O drops be bound, a baby brook
That babbles by with sparkling look
To streams that roll with rock and bends
To old rivers, until land ends.

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When the crystals of the day
Become fluid dream of night,
Under the blanket of our being
Past thoughts dissolve to light.

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Life’s shell

I walk a path where souls once walked
in hand and beauty’s light.
Where winds whisper their gentle hush,
Closer, yet torn from sight.

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Grey skies

As the summer’s light is bent,
And brushes autumn’s leaves,
Warm clouds turn dark and then relent
As rain drips from the eaves.

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Of the Pen

I’m a fighter
I’m a lover
but my pen writes
the chapters of poetry
with one sleek stride
of the pen
another one is written.

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Minutes to Write

Grabbing five minutes
Grabbing ten this time
Okay going for fifteen minutes
Dam, words flow so easy
When time passes by

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My Kryptonite

My kryptonite is noise
For then I shall not write
Until the world becomes quiet and still
Then I shall write the story
Of my life.

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But when the sea hushes the shore
With foaming edge, another score,
Above the earthen howling voice,
A common wave devoid of choice.

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Work ethic

Work drains
pounds of flesh
from broken bodies.
Blood, sweat and tears
leak from pores
of shrivelled skin.

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