Hello. I wrote a poem some months back called Paradise is Crying, in which I told a story of a person visiting a so-called "island paradise" only to discover that even in such an idyllic place

I've tried to explore this theme of time and how it affects us, how it defines the direction of our lives in certain ways. This piece is another attempt. If you'd like to read some other poems I've written

I have been under the weather recently, which has affected my ability to write as often as I'd like. I did manage this particular piece, though unfortunately my voice is not up to a recitation--perhaps

This poem could be treated as a companion to one I previously posted, called, "My Friend." My Best Friend I've heard your kind words, which so eloquently, Express how you feel about our friendship

Here is a piece that I feel continues to explore the selfish nature of a character. The voice in the poem is that of an unashamedly selfish character, unabashedly sharing his thoughts without the need

I thought I would re-post an older work, but now include an image that I found that I liked and that seemed to relate to the poem. I hope the community will agree that there is at least a bit of new content

I know these words come from my heart, And are marked with that sincerity, That takes my roughened speech apart, And revises it for clarity. Feeling magnifies my phrases, Whose syllables are mean, And

That instinct to community, That holds us in its' sway, That basic instinct driving us, To live a certain way, Caring not for loneliness, But taking up the chains, That bind us into unity, So no individual

My eyes have seen the many ways, The living answer when I call, To bring an end to all their days, And wrap them in my pall. Some in wonder, some in fear, Some pass in sleep, and some awake, Some with

How cruel the clock, how pitiless, That ticks and tocks away, How dark my fate, how hideous, When the clock takes you away. How honest, time, but so unkind, To certify the count, But still I try, within

I thought I would try an experiment in spoonerism (transposing the sounds or letters of words). The following poem uses that verbal device in what I hope is an interesting way. See if you can make sense

We seven pups have just arrived, so we are strangers here, In this world that seems so big to us, big enough to fear, So we squeak out all our little cries, and hope someone is near, But so far no one's

When first we met I was cautious as a deer, Uncertain where I stood, so very near, And caught within that classic quandary, I knew that what I felt, boiled down to fear. I barely stood the strain, which

You know I'm watching you, but I don't think you're aware, Of just how many eyes I have, or that they're everywhere, Not only in your city streets, not only in the public square, But in your very home

I cannot stand nor comprehend, The games that people often play, That often mean they just pretend, Like actors all the livelong day. I would not want to live a lie, Nor want someone to think it's me,

In that place I often visit, once or twice a night or more, I find each time another world, each one unlike the one before, Where each is furnished in the style of some Architect's decor, Drawn from the

I see you, dot of white starlight, Nestled deep in night's embrace, And I know you must be burning bright, Within the darkened sweep of space. Did you know this light you shine at me, These rays you cast

When in my time I turn to dust, and feed the flowers as I must, I hope the Angels take what's left, and bear it into Heaven's trust, for I do not wish to pass the time, while weather turns from clime to

There is a word when heard rings like a bell, And to blessed ears it weaves a magic spell, But jaded ears they hear but cannot tell, The tones this word intones so very well. There is a word when seen

The sweet pain of loneliness, sings in my heart so beautifully, a song, but not of mournfulness, but one whose chorus joyfully, reminds me of that soul I miss, for just awhile, but not forever, because