I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. My words and notions will I hope respond in poetic verse of many genre and style. Come along and please share your ideas and insights. Thank you for your visit.

Posts tagged “time

Wanting Peace


My heart aches

when moments relied upon

become confusion,

when the skies gray

no longer inspires my eyes,

I’m lost in a horizon,

a search

waiting for the tears

to come cleanse the walls

of my secretive integrity.


My Time Is My Own


A mantra with meaning,

a saying to suggest,

a memory,

quiet in its discretion, its wishful

mnemonic fortune.

Oh, to have the time to say the words,

to know the reaction, to see the eyes,

to feel the lips, to taste the passion,

to understand the mystique

is drawn inside our own set of fashion,

our world together,

it is in that quiet alley way,

where romance did lean against stucco walls,

inside a broken world,

where healing hands and gasps and fires

did maintain some semblance of peace

internalized by the conflict of our realities.

Oh to know the sweet spirit of love

in all its natural abandon

preserved by the symbolic nature

of heart and soul.

Oh to taste the fire of dewy eyes in winter’s landscape.


New Life


Borne of need,

sheltered by reasoning,

though constraints do speak

when given audience,

it is clear we must move forward,

lest not forget,

there is beauty in memory,

the such that in a quiet reflection

will always,

forever be a lovely reminder,

there is beauty,

and she did show me the way.


This Quiet


When only the silent

reality of a crossroad appears

we wait, glance, wait,

there is no motion,

the trees, leaves of spring,

everything remains still,

like a painting

we might see in a Night Gallery

episodic fame,

we wait, glance, wait,

a realization occurs,

walk away knowing it is right,

a silent path,

more memory,

she is here, I can feel her mystique,

I always will,

a breeze begins to pick up,

fluttering leaves,

a scent of springtime,

now the walk is near that clearing,

remember when,

in the distance there is the silent

chugging of a train.


Me


The pain is greater than I might ever have imagined.

In the silence I reach

gasping

it all feels very simple

the knowledge of

coming to terms

with who I might be

today

in this my quiet alone.

 

When just beyond the edge,

we can see this fantasy,

this world we allowed our imagination

to find a foundation,

we in the throes of our passion,

ignore the signs,

the indications that would

now

haunt our own somber

occasions.

 

I find it rather funny how words can suddenly relate,

seems right,

accurate,

there isn’t any need to negotiate

new terms

for its true identity

is in the reactions we alone

can muster

while trying to swim through

all this realistic confusion.

 

We do love, people, do honor the truth,

we can we know we did we will we might we

always we

instead of relying upon only me.


Beauty In Repose


I settled inside a fantasy,

for many years,

I would know strictly beauty

in all of her capacities,

only because she would

let me in.

 

She let me in,

and I accepted,

though it was me that wanted

to be inside her world,

know then the surreal,

the soul, such passion,

as my life had never known.

 

We walked together,

trails of discovery,

every glance, we stepped seemed to merit another,

we’d laugh and we would realize,

might we do this forever,

easy enough

to know just sharing her energy

my only wish, my only need,

my only sense of being real in my world.

 

I wonder tonight,

will tomorrow,

days later,

I wonder if ever there might be

some challenge to know,

some break in the storm,

that might allow sweet remedy

to the pain I feel each nigh.

 

I wonder if she might ever know,

may ever give solace

to the beauty she may bring

to a man’s life.

 

I wander the streets in certain repose,

wanting only hers to have the peace

she deserve,

yet me, my selfish quandary,

has no value in an eternal memory.

 

I do know elegance, mystique, hers is a design,

a jewel, an unknown sojourn toward forever.


Starting Now


I haven’t the clue,

the wrap around my heart?

my day begins and does cease

before the break of dawn.

 

I don’t know how to start my day

if even to hear her say?

‘we are ok,’

is no longer a part …

forever removed

beyond the early crisp horizon

of who we are,

might have been.

 

I don’t know how to stay.