing well beyond what all others can see.

Etching his thoughts within window panes,
its plain to see he doesn't want to talk with you.
Leave him alone, and he might go mad all together.
Instead, reach out and pull him in from his own mind.

How beautiful this man is, but how would you know?
You are just an ordinary follower of shameful puppets.
Only those of spiritual intellect can see into his heart.
And he clearly wears his heart outward for those who can see.

Moon Limerick

The dawn is bound by the sun
but our moon has made us one
and while it's still night
well play until light
now slap your hand on my bun

Dream softly, my dear

Dream softly, my dear
mine eyes are wide shut.

You call mine name, it's all the same
we sleep to dream a great escape.

Dream softly, my dear
hearts shatter quickly.

Walk within my dream, lets team up
against the world's reality.

Dream softly, my dear
I am always near.

As I fall asleep in summer

cold air hums inside
on the other side of glass
steamy summer soup

Listen while I ease you to sleep

Listen while I ease you to sleep
As you dream and start to weep.
You have the power to fly: fly high
Above the demons: they'll surely die.

Listen while I ease you to sleep.
As ugly monsters start to creep.
God hears all prayers: how could he not?
He strikes down demons, with just one shot.

Listen while I ease you to sleep
Evil bones are in a heap.
You have the knowledge: in faith is strength
You have an army at one arm's length.

What am I? ( #4 )

You come out of the grayness of dusk
as you enter my yard.
I know not if it's you, or just a shadow
on a long, summer, June night.
Suddenly I am aware of all that is black
in a yard that I thought was mine.
A hanging basket of flowers plays
tricks with my eyes,
as I think it's you perched on a fence post.

The candle I read by becomes brighter
with the end of the day's light,
as blood thirsty tiny little mosquitoes
hunt for uncovered skin.
A few early fire flies grace my yard
and distract me from your quiet movement.
I can hardly see now, yet I think I see you
crouched down in the grass, looking at me.
The tree line is still visible and the waxing
gibbous moon will reflect in your green eyes
giving you away, any minute now.

~

It matters not

It matters not where we shall meet
in a field or forest deep.
It matters not the time of day
morning sun or nighttime gray.

Perhaps we'll meet upon a beach
mingling skin of tan and peach.
Or in a castle dungeon dark
where hungry lips do leave their mark.

We could share the best of moods
you and me; a pair of nudes.
Sliding down a fall of blue
rolling in the morning dew.

It matters not where we shall meet
in a field or forest deep.
It matters not the time of day.
Time will slow as if at bay.

Orange Moon

Driving home 'round the bend
I ran into an orange moon.
It was hanging right in front of me,
right between the tall oak trees.

It stole my breath in a second
It took my heart, right then and there.
I fell in love with you again
by the sight of this orange moon.

I headed north down Randall Road
and feared that I would loose it.
But there it was, just left of me,
that orange wafer of a moon.

It sailed so smoothly, yet shyly hid
between the trees and in the clouds.
No way for it to go unnoticed,
this larger than life orange moon.

I wondered if others thrilled over
this touchable site within the sky.
I wondered if Cosmo would mind
if I borrowed his moon tonight.

At that very moment, we connected
as I felt you viewing...
that same orange moon.

April

just when it seems so bleak
with winter's dirty streak
that clouds my restless being
to cover what I'm seeing

along comes spring with yellow and green
and all its colors in between
that save me from this wicked state,
with natures bounty on my plate.