The Graveyard

Beneath the creaking willow tree
My lonesome lover lies
Beneath the flowing mosses
Is where my one heart dies

Alone and yet forsaken
The wind to scratch my cheek
No face for me to slyly scan
Or hand for me to keep

Why my love did you so go
And leave my heart with rage
Why did you abandon me
Alone to face the age

And all I have remaining
Of your intricate brown eyes
Is a softly creaking willow tree
Neath which a white cross lies

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Hello my darling little love, and how are you? , I ask.
I find that it's just slightly hard for me to stay on task.

Your face invades my every dream, both waking and asleep,
and though I know you are the same, this silence you still keep.

Why, my love, do you not search these eyes, so unlike yours?
You cause me to spend every moment fighting silent wars

Do I love you more than you so very much love me?
And, if so, how is that wrong? what horror would that be?

I do not doubt the way you feel, the words you softly speak.
I fear the way your actions fall, opposed to how I think.

Splendidly

Splendidly, splendidly calls the day,
The sun exclaims “I’m here to stay”
But fear I won’t of harmful rays
For you are ever with me

The heat wears on, but still I shiver 
Your softest smirk and laughter linger 
And I can’t help but smile as well 
For you are ever with me.

A Celtic Song

softly upon the dewy grass
our feet play games with ladybugs
they twist and twirl and lighty fall
and flatten down a grassen rug

the jig I dance is not exclusive
shared by the sun, and by the wind,
by the fawns, the butterflies
and by you, my dear old friend

we laugh and dance,
they dance along,
while the blue sky sings
a celtic song

and the green of my eyes
matches the summer trees
while yours gleam brighter
than the sunlit bees.

and our laughter joins
the birds' sweet songs
and it's exactly like
we're singing along

and the wind catches our hair
and it carries it around
as it does with the sweet scent of summer
and every glorious sound

while we laugh and dance,
they dance along,
and the blue sky sings
a celtic song

and as the sun sets down
we grow quite tired
and we lay upon our flattened grass
and stare up into blackened mire

slowly, stars blink on
small sparks of glory
and we find laughter again
at a remembered story

and one shoots across
and we shout, and wish
did we wish the same?
perhaps at similar-ish

either way, the night grows cold
we sleep upon our grassen sheet
a necessary joy, for on the morrow
we will start again with dancing feet

we will laugh and dance,
and they'll dance along,
while the blue sky sings
a celtic song

Madame Monet (What Say You To Forever?)

A poem inspired by ‘Madame Monet and Her Son’ by Monet

“What say you to forever?
How would we fare together?
To lay side by side and stare at the sky
Blinded by the sun, but seeing so much.

To speak of everything, yet say nothing
To share a smile or a look and understand the deepest thought
To know the comforts and discomforts
To be as one

For now you are a mystery
Veiled, far away, seen through a mist
Our future is a dream, and a hazy one
The wind, exhaled as a sigh of longing, blows it away.

I stare for a while
I see us
I see our family
I see the future

But it is probably not the future
Dreams are dreams
And they are blown away, changed, redirected
Waves, tossed about, never certain of their course

Those fleeting dreams
Those quick snatches
Those ever-exaggerated scenes
Those.

Wind through the grass
While the sun beats down
And my hair blows in my face
As we laugh at ourselves

Then the mood is somber
Then I stare at you, tears threatening
Then you stare back, and we know
Then again… we don’t really know anything.”

The grass is always greener...

Winter's ice loses its glory,
We tire of cold and white.
And with heavy hearts we count the months
'til flowers are in sight.

We cry with joy at the first warm breeze
And the tidings it may bring
For we know the grass is always greener
In the first few months of spring.

O to be a bird

A little ditty type poem I wrote. I had the title 'Oh to be a bird with wings' in my head for a while... it popped into my brain when I was swinging, you know, like on a playground. It is quite wonderful. I finally actually wrote it the other night... and ended up with random haikus. :D ah, the dear japanese influence!

"O' to be a bird with wings
And fly over you flightless things
Up I would soar to see the sky
I'd go until I was so high
I couldn't see the ground

I dream and dream of this
Until it turns into a wish
I continue to wish to fly up there
Where you can feel the wind in your hair
And the bugs in your teeth...


Oh to be a bird
Then I could fly 'cross the world
across the wide sea


Though I suppose being a bird
You couldn't say a word
You wouldn't be understood
You'd be expressive as wood

And I suppose, being a bird
No wits would be assured
You could be as dumb as a rock
To think would be... a shock!


I suppose, a bird
Cannot eat hamburgers, such
A sad tradgedy!


I think I like my life
Though it has a bit of Strife
I'll be content with walking
Thinking, eating, living, and talking!

I will be happy with myself
Put that dream upon a shelf
And I'll love my fellow flightless things
despite our sorrowful lack of wings


I am glad I am
not a bird, for how very
restrictive and sad"

Butterfly Thoughts

Thoughts flitting about in my head, like trapped birds
Or butterflies, wings traveling at heartrending speeds
They go so fast, they're hard to catch
And when caught, hard to hold on to

I caught a beautiful butterfly, but I let it slip away
My fingers were too weak to hold its rapid wings
It was a wish, a want, a need; but now it's gone
Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind it waits
 And plots, for the next time I'm insomniatic
Then it shall spring forth, only to get loose again

Fingers of the mind
Weakened by lack of sleep
And an overpowering number of thoughts

They cannot hold onto these butterflies
Strong and young and fresh as they are,
Not concious of life or the lack thereof outside of their own glorious
beings

These butterflies fall silent in the light.
One or two will spring forth, and bring the mind to life
But the great cacophony of fluttering wings is silent

Oh, for the strength and vitality of the butterflies
Oh, to be able to hold on to them, to grasp their knowledge
Oh, to remember my ideas, brilliant as they may be.
Oh that they would shut up and let me sleep.