Best Toasts Poems

Whispers of sunset
     Carry on wings of evening birds
     Rising moon awaits wolfs’ howls

Sundown serenade
  ...

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With Eternal Sent Bliss Two Hearts Reborn - a collaboration with Susan Ashley


Under the midnight moon, romance waited
its true heart and beauty, with love baited
for...

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Under the midnight moon, romance waited
its true heart and beauty, with love baited
for dawning gleam across powdered snow
and she her handsome soldier to soon show
for...

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She can't blame the season for her tears
Aloneness was not loneliness in December
When the season passed so quickly in disguise
Of twinkling lights and toasts remembered

As...

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Percussion plays once in a while beyond its curtain
In duo with the flash of paparazzi’s capturing film
Prelude to an exhilaration of blissful days’ chain
Where rain...

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As shifting shadows merge within the night,
darkness devours disheveled silhouettes.
And daylight disappears, fading from sight,
as a splendiferous sun slowly sets. 
 
Twilight's crimson-colored clouds coalesce,
tinting...

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My auspicious Holiday Muse,
it has a hunger pang...
A pen which merrily sings of words,
joyously written in the heart
Honored friends and guests 
invited freely 
to a...

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By committing to nothing, one retains infinite options.
I have hid inside these words for moons and seasons and New Year’s toasts.
The lone wolf roams fertile...

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There was a plantation of fir trees
for some unknown reason, most of them
were three to four years old but one,
it was only in its first...

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Bent fingers trace embroidered leaves
on satin and long lacy sleeves.
Blush roses, twenty-six she counts--
A French word she can't now pronounce.

She blows dust from old envelopes
tied...

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She's getting married at Christmas,
The granddaughter who had said she'd never wed.
We are all quite fond of the young fellow
Who convinced her to forget the...

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In one ghost whisper of a town,
the mourning sunset had bloodshot eyes
A tombstone place that was
	long shadow 
past it’s boomtown prime
Withering eureka hope  ...

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a fine blanket of sand
toasts a calloused skin
a definitive bouquet
a calming pitch
the ocean embraces me
and I submit...

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Why would someone yearly toast the birthday
of a poet like Edgar Allan Poe?
And on that day toast his grave the same way,
leave the bottle, three...

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I’m the first one to admit
that I do not mind a beer
or two, or three, or many more
and toasts that bring on cheer.

At each Sunday...

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