.(poem)

I love it when you call me baby,
rolling your eyes,
flutter your soft lashes,
I am away with the Swansea tides.

Hanging on, telling the boys, 
to not count on my appearance at the local,
I am not at the bar,
there is no liquor involved-
when I get vocal, at how beautiful you are.

When I am drinking,
on a well worn leather sofa
and some mint blonde tries to get her hand in my thigh,
her night will be fruitless,
you are the only apple of my eye. 

Shades of lilac (poem)

I was cruel,
shades of lilac- floating.
a lover, nearly satisfied.

Light the candle your grandfather gave you,
fight the demons with a bible or a bottle,
do not declare your eyes as your only vision. 

Judge me, love me and then commit-
oh in the bed, in the library,
find me, I ache for-
shades of lilac. 

The saloon and ballroom hold us apart,
fight or dance with the nightmares,
a night to remember-
a night to forget. 

I was fulfilled,
it is so clear now with all the grey,
no more shades of lilac-
a lover, close to little nothings. 

Singing lullabies for my mind,
punch me, I love a bruise,
you used to be so-
kind. 

Happiness is in yesterday,
I do not know what it does to me,
but the rain I could depend on-
the sunshine brings shadows.

Shades of lilac,
of blue, of red and green,
all of them or none like them,
the flower is dead. 

Inside Out (poem)

Disillusioned with my definition,
I let myself take myself under-
there is no bullet and no bite,
surrender yourself to a void-
inside and inside out.

The bleakness is my lover-
we will marry in an alley-
with all my reasons to
elope an eternal honeymoon
in suits and bad dresses.

Numbness and fear stain me,
as I tumble downward, faster now,
my very being, this very beast,
curses the womb and dreams of a tomb,
all the while, I run from myself-
in the dark and daylight.

Enough and Plenty (poem)

My pockets are not full-
am I less for that?
My car is last year’s model-
am I less for that?

Humans lost among the noise,
of bright lights-
and bragging rights toys.
Plenty is now not enough,
enough is more than theirs.

Happiness is a price tag,
we all pretend to pay,
when all that is worthy of admiration,
is polished and on display.

My pockets are not full,
but I am not empty,
my pockets are not full,
I define my own plenty.

Painting Birds Into The Sea (poem)

Can we paint the birds into the sea?
Look at me, speak to me, reach to-
me, tell me the stars have slowly dimmed
and I will toss lightning-
into the windows of bad friends-
for you.

Miss nightclub novelty,
race me to the park-
dancing does not require the dark.
The Gods have put splinters in your skin,
they fear me now,
I wish to be the split-
to where you have been
and where you are going.

A sense of wonder in a half-broken blender,
mixed and carelessly brewed with slices of me,
Sip away, despite the fractured glass,
I know my strengths and my bounds,
despite my wings and all I know,
downward, deep, into the ocean
for you, I go.

The Game (poem)

A silent siren, an earthquake with no shatter,
scream into space, a kiss for my dark matter.

Plastic bullets, a handgun for a mouth,
can I use some ammo?
I seem to have run out.

We roll the dice,
but you never enjoy the rules of the game,
kick over the board, stomp up stairs,
I would of let you win anyways.

You can roll the dice,
you can design the game,
but to have something to lose,
you must be willing to play. 

Impervious (poem)

There is a lullaby in every bruise you give,
the drugs cannot kill me as you’re there first,
we can play games until the sun rises,
discreetly sweeping my flaws off the doorstep.

You frusted my subconscious, forcing yourself-
into my mind and you soon became a luxury,
my soul cannot afford to lose or adore you,
unpredictable love, my impervious love.

She, a tender tornado with love in her fury,
a vivid color I fail to paint and blend,
Laying here all evening and pray for early suns,
and call any ears to hold me from self destruct.

My poems bring no materials or tools for growth,
as useless as the things I was once proud to own,
placed with friends I borrow from better evenings,
among the pillows and street lights I vision a home.

Faith reaches far but your arm overlaps-
the gaps that my soul has left awoken,
reality once more takes a stab in the dark,
this mind leaks with thoughts unspoken.

When your chest rises less frequently,
I will hope you were happy with your life my love,
even though the pleasure would be all mine,
when our eyes meet in eternity,
I look forward to you scolding me-
for failing to be on time.