Monday, August 2, 2010


Must a poem by lyrical?
Must a poem be bold?
Must a poem strike hot
or cold when at first
it's told?
The books will say it needs not
The listeners say it does
But who will ask the poet
whose soul it was that wrote.


Where did my heart go?
I ask an old rug,
when I can't remember
the tale no one can tell.

My love stole my soul
leaving tears just to roll
off of my pillow
onto the floor.

How can I stand it?
The pain that I feel?
It wrenches my insides,
destroys all that's real.


Sing a song of sixpence
Sing a song foretold
Sing a song with power
Elegant and bold.

Sing a song that makes men weak
Sing a song that scolds
Sing a song of effervescent
Heart that is not sold.

Songs are made to make us cry
Songs we write to make us sigh
Songs that will not, can not lie
Songs that may not every die.


starlight sparkles
in the snow
tell the story
what do you know
words run dry
as wit grows cold
gems so precious
for pennies are sold
where is the star
that gave my strength
where runs the river
that sped my gait


Spray my gown
with shine
and music
delicate strands
of purple delight.

Dance with me
the song of
eternity starts
the symphony beat.

Come, oh love,
to diamond
gorgeous seas
a thousand winds.

Rest so soft
with life
spring the thoughts
of sleep so sweet.