I can describe the weakness
in my knees,
the stomach flips
(I equate that with feeling nauseous),
the lurching of my heart
into my throat.

But that’s not very poetic
is it?

I could do better,
equate it with
the rising sun
though I really detest
daytime hours.
Perhaps it’s in the Spring
with flowers in bloom,
birds chirping,
bees buzzing,
even though
those things
are the death of me,
and Benadryl only puts
me to sleep.

No, no, no
Love is undefined.

It is laughter

It is bubble thoughts shared at three in the morning

It is sitting in silence and being comfortable

It just is.

And sometimes,
love is when you
preserve the heart
of your lover
in your favorite book.

In my case,
you can preserve mine
in a mayo jar
on top of the ‘fridge.

Air brushed across
the core of my mind,
rushing me to find
some surface to play
with ink,
to give sudden birth
to inspiration.
Draw it out,
line by line
Make it grow,
watch it mature
right before your very eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pick pocket muses
strolling through the masses
going unnoticed, ducking
behind shadows of the disbelievers
Feeling an electric jolt
from across the world
and back,
A butterfly just flapped its wings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In those words, I find despair, triumph, and finality. It is known among my friends, that when I die, and I will….as we all will, it’s part of the deal…I want The Boxer to be played at my funeral. I don’t want it to be a somber occasion, either. By all means, break out the booze, the words, the music. Remember me in poems, in my corny jokes, remember me by my horrible taste in B Rated Movies. But don’t cry for me.  Though I am leaving….indeed.

I am aware of my mortality when I look in my child’s eyes. I am aware of it, when I think to myself…”I have o seen only 30 springs”. It seems like my life has been a long adventure, and yet, in the grand scheme of things…30 is not even a blink in the cosmic eye. I am still a baby, learning my way. It’s been fun to say the least. 

There are still things in this world that I need to lay my eyes on, like the pyramids of Giza, the Eiffel Tower in Paris….speaking of….color me romantic, or a bum…..but I want to write poetry, sitting at an outside cafe at the Champs du Elysse…with a teeny tiny cup o espresso…bum around France for a week or so. That is a dream that I have had ever since I picked the pen up 15 years ago. I blame Dumas, and his Musketeers, really.

I wish to be all that I can be. All that I was, and am.

(To be fair…..I need to start posting my poetry. I convey so much through that, than regular rambling on prose. )

I like cartoons, but I am very picky about them. I love the Venture Brothers, Harvey Birdman, Sealab 2021 and a couple of anime films.  Looking at the toons from a distance, I can see that I do love bizarre, abrupt segue situations. I like being absorbed into a silly world where anything is possible, and anything will happen.

My favorite comic books are Calvin and Hobbes, The Far Side, and Pearls Before Swine. As with these, there are moments where you are feeling like you’ve witnessed a circus freak show act, and felt that it was well worh the admission price. God playing with Play-Doh, a gifted student pushing on a door that pulls open, Calvin and his transmorgifier, and a rat who is hell bent on world domination. And yes….anything that can happen, often does, with amazing results.

I want to live in a world like that. Where anything is possible, you can escape by painting a black spot on a wall, or the floor.  I want to clone myself four or five times, and hope that at least one of my selves can make it to work on time. Then, I would have all the time to go to school, work on my books, and even have time to deal with my heathen children. I love my kids…..they have a telepathic ability to know when I am at my most tired and cranky state. Then they pounce.

Music is a wonderful escape. Slap some head phones on, and drift with the beat, the voice. Dream that you’re somewhere else….on a beach, at a cafe, on top of a mountain. Before you think I long for escape, I don’t.  I am a chronic day dreamer. That is my flaw. I live in my waking dreams. I find inspiration from the tiniest little laugh from a child, the fluttering wings of butterflies, the Waffle House trips at three in the morning.

Books are my life. Books and writing. It’s what I do. It wouldn’t be a normal day if I never had my face in a book at least once, or had a pen scratching on paper. It’s natural to me, like breathing.

I need to thank who(what)ever planted this need inside me. I don’t ever want to take it for granted. And silly little me discovered another flaw. I can ramble on like a tumbleweed if no one is here to keep my thoughts on track.

I want to get better at my craft, and here is as good as any place. 
Just wish me luck.

And as a side note…I will be putting up my older stuff as well. Looking back on writings actually help me grow…..call me strange.