(2015)
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
I need to tell you How to survive With our disposition It’s okay to cry Maybe
The teenage rebels All fall in line Be they hippies Goths, rockers or skaters Moving from one mould
Down to earth I am but of dust Dust particles I see floating in the air Carbon molecules
My heart breaks A little each day For problems I can’t solve For things I can’t change All I can do is pray
The human heart ...leaps and jumps ...races and sings ...sighs and groans The treacherous heart can
Who am I? I am me When did I Become me? As I recall
Itchy It has to come off Nerves Makes me pick His look
Good secret Bubbles inside Let me out Bad secret Indigestion
Pragmatic me Doesn’t like this girl You can’t depend on her Too complex to understand She cries at the worst times
Rough day Rough night If I could live In my bath Water would never
If I could draw a tree In all it’s complexity Would you be impressed? If I could draw a human face It would be but a trace
Life is good A little luxury A cup of coffee Served with toast Consumed lazily
It’s not that I’m sad Though I am It’s not that I’m discouraged Though I am It soaks deeper
I enjoy his company Riding shotgun Conversation No one to overhear Our inside jokes