Poetry Late At Night

Who’s ever on my mind

at the time

will be fine.

I do not draw the line

because I want to be kind.


I must let go of my mind.

And then I will find.

The truth that is mine.

I realize whatever binds.

The things that are lies

How we always must ask why?

Then I’m not afraid to die.

Here we go

To and fro

Peaks and valleys

Lows and highs.

To sleep

I go.

No need to weep.

For roots grow from my feet.

And they go deep.

I think it’s pretty neat

but it’s not mine to keep.

Thus I keep on

Like a fawn

on the pond.

Like the land

or the man.


with spring fountains.

I am allured

to that which is pure.

I yearn

to be like the fern.

It is me

I am the tree

I say with glee.

There I am

me as the lamb.

My oh my

I look to the sky


because there is no master.

Clouds flow

Trees grow

Mountains slough.

And here I go

Only with flow.

Remember to be slow.


My heart beats

as crickets leap.

I take off my coat

to sit upon a log

to hear the frogs croak.

In a beautiful bog.

To think they were just polywogs.

And caterpillars turn to butterflies.

The universe is fair.

From the peasant

to the mayor.

From the pheasant

to the mare.

Natives with their hair.

A wizard in his lair.

A witch near her cauldron.

Wisdom known by children.

Before the program is filled in.

Light density

Is my propensity.

Only then can I see.

Only then am I free.

Bricks stacked

as if they are a fact.

But it is our knack

to put them back

in the sack.

Before we feel lack.

The mirror

becomes nearer.

No fear

into your eyes you peer.


to extinctions.

North for what it’s worth.

South towards the mouth.

East to feast.

West to rest.

Mother Earth is the best.

Lest I be the best

in time of jest.

How I want to nest.


with their words.


would be fiction.

I’m alive

therefore I die.

In death

there is birth.

In night

there is light.

In the ground

up is grown

What is sewn.

This is what is known.

Only experienced

It cannot be shown.

We are never alone.

There is never a clone.

There is nothing to own.




Rain drips down

into the ground.

Into my soul

overflowing my bowl.

Sometimes I lay under wool.

Thinking I’m a mole.

Or mycelium.

To play is the way

the way.

No need to ask “if I may”

of if it’s “ok”

My cells I am

My ceiling is none.

Then I have fun.

Because there’s no game

to be won.

Shifting sands

in the mound

it is found.


and all things.

There are no walls

except our mind has the gall to say.

Hands open.

Eyes woken.

This stone is a token.

Do you think I am joking?

It is a dream

or so it seems.

No need to be mean.

Clothing rips at it’s seams.

Lips upon lips.


It doesn’t take much.

For the heart to flush.

Skin reddens

as if it was a wedding.

Ringing. Leaning. Meaning.

Symbolism in tribalism.





They want more.

This is where we get lore.

Even when we are unsure.

We open the door.

Because our eyes look to the fore.

Infants to elephants.

Do we really need management?

Look down

that’s where it will be be found.

Then you can wear the crown.

But don’t become enamored.

Grateful when I am wakeful.

Humble when I slumber.

Into hypnosis I tumble.


Soil sifting.

Through my fingers

yet is lingers.

I am eager.

To feel her.

Lover Earth.

I give you all that I’m worth.

It is for you

which I know to be true.

The moon flew round

There was no sound.

Then I found

that I was unwound.








to infinity.


to the beauty.








And circles.



And where they meet

beneath my feet.

I bow

to here and now.

An ocean

in motion

has the notion

to be a potion.

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