I sat down to write a poem for free;

It did not cost me

To tell the words and form the phrases of

Thanks for all the fighters I have found

In the last few months.

Writers and Readers and

Singers fill up my days from dawn to dusk

And I want to say that they must

Know

How much that meant.

I am a poet by choice and nothing else.

I write people into rhymes and the skies

Into a measured out time,

But I cannot force your eyes to read me,

Just like I can’t make the Earth tilt to my will.

I cannot brace the world for news

and I cannot make it hurt less for the few

that feel it everyday.

I can however create catharsis

If only just for myself and some guests.

—–

My doors were open most days and then

most nights as well.

I watched strangers and friends and different types come in.

They brought stories and worries but left some at the door.

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

—-

–

Anyways. I just wanted to say thanks for reading. I’ll still post, but this is the end of my daily poems.

Nothing like

The scent of pages

The sound of spines untouched by hands

Or minds

Through all those generations of thought.

Eons of new 

Ideas

Slip down to me and people like me

Who want to know

The wisdom of kings and

The choices of lovers and

The adventures of knights and

Everything there is to know,

Learned from our ancestors with

Their flair and 

Pomp

And sometimes grit.

We want to know.

We want to know.

It’s been a while since lights were bright and birds took flight

along their southern projection.

They have such lovely schedules, never delayed nor full up for new passengers,

and always punctual.

Their perfect unity inspires trees to shed their memories of the summer dreams

and restart the beautiful cycle.

I sat and considered from my favorite park bench, and then went

to a shop down the street.

My notebook open, and the patrons’ minds closed my pen

danced across the pages.

The birds were breathed into writing and birthed

upon the lines inside.

I had a flash of fear when deciding upon their fate,

to capture them and tie them down.

They follow their breeding and, once captured, stop leaving

with their families.

I am not a prison warden, but I wrap them in cages and guard them

in words and leather binding.

I am sorry to the creatures of innocent involvement and their freedom I’ve taken down.

I told my

friend

of all the issues I had

and again

to leave me be.

I can fix

what other’s can’t see

If I believe just

hard enough

Just

Right enough.

She managed a single thought

To form

Inside her vacuum of

What she knew she ought

To do. 

So along the darkened dreary 

Tracks,

The stones all upturned and

Spurned with lack

Of yearly upkeep,

She walked in her sleep.

The porter cleared the way for her,

Lifting the 

Latch and failing 

To catch her name,

But welcomed her nonetheless.

Precisely before the waking point,

She blinked with empty eyes,

Filling up with daytime,

And everyone saw the

Insides. 

Forest creaks my fellow freaks of natural progression.

Empty assignments followed by impression

of leaves of the ground

and heavy boots with heavy feet.

I met a woman in the woods.

She told me

about

her enemies

and empty dreams

where she told strangers

about her wagers

on the outcome of the universe.

She was convinced she was correct.

I was

convinced of other things.

Like watching her in the rain

and wishing her away

until the nighttime power lines

criss-crossed my pupils.

Electricity.

Family is for watching you fall and making you feel like you’re flying.

Bus rides, hurried sprints

Leave me at my resting place.

I want to be home.

—–

Driver was my friend,

But I was just his paycheck.

Cash me in, not out.

—–

My ear rocks backwards.

His name is resale value.

And me? A coupon.

Barista Queen, listen to me.

Make my drink, but keep me company.

A dream I had has left me with only mysterious things,

Like how do I know that these shoes are mine?

How can these clumsy feet arrive on time?

How many people were kind when I assumed they were mean

Spirited?

Barista Queen,

Lay down truth and say,

If you can, that these were merely

Nightmares without meaning or truth;

My doubt leaving traces in my morning mind.

Half-lit smiles fill up people now,

Unlike their predecessors in appropriate dresses

And ladder-climbing impressers.

Pull me out from white and black.

Push me under yellow and blue.

Fill my tank with the natural view,

God and eager man’s fuel.

Grace me with a full-smile.

Just don’t leave me with wiesels 

And diesel-powered

Construct-carrying

Empty folk.