What does the Moon care what I write of it?
Such a flight of fancy never to be told.
The stars take no heed to inspiration
even though they are a neverending source.

What power has the mist and the cold?
Over our feeble mortal souls?
we make for quiet bedlam
haughty in our superfluousness

so what if all leaves crumble and die?
is that meaningful somehow?
or is it a whisper of the breeze
Comfortable and eerie.

does it matter, that matter,
energy coexist free
when at once they are annihilated
as dreams upon rising?

is it true
when one can not be certain
if it is safe
when one can not be there?

can you believe
with illusion
and a shadow glance
as your only guiding milestone?

know that height and measurment
at the apex of understanding
cannot tell a tale
of a forgotten heart

and if the snow should fall, sour, graceless,
and we will give up hope,
would it be wasteful to say
that we were loved the most?

Not longlasting the memory of us and ours.
Of trials and tribulations.
Thousands past and thousands future
with uncertainty in the moonlight.

So what does the moon care what I write of it?
Even if it isn't anything, I still find it beautiful.

I like to be
with the one eye
seen, the other
seeing, the one ear
sounding, the other
hearing, but my
mouth I like pressed
against hers, because
it is comfortable
yet new, like the perfect
aspect of sincerity
trustworthy and pure,
yet understandable
and caring...new
but similar, strange
but familiar, frightening
yet loving, uniquely
comfortable

"where the crickets go"

this one is very old, maybe december or so. it's meant to be out loud. it sounds infinitely better that way. you should read it out loud.


"where the crickets go"

i would not lie,
i could not lie
this is where the crickets go
to die
to die a death
in the breath of an eye
a universe more sudden
than their sudden lives.
and the days spent waiting
the souls spent hating
are overall inessential
only the eventual
disappearance in the snout
only the eventual out
which comes as a
coil tense
snap and sputter.
yes
they die
just like we love
each other.

Since you took the Color

Black trees behind me, grey skies above me
I should've known you couldn't love me
You sharpened your words to make me look duller
Everything's clear since you took the color

I'm soaked through by the rain around you
I wasn't looking, but somehow I found you
You twisted my words to make me look wrong
Everything's clear since the color is gone

I walked away and you stood and stared
I should've known you never cared
You beat with words till I couldn't feel
You took the color, now everything's clear

Black tress howling, grey skies sighing
All this time now I've been crying
You sharpened your words to make me look duller
Everything's clear since you took the color

Time travel is impossible

Sure, it'd be nice to boldy sit
on liveried steed of Lancelot
or pinch the bottom of fair Juliet
and see what made Romeo hot

To buckle swash with Pirates dead
or huddle under tall Collosus
to kick the Fuhrer in the head
Smack Mussolini with galoshes

But think on this before you sleep
a Gordian knot is set in your path
a spatial hurdle you cannot leap
Under deadly weight of hidden math

For stars expanding outward flung
at speeds extreme and quite annoying
from points unknown to spots unsung
the measurements are not for toying

For even if enigma cured
of temporal manipulation
In years you'd hop, but here's absurd...
you'd land at what location?

For where we find New Hampshire now
a million years ago was different
And where was once a silly cow
a trillion light years distant

"Just do the math!" you may exclaim
But beg to differ, here I ask you
Tho you at axis x take aim
There's z and y and maybe double-u

And if space folds in upon itself
a pretzel dipped in stellar salt
Things don't stay neatly placed on shelf
nor stay when simply ordered "halt!"

So even if you wrestle WHEN
and cause it singular distress
the WHERE will sneak around you then
and strand you, "lost in space" address

and the saddest realization rhymes
while drifting past the stars in fear
Oh, you can get there anytime
you just cant get there from here.

:)

#3
Water spills through my hands
As I cup them and drink from the spring
And my hands fall apart, fluttering in the air
I imagine a butterfly sailing on the wind
Though it’s only my hands.
And on the rock, a shadow falls
A bird flutters down to drink from the spring…

#2
My hands are cold,
I shiver.
I blow on them, trying to find some heat,
You take my hands in yours,
You are warm, comforting,
Rubbing my hands.
My hands are warm,
I smile.

#1
I reach out to you in a dream
Hands open, trusting, nothing to hide
Hoping you will reach back
Hands clasped
Touching
Sharing
I reach out to you in a dream

Chortle, guffaw, dance with glee,
It's the birthdau of Night Owl,
I salute and congratulate you,
The world shall hear my howl.
Birthdays are a special thing,
To be celebrated and enjoyed,
So, have a very special day,
Don't get blue or annoyed.
I tip my hat to you, Night Owl,
You're a special sort of bloke,
Filled with intersting witticisms,
Never short of a joke.
You're intelligent and intriguing,
Handsome, thought I can't see,
Hey, wait a minute there,
You're a lot like me!                                                    

The other thing I like so much,
It causes me to shed a tear,
Is that with this birthday today,
You add another year.
So, on paper you are a year older,
Plain for all to see,
So, now we're technically the same age -
You're an old fart like me.