They Grind Me

They grind me
like sand on dead skin
grating words of decay.

Spontaneous is the transformation
which rubs me the wrong way.

These hound-dogs
which hunt by scent
spoiling for a fight
beneath a sunny tree
spewing barks, that bay
at the collared man.

They grind me
like rich thoughts
crushing poor minds.

These turning cranks
of twisted, hobbled shoes
uninspired parities
and their insipid tunes.

They grind me
like a government
of cold pavement
which grinds away the street.

They grind me
on papered pulp
as the ink runs away.

Leaving but a worn soul
which has been ground
yet still…..

they grind me.

Draw Me

Pull me like a direction
cause me to move
infuse me…. with you
an inherent source
like white lines of words
on a road of life.

Delineate me as a charcoaled vase
a portrait with broad strokes
this character you see.

Sketch a deep black window
without a shade
sketch the light of day
depict a scene of colours
unseen by the naked eye
hidden in the hues
drawn out - by you.

Reproduce, what no others see
and empathize the vividness
an outline of a painting
washed out by the sun
a life between the lines

- then draw me.

Loves Due

He woke beneath a beating sun
to an afterglow of loves depart
as she washed away his worries
on tides, now held at bay.

Then she kissed him in the light of moon
and in the darkness of his day.

Suppressing kindled fires
stacked upon clay pots
smoldered, were the arms that wrapped
now charcoaled, his phosphorous thoughts.

Yet steam billowed from the sails
white foam, splayed across depth of draft
as he coursed through….rough seas
she watched his heart bail.

What more could she give
but hold her love, to his course true
he'll navigate this jealous remorse
to understand, loves due.

For Me

In the darkness, I see swirls
little twirls of vision
which, spin around.

Interlocking webs of thought
fingers, that entwine.

Lightning in the distance
a streak across my eye
but when I open up
what do I see
but nothing.

Sitting in the darkness
its only me that sees
these little twirls
of make belief
which are only meant
- for me.

Change Must Come

Travelled roads
these graveled feet have seen
deep layers, beneath….
the past - of where he's been.

Is a ridden track of steel
a cold line - yet defined
which pulls the weight
- he drags behind.

A shadow, of a long day
he pines away - this stretch of mind.

But change must come
around a cornered bend
to turn his thoughts away
from this metered road within.

Unexpected Moments

What are the possibilities
when you reach out - and find
a hand, which fumbles….
into the warmth, of mine.

It's this simplicity
the very magic and the mystery
of little dreams, that saunter
such a wonder, that we find.

In a world, which turns around
life is so much closer
these unexpected moments
- are often found.

So regardless of the circumstance
whether a rainy, or a sun soaked day
an occurrence, or a happenstance
it's the warmth of finding rays
surprising sparkles, which shine
in the middle of our day.

If I Could Paint

The following poem was inspired by the noted picture of Katherine Priddy.  I contacted Katherine via her YouTube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/pridsters) and she graciously provided her permission to use this specific picture of her, with two poems - "Two Hearts" and "If I Could Paint".  Please note; these poems in no manner, reflect Katherine, and are purely works of poetic fiction. 

Additionally, I encourage everyone to visit and subscribe to Katherine's YouTube channel, as she is a remarkable talent, with an angelic voice!

In the distance - I see
a love, far, far away.
If I could paint a picture
with the brush of my hand
you would see the fragrance…
and the pink blossoms, strewn
beneath the white flesh…
of an apple tree.

If I could paint for you
- I would paint me.

I would paint love on my face
wide eyes adorned with hearts
lips slightly apart, which whisper
little pearls of lustrous joy.

In the distance, I see
our future…..
the beauty of love
is painted in the vision
and what I now see……
is you - painted on a canvas
- of me.

Two Hearts

The following poem was inspired by the noted picture of Katherine Priddy.  I contacted Katherine via her YouTube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/pridsters) and she graciously provided her permission to use this specific picture of her, with two poems - "Two Hearts" and "If I Could Paint".  Please note; these poems in no manner, reflect Katherine, and are purely works of poetic fiction. 

Additionally, I encourage everyone to visit and subscribe to Katherine's YouTube channel, as she is a remarkable talent, with an angelic voice!

 

Thin straps, holding life
supported by a string of pearls
from shoulders, to a graceful chin
and ears of listened thought
which hold the anchors
that ground her - from within.

She steps from blackness
the beauty of her shadow
now outlined - in light
a stark reminder, to the contrast…
of emotional hues, which pale
to her interior, and poignant life.

But in a moment of reflection….
she peers - across the channel
to see two worlds - divide
so on sailing eyes….. she swims
to dock her tender lips
on shadowed tears.

She must convey her love
like two hearts - written upon her skin
so his eyes are drawn to her
and she whispers love songs…
- to him.

Feathers Float Away

Buckskins, scraped with  bare-knuckle scrubs
a destroyed village - runs down…to the mud.

As water rushes, then overwhelms
the banks - along the shores
of destiny, lays the soil of men
and their worn cloths.

Their knees are skinned
and so are the bloody red hands
of the coats - like Custers last stand.

In the black hills of the greasy lands
no bands play, but seven-beats
of an Indian drum - are heard.

The winds change and clouds reform
as the feathers - float away.

His Mind

His mind was up….

Spinning round and round
but it went nowhere;
like circles of the day
which spun into the night.

A single thought
cast in a straight line
dancing in the mind
bouncing off a mirror
then caught -
in the vortex of a twirling
ceiling fan….. and time.

Like particles shown
in sputtered light
free floating…..
until the clouds come
which stifle the darkness
hiding - the moonlight.

He watches the fan turn
spinning around in time
but, with every turn…..
the clock slows
but never does - his mind.

To Read and Deduce

She lies on my desk
and stares at me
so I introduce her
to an old friend.

Miss Blanc Page
may I introduce
this scoundrel
Mister Pen.

Dear Miss Page
the pleasure is mine
but if I may be so bold
can I press upon you
and engage your fibre
so we may further entwine.

Oh my Mister Pen
that’s quite a line
but I’ve heard stories
about you, and you’ve left
quite a stain.

-----

What a beautiful joining
that may produce
a young masterpiece
for the future minds
to read and deduce.