Best Paper Over Poems

listen,
the whispers
of leaves
turn colour
autumn is here.

now that you are gone
who will wake every morn
to lift the sun
unveil the sky
etch in the clouds
who will paint the...

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I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your...

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""Child's Play""

You go down like rain,
A wishing star in disguise, 
You scream bloody murder 
-the perfect two-face disgrace
Your lips forever stain and reside with Benedict...

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(The Fallen Poet)

Shadows, fall from the east
Winter show, white meadows,
Compelling words lost, in a silent world
Beautiful, Bloomingdale is how it goes
Apocalypto-- my very own limbo
Alone...

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Our lives are not immune to the impact of time,
nor is our mind between the tensions of love and hate.
That's why I curse this wanderlust...

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~writer's notes~

i think out loud
from my fingers to a keyboard 
so forgive me if my speak
is somewhat long winded
if it has swirls and curls
this is...

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if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
               ...

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Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion...

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A born lioness my untamed heart? ha! 
a mouse, this pulsing token ruled by unruly wants
at times given, traded or stolen - sometimes
thrown down on...

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On the edge of silence 
beyond the mossy-muffled stone wall
a wind chime chants — faint, like falling sparkles of stars—
honeyed musings of a wind spirit...

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The Park Bench

I wish I was a poet
With magical words
To make people see all of the absurd
Tears fly, paintings in pastel die

When we look into...

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In A Sad Blindness, One May Yet Find Hope
           (The Solemn Prayer)

Raining splashing, fierce winds...

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A diamond in the Frost ... I am Emily, gazing through the years, 
Like Poe from rancid taste and dark smoke shadows
Florescent waste escaping a...

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She briskly walks in January’s rain,
which drums the endless rhythm of her pain,
pulling closer round her shoulder in the downpour
the leather jacket he so often...

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My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my...

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