You’re On My Mind

You’re on my mind a lot; I like you there
Although, within my arms is nice as well
I wonder how I found you. Do I dare
Undress you with my mind? Hmmmm. Time will tell
I love it when my sonnets look to you
To let them borrow beauty from your soul
I love your gifted words, and all they do
As I unwrap them all, and lose control
I love to think that I am on your mind
Although, within your arms would be preferred
I lose control, but you can help me find
The ecstasy that’s been too long deferred
Come, let me touch you softly, skin-to-skin
Then slowly let you guide me deep within.

The Finch is Awake

I woke to hear the little finch’s chirps
I don’t know why she wasn’t fast asleep
I think of all the things the night usurps
But know it gives me dreams I like to keep
I also like the little finch’s noise
Although I wish she’d meet me in her dreams
I know that when she hears me, she enjoys
My words.  They bring her comfort, so it seems
She flitted through my dreams, within her home
A place I love to be, in dreams or real
Experience.  They’re both a golden dome
There’s nothing there she wants me to conceal!
But even far away, I hear her tweet
She isn’t fast asleep, but god, she’s sweet!

Maria Comes

Maria llega en la vispera
Like starshine comes before her morning light
Her light illuminates darkest terra
Her evening beauty justifies my sight
I’ve seen the sun, the moon, the stars, and her
And yet, I’ve never kissed a star ’til now
It’s good, but sweet Maria must be sure
And so I’ll take it easy; I know how
My life has just begun, and here she comes
Like wine that comes from sunny climes down south
My life is fixed, and yet my soul succumbs
To sweet Maria’s light, her lips, her mouth
Vispera is today; mañana comes
I love the light Maria’s soul becomes.

Poetic Whores

They’re only words, you shouldn’t have to pay
I’m just a guy who puts them in a row
Poetic whores take money to display
Their feelings, through the words they choose to show
My words are free to anyone who reads
My words are not my words, they’re everyone’s
Although my Muse reveals them, she concedes
I’m just a damn good poet, failure shuns
Like Beauty, Peace, and Strength, I seek the best
Superlatives are subject to our views
And yet she takes the time to grant, invest
In me.  I love her gifts; I love my Muse
So, if you want to buy these words, you can
I’ll buy my Muse some flowers; I’m her man.

My Word Mistress

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like her words
I still remember when she told me, “fuck”
At times she sounds like simple little birds
When chirping words; her words are never stuck
Within the common realm of other sounds
Her words are music to my lonely ears
Her thoughts become her words, where strength abounds
Her noble strength conducts me through my fears
She writes her words in stories I can read
She likes it when I help massage her lines
I like to touch my mistress’ words. I need
To find the place where all our verse combines
My mistress’ words belong within my heart
To keep us close while we are far apart.

The Beach

Our blanket on the beach is soft and warm
The stars we saw last night are fast asleep
I’m comfortable with you; you are my norm
There’s things I’d give away, but you, I’ll keep
I hear the rhythm of the wreckless sea
I hear the calm expressions of your breath
I hear your heart, and know I want to be
Forever by your side, so far from death
Your silence and your words invite my reach
I never knew my thoughts were grains of sand
I never knew my lover was my beach
We never knew the ocean would expand
And yet, we spread our blanket on the shore
Upon the bed of sand we both adore.

On Hamlet’s Philosophy

I know he said, “To be, or not to be”
But did he know the depth of what he said?
The concept doesn’t take a brain to see
To be alive is just to not be dead
So, Hamlet may have wanted to express
His knowledge of a simple, simple fact
But knowing Hamlet’s simple mind, I guess
He wished he could decide just how to act
Of course he didn’t know of “ands” and “ors”
His logic couldn’t reach a peaceful loft
But logic was his own, not Elsinore’s
He might have simply shrugged, or laughed, or coughed
He wasn’t like Polonius, a fool
He didn’t even know this simple rule.

The Trepidation of Moving On

My trepidation takes me by surprise
I’ve never been afraid of going home
I understand that no one’s told me lies
But meanings have been buried in some tome
I almost died; my life became surreal
It’s like a story no one’s ever told
And yet I write whatever words I feel
Regardless of the fact, my words are bold
It isn’t like I’m stupid or a fool
It’s just that I don’t understand my brain
I try my best to live the golden rule
But I’m afraid I might have gone insane!
Intrepidly, I’ll live my life this time
And finish with a couplet’s perfect rhyme.

Your Landscape Portrait

The landscape of your portrait is the place
We sat and shared our mouths, beside the lake
I saw the sunlit beauty of your face
And hoped it was a picture I could take
But all my words are pale, compared to you
So, I just held your perfect hand and walked
I loved the path we chose; I loved the view
I also loved it when we sat and talked
You let me read some portraits I’d composed
And as I read, my words became the hues
Of rainbows which the sunlight had exposed
Above the landscape, which became my muse
The landscape of your portrait showed me more
Than any beauty I had seen before.


I shot interpretations at her heart
My accuracy shifted when expressed
And though I chose a sleek, metallic dart
Intentions were mercurial, at best
The aim of my interpretation failed
And even if it didn’t, I was screwed
Although I could control the way it sailed
Its meaning fell apart, was misconstrued
I took a second shot, but used a blank
It scared her, then we laughed, and then we cried
I’ve never used so serious a prank
If I’d have used a bullet, she’d have died!
I put my gun away; we had a drink
I thought of love, but didn’t want to think.