If I could count the times

That I felt like I didn’t want to lie

I’d scream and show you all the signs

I don’t even have to ask why

Cause I’m crazy in this hazy state of mind

I’m losing my time to find that fear of failure isn’t my savior

It’s you in the white and purple dress

You’re the peace in my Chaotic mess


What to call it?

So many lines and turns of phrase,
None adequate in purpose of praise.
Such symmetry and seduction,
Affection and adoration,
Desire and deeds,
Lost for so long then found and loved.
What to call it?
It’s a home without a place,
A favorite song without a hook,
Transcends time and space,
It’s an endless story book.

Our love.

In The Grove

Beneath the boughs of the brandished beauty of resplendent redwoods,

Radiance of retrospective rays rip through to the rippling of a brook bristling with wisdom and wonder in its bubbles.

Wild symmetry in selected spots of seeds sown centuries ago; this circle is sacred.

My muse, fair and pale, hair dark and eyes of leafs, in the center sings in the silence of my soul.

“Oh, my lover, my joy untold! Welcome home! What story for me shall you unfold? The pages are bare! Show me your strokes, fine and with flare! I will embrace your art with all of my heart!”

Her last note lingers in the shade and my hand moves with purpose made. So smitten, I find that her story has already been written.

One Word

There’s a thousand words to describe beauty.

Yet, I have none to appease my desire of expression in the exaltation concerning your countenance.

The phrases and prose of my poetry pose as a place holder for my perception of your perfection.

The rhythm and rhymes of my writing can not invoke the truth of your elegance in existence.

Oh, how my soul sings songs unsung of your grace in gliding footsteps; I come undone.

Thousands and thousands of choices of diction, yet none characterize definite definition of your charismatic condition.

Grasping at the ghost of genuine gorgeousness, I gaze into the void; vagrant in verification of your vitality

Oh, my soul for a solution! A new word, a new meaning, acceptable to your attractiveness.

So, I shall slay the suffering of my soul and simply say one word to honor your humility.

Trueaty; beauty in truth and truly beautiful. For that is what you are.


Desire, necessity to acquire affection.

Dreams, mending broken seams of satisfaction.

Kisses, knowledge of wishes brought to gratification.

Pride, Muse by my side satisfied by contemplated correction.

Perfection, perceived in reciprocity received in revelation.


Holding heaven in my hand, I’m uplifted.

The stars shine in the silence of night,

My mysterious Muse’s light burns more bright.

Blue and brilliant brushstrokes, stark against the skys,

Fade in the shade of Her simple sighs.

The ocean, wonderful in waxing and waning waves against the shore’s stones,

Pale against perfection achieved in perception of Her purpose.

Hold fast my fluttering heart; Her heart heals my hurts and hate.



Hawk’s Pride

For my beloved nephew Gavin. Happy birthday.


Birds sings songs to each other;
What a wonderful way to witness weather,
Frolicking in flight on free feathers,
A heoric hawk harkens to the sky without tethers;
Oh, how his spirit does soar,
Freedom of mind and body will be his forever more.