Kind Of Poems

A Different Kind of World

The old Ford's hum on a road so long
Every mile's a memory, where I don't belong
Left this town with a song in my soul
Never thought I'd lose all my control
The doctor's voice, a whisper of a storm
Shook the ground and left my spirit torn
So I came back home, where the fields are green
To a ghost

His Kind of Love

I am my father’s daughter —
quiet when it matters,
loud when it doesn’t,
loyal like a bruise that never fades.

He was a man of few words
and too many beers,
a homebody with calloused hands
who built his love from paychecks, plywood,
and patched fences.
He didn’t say much,
but he never let us go without.

We all worked with him —
held tools before

what kind of parrot is he

what kind of parrot is he? We wondered, Chickasaw, Wyandotte or Crow?
His war paints of turquoise, pink, and yellow had been applied just so.
He was talking nonstop, but in tweets, whistles, and noises from a beak.
Possibly an Apache or one of those odd tribes south of east Chesapeake.

Lubricious Kind Of Potion -- slight typo corrected

The curved fondle of an embrace
within the moistened kindle
of an evening's oiled lamp...
 the splendor of your  lubricious mouth
gathering all that's aflame and gentle

and I will find the slippery blue of eyes
dressed in your lavish kiss---
never knowing  this potion of alchemy:

Dare I blink bewitched by 
a caress of such pleasure
drip by drip ,

In the Oneness of Love

imagery and figurative language
                                    to create the thought needed
           

what kind of sisters are they

both of them knew their sister was dying
neither of them called or contacted her
holding a grudge
while she was dying?
their own sister?
what kind of women are these?
the selfish kind

Love the Renewing

What words create the environment 
For togetherness
That trusted expression of love
We together
Us forever
In such a complicated trust
We as one
We've just begun
And love is the
Keepsake
In God we trust
And it's all about us
In love
For our ownsake

Just those kind of nights

Slept throughout the day,  
Feels like I’ve slept through my life.  
Wide awake I lay—  
It’s just that kind of night.

I've become a spectator of my own life,  
Not a wink, even though I’ve turned off the light.  
Switching postures, counting sheep,  
Tried every last bit—  
I guess

A Kind Of Letting Go

Vice like grip unseen yet tight
Pressure building through the night
It bends the light distorts the sound
A silent storm where pain is crowned

My temples pulse in steady aches
Like thunder’s growl before it breaks
Yet in its grip a lesson found
My mind is strong though pain is bound

Then comes relief in a soft embrace
A quiet calm with a

My kind of Red

I told myself
To go with the flow
Gosh I was so naive then
And though somewhat I had known
Of warmth and of love
And how it all goes
When I saw her
All of it just froze 
She wasn't all sweet
And warm like I'd been told
But she was like blood
Splashed over white snow
She was like a fever dream
Shards of red

that kind of love

I want the kind of love that young children can't stand
the kind that remind old people of their young loves
the kind where we spend hours on the phone talking about nothing.
the kind built on trust and security,
the kind where we really just enjoy each other's company.
the kind that they write novels about.
the kind that are

On This Kind of Day

The weatherman says it will be 85
But it now feels like 72.
So what should I wear? Out the window I glance,
Thinking people will give me a clue.

Yet from what I can see, it’s a very mixed bag –
There are t-shirts and sandals and shorts,
Though I also see long-sleeves and jackets and jeans,
Which all go with

A Different Kind of Miracle

Oh the things on angel wings 
My Father has bestowed.
Provision, healing and grace,
But another made me glow.

I could not see a way to glee
To experience joy again.
But, by God, the unexpected
Was poured in abundance on me.

Such serendipity, oh the gift so free
For my soul was crushed with sadness.
The miracle God gave to me,
Was a pristine

What kind of hate

Ariana Grande had many teenage fans
girls went to her concerts, in different lands
Then a bomb went off in Manchester killed 22
Revenge, ideology, a toxic stew

Girls liked to sing along with Taylor Swift
But in the alienated mind there was a rift
He stabbed little girls at a Swiftie themed class
Three of them died, there's a question we

The kind of stars pattern

Why?
Why do you shine like that?
How are you up there—
so perfect, so bright?
While I scream,
while I scream,
and all I do is fade—
I can barely breathe, I can barely stand the weight of this.

Each star has its own pattern,
its own radiant glow,
because every light is different,
every star has its own story to show.
Some stars are born

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