Be the character
you want to be,
let your words
speak out loudly,
chant with rhythms
your melody
with rhyming verses
or of rhyme's free,

be yourself
be your poetry.

Joey was a private eye.
His gun was black as coal
and everywhere that Joey went
the gun would seek a soul.

He dropped a man the other day.
He does this quite a lot.
Just self defense was all he’d say
while stuffing graveyard plots.

Couldn’t help himself he’d say
and then another one,
but he was savvy, Joey’s way
and he’ll be never done.

The waves are not too large today
as the tide rolls slowly in.
They advance than they go away
then turn and march back in again.

And the breakers barely break
when they do they hardly produce foam.
Perhaps only for sand fleas' sake
which surface then burrow in their home.

The waves feel warm on my bare feet
their salt leaves rime upon my lips
and as each wave slowly retreats
my toes curl as sand shifts and slips.

There's nothing like sitting next to a campfire
or before an elegant fireplace
to watch the flames freely dance
with a burning desire to warm the space.

With torrid colors; those born from red,
with reddish orange, and purple blue
more warm cometh forth in a perfect instance
to fill the place with an adorable hue.

Though they're weightless-those blazing flames,
and regardless of what might cost their burn,
they'd quench the cold once been in the place
and demolish it all with the utmost pain.