The Gloaming

I sat down to write you a poem
About how much you mean to me
I thought we could meet at the gloaming
And that I could help you to see.

All that you really mean to me.

Sonnet about a Godess

The young, pale moon reminds me of your eyes.
Your lips, my love, the reddest sort of rose.
Your smile transports me to my highest high.
Your silken hair, a river, as it flows.

How do I measure to such loveliness?
I have my wit, my charm but little more.
How do I woo a creature borne of Venus?
When I’m a creature straight from Hell's hot core?

Well, opposites attract or so they say.
So maybe we were meant to be a pair.
I know that I will live to rue the day
If I refuse, with you, my life to share.

So, my love, I present you my heart.

And expose myself thus to Cupid's dart.

Unconventional Sonnet

It strikes me you’re always in tune

W/ the melody filling my heart.

In other words, Girl you can croon.

And I can’t resist such a start.

I’m attracted to women who sing.

It’s a thing I can’t really control.

And if you're a thinker who thinks

Well, that’s just the way to my soul.

Whoa, friend, that’s coming too near!

For I smell the scent of your hair

And all of your curves become clear

The sight of bare skin — oh so fair.

A concert I went to, my first.

A wanting, a needing, a thirst.

The Crown

Beneath the sands of time there lies a crown
A crown alone upon an empty throne.
And on the other throne, alone, I drown.
Awaiting one to make this castle home.

For all alone, I simply cannot bear
The trials of this kingdom and its men.
For others, they are simply unaware
Of stresses placed upon my regal head.

So if you are a maiden of good blood
And of the mind to match myself in wit.
Before the summer roses come to bud.
Come meet me in my castle where I sit.

For you could be the one of whom I dream.
And we could make a real ferocious team.

May is Over

May is over. June has come.
No fuss, no fanfare, no war drum.
Spring to summer — squelching heat.
Dancing in on elven feet.
Lost so many some might say
Death becomes the norm this day.
Dare not let it be as such
These are people loved so much.
Mothers, Fathers, Daughters, Friends.
All beloved ‘til the end.
Crazy times these are these days
And crazy times breed crazy ways.

Van Gogh

I wish I had the courage to paint like Van Gogh.
Short brush strokes all combined to create a splendid image.
The way he depicts stars makes my soul sing.
And trees that seem as much a part of the background as the foreground.
The lonely village with a chapel in a Starry Night was not the view outside
Van Gogh's room at the asylum.
No, it was from memories of his Dutch childhood.
This makes it an unusual addition to the painter's portfolio.
But it's by far my favorite.
And his most popular.
I could stare at it for hours on end.