poems

Poems

The world has an ebb and flow.  There is a rhythm of the universe that beats like a drum and sings like a song.  The experience of life is sung by a choir of angels. As mortal men and women the only words that come close to their heavenly hearts is our poetic words and sing song-ed-ness.  These are my poems, my thoughts spoken in soft whispers, billowing bellows and baritone beats.

Here is a place, an opportunity for us to share in the moment of each other and interpret the thoughts and feelings of life.  I hope that your heart strings are strummed, your dreams to be dreamed and your soul to soars.

Thank you for listening to my inner heart parts.  I hope these words touch you as they have touched me.  My intent is to inspire you, to help you help yourself and bring joy to the live you live.  Enjoy!

E

E

 

There once was a barista.
And his name began with the letter E…

You could call him steve, meave or cleave…
But those names dont start with an E…

He was known for never wipeing his nose on his sleeve…
Or having any great pet peave…
And thats why everyone likes to call this man good ol mister Steve.


What about Things I want to Know?

Billy Bowl

old Billy Bowl

old Billy Bowl

 

Bones and bells in the shape of a snail.

Sacks and snares stuffed into bears.

These were all of the goals of old Billy Bowl.

Replace the mail carrier’s eyes with berries and a cherries.

Sprinkle germs on long brown worms and pour barrels of snakes into the local lakes.

These were the goals of old Billy Bowl.

Beat the poor until their backs were sore.

Feed the sweetest kid to biggest pig.

And burn all the butter that was recently churned.

These were the goals of old Billy Bowl.

feed the dogs to a bunch of hogs

Set ablaze the old corn maze

And let us not forget about a virulent plague.

These were the goals of old Billy Bowl.


What is so spectacular about the letter E? Does it mean something? Or it just simply something we all need to see?

Joy

Joy

Joy

 

Some people are smitten…
Like giants eating kittens in a glove…

Others are in love…
Making mittens from a dove…

Many are lonely…
Like bees eating bologni.

Most, however are ghosts…
Hiding close…
Watching…
Clapping…
And jumping with glee…
Waiting to see the sneeze and wheeze, of the pathogenic flea.