Romantic Age Poems

Weeping willows of
past twilight inkling 
cast a blurred shadow
on  “lily-white age”
viewed through clouded lens!...

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i used to think
loving you too much
was romantic.

now i see—
it was me
giving away parts of myself
like clearance items,
hoping you’d find value
in something
i had already discounted.

you...

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Fear and other things

I have recurring nightmares and tell myself
 to remember the dream in the morning
but I'm unable to recall the gruesome dream
I think...

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Leaves labor in loam, roses endure the drouth’s weight,
From the east, petals peel, in soft drift concatenate.
Chariot’s beacon soars to the glint’s edge of tomorrow
To...

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Will you walk with me, 
when my step has slowed? 
Will you hold my hand, 
along life’s winding road?
 
I dream of growing old, 
in...

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And if my words were for you
Singing of your beauty as the robin's song
Would not time be both yours and mine
And all of life be...

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I was helpless,
             I was shining.
You were knowing.
	and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you...

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I am not a coward man de facto 
Who has lots of curiosity courageous
With full of consciences in mind
Having to retreat from girl strangers 

Who's...

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Love is said to be so many things a man can define, an unexplainable, heart-warming and deep sensation filled with the tentacles of nostalgia, a...

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Two decades of music were known as the golden age.
It was all the rage, the era from the 50s through the 70s
Motown, Rock and Roll,...

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            Oceanic moonlight, glows on her soft hands.

      ...

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Once again, yours truly takes poetic license.

Whenever the missus irks me or complains...
I tell her don't "Hock me in chinik" nor kvetch
before long tête-à-tête escalates...

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Time passes on and quickly all is changed.
Spirits are different, yet youthful, yet old.
A world once warmed with love’s illusion’s cold.
Keepsakes bring back the memories,...

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The springtime of our distant youth was when
 we made sweet love beneath a silver moon.
 The whole of life stretched out before us then....

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Serene, the crisp of apple cider days
Each morning lightly misted. Its mystique  
Perhaps a guise to hide from eyes the ways
The pink hydrangeas rusted;...

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