Daily 5 (9 of 14)

Little Cloud on a Journey


He floats as quickly as he is able,

mindful of the gusts of wind

that may send him whisking off-course

into larger and more formidable clouds.


He is but a small cloud, newly created,

and ever so conscious of

the state of his vapor

so fragile and easily broken

by some cumulus with a grudge.


He wanders quietly forward,

laughing at the birds

as they duck to avoid his precipitation

wanting nothing to do with wet wings in flight.


He floats, he glides, he meanders,

but always he is pushing on.

To new vitas, new realms,

new adventures, to be exploring

as he looks for a parched place in need of rain.



Whisper softly

when you speak his name

this heart is the church of his spirit

devotional prayer is held

every other heartbeat,

should you be inclined to attend



Pardon me, while I bounce,

like a rubber ball in place.

Happy just to be a rubber ball,



I know I appear quite silly,

with my hair left behind me.

My head down, then up

losing its place..in space.


I make eyes quite dizzy

as they follow my path

my step is light,

my heart weightless.


I am a rubber ball

and I know no barrier

for restrictions do not block

I just bounce higher.


Stopping is for tired ones

who have no dreams left


come, let me teach you how to bounce

Your slip is showing


“What you are speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.” Ralph Waldo Emerson


Despite honeyed drip

and soft petal whispers,

pretty wrapper or gilded lily,

the essence of you is spoken.

Conveyed or betrayed,

confirmed or confessed.


Oh, how much more honest

is a passionate shout!

That cannot be less than it is.

Though, roughly entered,

somewhat noble in its sharing.


I prefer that simple voice.

That uncluttered heart of speaking.

That knows what is it saying

for it says it plain enough,

no mistaking.


The eye looks deeper

and sees farther

than the moments first blush

Past the hours first waking.

Oh, how disconcerting!

One who watches only wording.


Shakespeare and Poe

Melville and Hawthorne

ministers of the shape.

Worshipers of the spaces

between lines and beneath them.


Crafting and compelling

confession in a blushing starkness

that is a black type cast

upon the white innocence of paper.

Oh, how your words reveal you.

Just what is your method telling?


Seek the wisdom of your fathers history

the golden rule comes calling

“Mean what you say,

say what you mean”

Rusty Key


He stands like a crooked smile

wondering if they know

that it is not really a smile.


Feet that often feel

too big for walking.

Tripping up his progressive motion.


His head bobs along in time.

To music that scores his soundtrack

doesn’t everyone have one

to keep time with life’s rhythm?


Old shoes with older memory

reminders of faded footprints

faded wounds and renewed joy.

Your sole is showing.


Timeless, his hands.

As he once again rumbles his hair

standing outside his standing

looking for sunlight patches.


He stands like a broken arrow

uncertain of his aim

somehow praying for a target

to bow his smile into being.

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Daily 5 (8 of 14)

That mischievousness that elicits mirth,
like a stomach full of sunshine.
You have that way that makes time pass,
so quietly she goes by,
as if she wishes not to disturb
the snorting and releasing of ducks.

The purrman
They call him the hidden paw,
the blurring of mice.
He chuckles mid-purr,
but his laughter’s not nice.
He brandishes claws,
with a swish and a clatter,
he is quite well known,
for his skill as a ratter.
You may think he has gone,
but really he’s just hiding,
with patience and skill
his time he is biding.
Then quick as a flash,
he’s into the fray,
with a yowl and a scratch
you’re nothing but prey.
Just when you think him
not but a cur,
he will win you quite over,
with a lick and a purr!

This stamp is going to England
It’s that sound
that missing rise and fall, of you.
that tug, tug, come here, of you.
that snort, snort, laughter, of you.
That silent but understood,
That tired but I feel good,
That hand walking the neighborhood
It’s like soundbites to my senses
“a bit”
“wants taking out”
“I love you, B”
Somewhere the sky is calling
Somewhere the rain is falling
This missing you is apalling.
Return to sender
one kiss slightly used
one heart slightly mended
one smile stuck on pause.

There lies in the deepest hymn
a power of voice that speaks
and brings a heart something
that overturns the universe.
There lies in the darkest night
a watchful eye that protects
and hovers gently above
guiding with light through windows.
There lies in the softest whisper
a quiet strength of purpose
willing the broken heart
to lean upon its promise.

There lies in your eyes a dawning knowledge
that soothes and cleanses
brings hope back in slender bunches
to guide me ever home.

Tracing My Heart in Crayon
This heart has traces
of hands and faces
of wrinkles, blinks, and stares
of breaths held in, of tears let out
of shoulders slumped
and burdens shared.
This heart has traces
of homes and places
of journeys,treks, and plans
Of maps folded in, of belts let out
of environments explored
and cultures embraced.
This heart has traces
of private spaces
of promises,secrets, truths,
of thoughts turned in, of hurts worked out
of comfort offered,
contentment found

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Daily 5 (7 of 14)

halfway in, halfway out
a foot stuck between sock and shoe.
light patterns, reflections,
inner thinking sunk in deep,
draw forgotten memory,
finger grains of time,
as moments pass,
like houses built, none-to-steady,
upon the ever shifting sand.
gaze quietly upon,
each soft reflective whisper,
halfway in, halfway out,
let that gaze meet the horizon,
reflect into inward shores,
where memory will find me,
like a seashell under sand.
No man is an Island,
and no woman a shoreline forgotten.
Romeo, O Romeo.

What shine! I see it in those eyes,
that brings this heart slight tremble.
I have not known this fevered brow,
or seen such trembling whisper,
as I have known with this,
one look that graces my skin,
with sight that sees beyond me,
into the soul of my soul and deeper,
into the night of my minds dreaming,
and piercing, this look stamps a knowing,
I have no secrets hidden,
from such wise scrutiny,
from one who’s eye’s have seen,
the darkest, and lightest of my hearts,
most secret wishing.
Slip into something sinful.
The dark chocolate way.
His eyes like something,
that adds ten pounds to hips.
He’s a calorie worth investing.
Never mind my bloomers
you cheeky mad confessor!
Do I take looks into your dresser?
Never mind my appeal
you apple bottom peeler!
Unhand or you will be unmanned!
Fruit of the loom
is quite good enough for me.
How dare you mention acreage!
Never tease
with clever eyebrow waggle
anyone who has perfected
the wedgie maneuver

A Trouts last stand
Twist of memory,
range of thought,
like a trout, in his net,
well, and truly caught.
Let’s not tarry over,
fretfully attempting to leap.
to find that slap of water,
never more to be felt,
or known.
Instead, in these last precious seconds,
let us instead look, with a fish-eye,
this fate, full on
and flip him the finnish finger,
as he prepares to dine.
May he choke upon our bones.

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Daily 5 (6 of 14)

Over, under, through

over, under, through
that’s what you must do
to get past pain and rolling loss
find the light inside of you.
above, around, below
that’s where you must go
to get past things that bring you pain
only then will healing grow.
into, atop, astride
that’s how you must ride
to find peace within your heart
let wisdom be your guide
over, under, through
that’s what you must do
to find the path back to your soul
to begin afresh, anew
Devil May Care
Burn my tears away.
Be like a fierce power
overturning fate
with the silence of your brow,
tilted to the devil,
daring him to recognize
the power of your loving
cracked mirror
Reflect upon my face,
broken in a mirror,
tiny millions of me,
all with the same expression.

Reflect upon my fear,
that rips a bloody pathway,
across this aching heart,
left somehow forgotten.

Reflect a light eternal,
as it questions tomorrow,
uncertain as usual,
all faces have their sadness
This, is how I hold you.
Like this, she said,
and cupped his face
and placed her whisper there
where he could not miss its meaning.
Face facts.
This face,
that knows me wildly,
and sees me squarely.
No fool this face,
it sees me truly,
and it knows when I lie,
the truth is in my eye.

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When I hear your voice,
my heart rips open like laces,
unties my concern,
and simply releases-
bits and pieces.

There is no explaining
the cords that tighten.
Pulling forth my soul
until I am a corset.
Gasping, I am reminded
that I breathe.

My eye may never find you
Your heart not mine to own.
But in this pause,
I break the laws,
And your voice will be my home.

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Daily 5 (5 of 14)

feeling funky.
I like to wear funky socks
everywhere but in my domestic
where they get kicked like laundry
across the great purple way
Plentiful and abundant
the words that I embrace
wanting to give the world its plate
overflowing with something yummy.

Have they not earned their heaping,
all these souls that keep on keeping?

We fear the few that crush
while turning from the ones who pray.
Wake me to another day
where we are smiling contented
as the hands of love extended
astounds the population
with the power of its existence.
The feeling of completion
abundance and plenitude
the echoes of that which drips
turned suddenly on full blast
to shine and shine and shine
with rainbows after rain.
Blooming like roses.
Bloom and dare
Bloom and dance
Bloom and become a stranger
to the person you now are.
Bloom and shine
Bloom and shiver
Bloom and become a wonder
the awe of yourself created.
Bloom and awaken
Bloom and alight
Bloom and rediscover
the person that grows inside you.

Do you know what I am thinking?
Do you know what I am thinking?
I am thinking about your mind
slim and dangerous
sleek and stylish
ever the fashion
always cleverly sewn.
Do you know what I am thinking?
I am thinking about your manner
smooth and understated
classic and elegant
always right on time.
Do you know what I am thinking?
I am thinking about your heart
carefully crafted, cunningly cut
with a bit of sentimental
right about the price tag.
Lost maidens song.
Stop the world
slience the night
take every star away
my love has gone
where I cannot
the fates would not let him stay.
Stop the rain
hold back the wind
let not the sunlight glisten
for time has taken my love away
and my heart can no longer listen.
Stop the tide
still the earth
do not let voices carry
for blackness has stolen my love from me
and I will never marry.

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Daily 5 (4 of 14)



have a sneaky smile

that comes out sometimes to whisper

as my hands trace your chest

and steal the buttons

from your shirt.


Why wear a shirt at all?

I will only seek to remove it.


I know you would laugh

and tell me

that my taking it off,

is why you put it on,

in the first place.


You are so real in my head.

Why aren’t you in my bed?


Fit of temper


I kicked the door with stubborn will

and frowned at its other side.


Giving in to temper is never a lasting happy.

My mind already regretting

the malingering of a door.


My heart is still speeding

but,my momentary burst of passion,

is closely monitored by an unemotional inner voice.

Quality control

making tsk tsk noises

at the back of my head

making parts of me ashamed

while other parts,

stubbornly cross their arms

refusing to admit

they are slightly embarrassed.


The committee has called

an emergency meeting

on how to best deal

with the slamming of the door,

and the resulting angry neighbors

pointing and flailing their arms,

while the stubborn ones frown

and make, I-did-it-and-I-don’t-care-faces.


“Sensible selves would you kindly shut up..”


some lyrical messages

are so true they scare me


I stick out my tongue at the door,

while simultaneously,

caressing the wood

in mute apology.





a funny word

that invokes a sound

not in keeping

with the intense pain

I felt

when my heart landed


at your feet

where you dropped it

before stepping over

like a person disgusted

by the nerve

of some people.



Keeping an eye open for raindrops

to linger on my tongue

I tip my head and sweep my eye

ever for glimpse of sun.


I feel the wind on rooftops

the scenting of the sea

the wicked gust of rubber duck

there is no pleasing me.


I linger like a magpie

over silent thought.

dusting off the chatter

to give a mournful cough


I sweep the world of cobwebs

that clutter up my brain

why is it I feel just fine

when clearly I am insane.


For Igor


ponder this

the sun is a star

look there you are

able to make


in daylight.


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