Reasons

FBI is rollin'
ready to pounce
smokin' hot women
giving the:
Female Body Inspector
pleasure and joy
which his wife
wanted more of!

Fate is as great and as old as the universe,
The beginning goes back to the big bang,
It is the intricate mesh of all events,
Impossible to describe or understand.

It’s the effect of all cosmic explosions,
It’s still revolving, weaving through space and time,
Molding the outcome of human emotion,
Paired with selection it's a celestial design.

We exist in the midst of an eternal cosmos,
Far beyond the comprehension of the human brain,
And regardless of what creed we choose to believe in,
There are no words in the race of men that can explain.

We are mere mortals in a spec of dust in all of creation,
Where purpose, freewill and choice shape the fate of our history,
And yet the reasons alone are meant to be left unknown,
Giving us a sense of wonder and intriguing mystery.

I couldn't sleep, again
I chose to read your words instead
I could hear your voice,
 by the rhythm of your thoughts,
 flowing from your scribe,
Calm and baritone

Your brotherly love,
evoked emotions in me I had cremated
long ago

Lighting a cigarette
 gave me an excuse to pause and think,
thinking on why I can't feel the sorrow
I need to cry, hard and from within the deep
Maybe then I can sleep

My grief is still froze,
crystallized and was unfairly brief
Too exhausted to breathe
 in the aftermath

I never had the choice to breakdown,
grieve properly through the stages
that would follow my soul
I only felt the hole left in the hollows,
Alone

Everyone around me shattered,
I had to be the rock for them to lean on;
as I would point them to the sky,
hoping I could teach them both to fly

I really didn't want to write tonight,
sleep deprived, staring at the screen
One day, two flights

 I'm not a smoker
 a stale pack I hide in a drawer
for the grief
When I need to feel the pain
 It feels good to burn my throat
Shallow minded am I

Her wings are heavy
Entwined over mine
Her span is wide
 My feathers are stronger

My twin and I
One soul
I was the stone
She was the sculptor of
our spiritual heritage

I must say this,
your words felt like home,
like brotherly love and the smell of coffee

Now I am bound to read your words
 Frightened by the similarities
I tip my hat in gratitude
 as you tip yours
 I did notice you left open
a doorway,
 where I may go,
to heal my mind
 
I am glad i wrote tonight

Thank you for becoming a poet

Stars align the shining sea
Sunlight moves the water free
Time stands still as we hope to be
We hope to swim in the sea of tranquility
 
Forgotten hope and forgotten sorrow
Clock will strike on the day of morrow
Unlimited wealth you hope to borrow  
As you wish to be in the place of Catanzaro
 
Looking for that thing you love
Seeing angels come from above
Flying across the sky like a simple dove
Feeling so safe as if in a glove
 
Wondering what you have seen
Looking for that special magic bean
Looking for that special someone to call your queen
Watching your movie on the big TV screen
 
Words fall and words will rise  
Life has a beginning but then a demise
Expecting all to be a surprise  
But having no expectations is probably the most wise
 
 

With the little one on my shoulders
and the other under my arm,
I followed St Michael to his mount
My bare white ankles and hairy toes
had indents where the socks had been,
trousers rolled up above the knee
like the old photographs of dad,
a bow legged Jimmy Dean,
and mum, a spoon playing Norma Jean,
held at the corners with sticky tabs,
Blackpool beach before they had.

Me and the kids meandered the monastics
but the monks didn't speak or appear,
I'm sure I heard one count to ten
when asked of Robin and his merry men,
there's a downside to a Disney DVD
the upside is a cuddle on a Sunday settee.

Orange juice and chicken crisps,
cream tea for two, a moment on the lips,
then flip-flop back down
on cobbles like clowns,
waiting in line for a boat back to shore,
bored captives in the taxi queue,
we watched the weather in a storm-bringers spell,
a battle raged between us and hell,
St Michael astride the Cornish rain,
the boats bumped ashore again and again,
we looked like we had swam.

But I still believe that on that day
the rain restored the balance
for as we stood in see-through clothes
the water washed away my phone
no more work or message tones.
We played in the streets of our archangel's home,
Marazion, his oldest throne.

Some people do stupid things, then say, "TRY!"
And afterward SOMEONE asks, "WHY?"

Other people do amazing things, then take a bow.
And afterward SOMEONE asks, "HOW?"

Those two words, seemingly full of potential,
Are truly worthless, and can never make one full.

In questions dealing with the heart,
The truest answers are all but art.

If you try, you'll understand I bet,
Some fuck to remember, while others fuck to forget.