what you are thinking about stars
makes you feel very lonely,
while the moon is on your forehead
pelting you with silver light,
as your thoughts sink into silence.

i cannot reach you with my hands,
though i know how warmly
yours would close about them,
and you would see these eyes
looking as deeply into yours.

the wind blows
three words softly,
as i whisper
the secret,

and you are
entirely beautiful,
a silent picture,
in my heart.

dream the dark night away
hope i don’t lose my way
may each step be true
on my path to you
until the light of day

there’s an empty shell
yet some things remain
shining silver and old
the colour of rain

just a doll on a shelf
a song full of pain
not to have or to hold
the colour of rain

talking to myself
homeless once again
turn the path on a poem
the colour of rain

The sails go flying out in dark and silent signs,
An endless sea speaks as the waves roll in:
I die at your touch and your kiss moves me.

I smile that you saved me again
And keep me warm, murmuring love quite sweetly.
(I dream I’m sailing with you in my fantasy.)

Dawn comes from the East, tea’s sympathies time,
singing honey and cream’s melody:
I die at your touch and your kiss moves me.

I feel you’d cry at the way I live,
But I dream gentle and you’re there now and then.
(I dream I’m sailing with you in my fantasy.)

I should have sailed away to you instead;
Where ocean goes she knows I’ll be back again.
I die at your touch and your kiss moves me.

(I dream I’m sailing with you in my fantasy.)

a book of stone,
its words moved me,
stars spiralled above,
called to love;
as a hungry world
howled aloneness.

the feel of truth,
hewn from suffering,
tempered steel
solid, real;
in a darkened world
dying in Darfur.

the godless globe,
facing the goddess moon,
indigo dawn,
late, autumn;
my Mother, the world
orphaned your book-stones.

At times, when I am alone, I become truly in touch with the depth of love I have… but I seldom show those intense feelings… imagined fears of ridicule or rejection… or worse, apathy. And yet, here I have all these poems… it’s kind of a paradox that words, even those poetic words, are so limiting and somehow never fully convey that depth.

I try to imagine that I’m just like everybody else… even while wearing layers of masks, pretending to be normal, whatever that is… but the pretense doesn’t ever fool me, and I never really feel as if I fit in with this world. I think I am a mystery to people, and I allow them to make their assumptions… they seldom really understand me, (some are more insightful than others)… and part of me enjoys that… more often, though, I just long to be understood and accepted as I am, cared for, perhaps (although I know there are people that care for me, currently, at least)… even while I never feel that I quite measure up to my own high standards for myself, standards which I don’t hold anyone else to, btw. Quite the Catch 22.

her body permeates mine,
i am not who ‘i’ seem to be
concealed in this clay vessel,
the sleeper has awoken,
she has made her presence felt,
i breathe in her song,
exhaling her thoughts in poetry,
and the light of her smile
flickers behind my eyes.

no preconceptions,
a question, a glance,
a path that connects
something between us,
sacred and divine
as the colour of wine,

in our idle hours
seeing unseen things,
the distant future, dreams,
the past between us,
fill the cup that clears
past and present fears,

quiet solitude,
sipping cups of tea
sweetness and sorrow,
making sense of us,
shining second-sight,
shadows into light.

Her words, like colors
jostling for attention
on the palette of my thoughts,
Her own secrets — undiscovered
songs within songs — unsung,
karma springing, unsprung,
the drift of it in everything,
Poet of my Soul,

…of She I sing.

so far and yet so near
maybe it’s the time of year
some how, some day
i will find my way

my words are bold,
perhaps I’m wrong,
to leave unsung,
a winter song,
of you who are — so far —