Trapped by his passion
Lost in his art
Stealing other`s lines
To mark his own
At war with his world
Guevera`s child in search of
The dust mote that
Defines his essence
Always out of reach
Dancing on the sunlight
Knifing through
A fly specked window
Alone with the breath of
future thoughts

My great friend rested in the forest
Wrapping himself in the beauty with dreams
Enjoying the trees,
The light played hide comes seek
Leaves sailing as ocean ships in a breeze
This was his world as he thought of it
Always there to enhance his being
Part of the earth he loved so much.

when you talk of her

also say solo
my mind rushes
flushes and blushes
as a sailor why!
you ought to know

but that your lover be a boat,
I needn’t quote
twas a surprise
for anyone to read
poetry
as lovely…

O what a coincidence
my mind resembled some ones
but hello sailor
I like to read real poetry
of a sailor at sea

as one rests the night
in a country …..
as foreign as distant from home,
it can be

Hot face
meet cold desk.
Voices carry but not much sinks in,
because of course
you think
no, you KNOW
you could do better.
Fight the urge to speak out of turn
the monster clawing at your ears
clawing at your insides
tearing at your chest.
Spring is coming from everywhere,
possibly
Spreading, contagious.
Everything is moving
and I am not the biggest leaf in the woods
but my roots are coming up
and I am falling down
but at least I can interpret art in more ways than one.