at fingers reach
sun plays catch me on road
driving down highway
That only I can see
I faced this lonely road alone
I walked this blind street
With a faultless mischief
My fears withheld within
A stranger to myself
So I embraced my shadow
And prayed for quietness
in my head!
Back and fourth she is pacing
Which way to turn left or right
Her heart and mind now racing
Wheather its day or even night
The one thing she's embracing
That is to be on the highist hight
It would seem no time wasting
What always wets her appitie
The only thing shes now tasting
Wheather out of mind or sight
If the dark shes not chasing
Then it is always the light
Follow up to reality unreal about ex partner
Written july june 2022
Fatty doggy
Happy sleepy
Witty
Greedy
Pulsing
Patting
Thumping
Hugging
Trendy
Friendly
Watching
Dreaming
Barking
Chasing
A friend
At hand
We used to chase sunflowers when I was small:
the plant seeds finger-deep in rich dark mud
would crush egg-shells and scatter them round
the flourishing shoots would be five inches taller
to deter the mouth watering slugs, to keep
the flowers being lonely, and keep them whole.
We learned all about carbon dioxide in school:
about finding invisible nourishment in the light
about lifting up high, and chins up.
"Always keep your chin up," they said,
"It will light the warm and the soul."
My shoes don't fit me anymore
and the scratches on my knees are
creeping much higher, there like a
fishing line, causing me to not quite
keep my head upright.
Causing my shoulders to feel uptight.
I, the growing girl, never keeps my
eyes on my feet.
always on the sunflowers when possible
With the world at our ankles and nowhere to hide
But I stopped looking down where the shadows where sweet
And found I could no longer move my feel.
We run toward fleeting images,
Symbols of the night
With which we know no reason.
Driven clearly by a sense of need,
Our thoughts confused.
Rational mixed with desire.
Night acts in concealed images of shadow
Proudly showing us where to look.
Teaching us what we need to know.
Night, known for its darkened reason,
Exhibits simple themes of perfect release
As it shows us the direction to run.
Ritual instincts strive for recognition,
To join with the familiarity of routine thought.
We run toward mirages in the night.
Cool breeze reminds us that love is not lost
With the setting of the sun
Behind the trees that catch these sparkling words.
The western wind stings our eyes
And brings us fragrance of winter pine.
Safely giving just what we crave.
We learn to know this is true,
A faith we have come to believe
As we run toward mirages in the night.
Time and time again night lets us try
And then helps plan our final escape
As we run toward mirages in the night.
This poem first appeared in Withering Words Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
Beheld
Through lenses, welled,
A pool,
Reflections -
Echoed pressings of,
A fool:
Can I be the poem, and not the poet?
Bestowed with solace, still and stoic?
The admired, not the admirer?
Draw a gaze as licking fire, cause unrazable fixing desire.
The captured, not the capturer?
Found; unbound, sound faith unfractured.
The written, not the writer?
Penned in tense intention, tide-script monad gripping tighter.
Can I?
In this life -
Be the loved, and not the lover?
Stood under; not left, bereft, to wonder.
The wish, and not the wisher?
Made; spoken verily, heard, save tokens merely whispered.
The yearn, and not the yearner?
Nor rough refuge, nor shunned sojourner.
I exhaust myself so foolishly,
Being poetic, mulishly,
Admiring, captivating, writing, loving, wishing, yearning,
While never learning -
To be the moon and not moonstruck, dismayed?
Not to hold to those, who never learned to stay.
Together we played on those streets during our infant stages, during our regless youth days we nearly died on those streets chasing quick cash, you have seen and been with me in my lowest, and you have seen me in my prime, to me your more than a brother, this ain't friendship, this is family bound by shared struggles. #Artistic Ronald
we chase
what shimmers far ahead,
only to learn
the light was waiting
inside us all along.
Fashion’s a verb
an action word
something you do.
A subtle brush of blush
cheeks dusted with peach
eyes, smudge-framed with kohl
a soft fingertip of powder on the nose
so it doesn’t like-Rudolph-reindeer glow
A shimmer of glimmer arching over lids
A bit, a spark, of barely-there bronzer,
and on the lips, a trace of glossy color.
Alchemy or pretty pollution
Chasing radiance on tired skin
powdered to porcelain
Yesterday's bad decisions
hidden by good DNA
and makeup in a cliché
of desperate optimism.
Disclaimer: Tell your doctor
if you show signs of delusion
and begin to believe the illusions
.
.
Songs for this:
One Way or Another by Blondie
Rush by Troye Sivan [E]
.
.
[E] = explicit song
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Goes life’s unyielding clock.
When life begins,
The whole world spins.
Chasing, chasing,
Endless racing,
Always wanting more,
Blind to what’s in store.
Grasping dreams that slip like sand,
Time moves on, just out of hand.
Moments lost we cannot win,
Still the clock ticks on within.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Hear the echo of the clock,
We race to catch our dreams,
Running past us like a stream.
In the end we turn to dust,
Chasing God that now we trust.
Tick, tock, tick, tock
No more ticking clock
Not in wealth or what we chase,
But in God’s love we find our place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We stole bicycles and the last of July,
pedals spinning like runaway clocks,
our laughter louder than the fading light.
You swore we’d catch it~
that molten drip of sun,
the horizon’s lazy blink.
So we raced, tires kicking up dust,
your hand a fleeting warmth
as you pointed ahead~
There, just over there!
But the vermillion sky, unimpressed,
slipped into indigo,
and we collapsed in the tall grass,
out of breath, still reaching,
still wondering.
Alas, dear Mike, circumstance and
the vermillion sky took you away,
and I never got a chance to say,
I loved you then
and love you even to this day.
I checked the clock
It was past midnight
Two hours had passed without me realising it
And an hour weighs ten hours these
grim days
A fleeting happy moment
Something you want to catch
Like butteflies with blue arms
When you are a child
You gave it to me my dear friend
By sharing your poetry with me
You talked
I cheerly puffed my cigarette.
Choices are made to fill the space,
Embrace the still small voice,
Rejoice in what it has to bring,
Cling to all that comes through,
The things you hear are true,
It truly does love you,
The best part of you,
Is hidden from view,
Smothered by all you do,
Becoming an anchor to hold onto,
Through dark and stormy seas,
Energy is creating reality,
Entities translate whats to be,
Waiting patiently to see,
The masterpiece unveiled,
Sailing an ocean of choices,
Curtailed by an inner voice,
Hoisting up the anchor,
Releasing the anger,
A stranger I must face,
Chasing away the danger,
Exchanging places,
Re arranging the space,
I choose to erase mistakes,
Retracing my steps,
Prepping for whats to come,
Welcoming something new,
A choice can change the view,
A small voice will guide you,
Before everything you do,
Chasing space through,
The choices you choose.
Tilting windmills, chasing rainbows
I run and run to catch up with the sun
Instead of simply waiting
For it to come around again.
Like a child I build my castles
At the edge of lapping waves
With moats and berms and bailing bucket
Knowing the inevitable awaits.
To cry just the same when it comes
Wave after wave,
Cleansing and removing
All my efforts, all my dreams.
Seasons come and seasons go
In every realm and stage of life
And still the child remains within
Wishing upon a star in vain.
Please give it all to me,
Make it last, make it mine
And never take away
What is nothing but a dream.
(1/10/26)
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